𝐨𝐧𝐞. reunions

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☾𝐢. ═════════

═════════ 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

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═════════ 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.


THE CHIRPING BIRDS AND SOFT MORNING GLOW provided an unsuitably gentle, idyllic scenery for Emilia's vulgar outburst.

"Scheisse," she went with German, hardly peculiar after having spent two months in Cologne with her aunt and cousins.

Her vocabulary was justifiable by being late on the first day of school and having an obvious hickey, which tied back to the primary issue, because if she hadn't stayed with Samuel until one in the morning, she wouldn't be having either of the problems.

Their rendezvous was much needed, though, after being apart the whole summer, and if Emilia regretted anything, it was telling the housekeeper that she definitely could have the morning off for her six-year-old's first day of school. As altruistic as Emilia was, she couldn't help but blame the woman for leaving her reliant on her ability to wake up upon hearing the obnoxious iPhone alarm, thus causing the whole disaster.

Giving up on trying to rush through her make-up routine, because she would be late anyways, Emilia tapped foundation on the curve of her neck, hiding the red mark, and spiritedly played over the memories of the previous night. She had been so pleasantly surprised about the way her and Samuel's reunion went - no anxious prophecies about how their first day of school would go (hers was not turning out ideally), no talking about the pre-summer events, which meant no Marina, no Nano in jail - pretty much no talking, really.

It was the only way to make them work, she'd jump at him and silence all of the raging guilt in her head with a stupidly obvious method. It seemed to function despite the fact that she was sleeping with the boy who, because of her, had spent the summer delievering pizzas to make money for his accused-of-murdering-an-ex-of-the-both-of-them brother's bail.

Emilia exhaled sharply, picked up her porcellain shade concealer to hide the insomnia-induced circles under her eyes - after coming back from Samuel's, she had stayed up until two, three, four, five, until she could actually hear the birds wake up and they lulled her, as was the custom, into two hours of restless sleep.

Who was she kidding. Absolutely nothing was okay; if the empty house was not a testimony, the way her hands shook at the mere idea of stepping in the fiberglass classroom door and feeling everyone's eyes focused on her, was. Even though it was only her paranoia.

Nobody had any idea that Emilia had a pen drive buried in her garden - was she theatrical? Definitely - her father was living in an apartment in downtown Madrid and had left her with a fully staffed house and a twenty-thousand Euro allowance every month in her bank account with an absolute lack of love as a bonus for loyal customers.

Everything was entirely her incentive, and by extension, her fault, but that didn't mean Emilia was happy about the turn that her life had taken.

She glossed over her lips just to nervously nibble on them and scrape off the raspberry glitter with her teeth; she sprayed her vanilla perfume and rubbed her wrists over each other, checked that her hickey was unmistakably invisible from all angles, and descended the staircase with a sea-sickness-like feeling. She still thought that throwing up over the edge of a boat in the Mediterranean at eight years old had been more pleasant than this.

𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, eliteWhere stories live. Discover now