92 days

seven

Not edited

Staring at myself in the mirror, I see through the girl looking back at me. I see through her almost perfect curls, and her casual lilac dress. I see her dread, and her pain. But I watch her as she plastered on a smile, and carries on with her day. I want to hug her, and I want to break through the glass and tell her that this isn't as bad as she thinks. But I can't. How can I, if I don't believe it myself?

I finally decided to clean my room earlier, after leaving it a mess for a while. I specifically told Edna not to touch anything in there, because I wanted to clean everything myself. Mother obviously insisted on having them clean it for me, but I fought against it. 

Sleeping has been really rough for me lately. Today I woke up with a little puffiness underneath my eyes, and I splashed cool water on to my face for what felt like ten minutes, until they disappeared.

Anticipation is flowing through my body right now and I had the thought of faking to my mother that I wasn't feeling well, or that I got my period or something, but she would've thrown a bottle of aspirin into my face and forced me out the door either way.

Ethan has some nerve, saying that I'm making this difficult when he acted the way he did last night. My stomach ties up in knots when I recall his attempt at kissing me.

If he tries that again today, I'll do more than just shove him to the ground. Maybe an elbow to the nose, or a knee to the crotch will help him learn.

It's currently around 12 in the afternoon and the play was estimated to last 2-4 hours according to the website that I was shown. That's way too long of a play for my taste.

The faint sound of a car pulling into the driveway sounds from my window. Inaudible voices come from outside then traveling into the house. I'm already making my way down the steps when my mother's loud screeching voice, calls for my name.

"I'm right here." I say, waiting for her to acknowledge my presence.

Ethan and my father are sitting in the living room, having a firm conversation; but I don't make eye contact with either one of them. My mother's face leaps into my eyesight as she rubbed her thumb underneath one of my eyes.

"Are you sleeping well?" She asked, continuing the same motion on the other eye.

"No, actually."

"There's always something with you, isn't it?" She scoffs, now running her fingers through my hair. "Keep these curls nice, it took me ages to do it."

"Of course." I replied sarcastically, letting my lips curl up into a faint smile.

My father and Ethan rise up from the sofa, walking towards me and my mother, and I grab a jacket and hurry out the door before I have to make any awkward conversations with anyone.

I tap my foot on the pavement anxiously, praying that this won't be as long as it sounds. I can't imagine sitting through a four-hour play, with his presence next to me.

"Such a lady, aren't you?"

His words echo throughout my head and I shake them away before he walks out the door and over to his car. He opens the door for me, surprisingly; but I'm guessing he's only doing that because my parents are probably watching us like hawks.

His car has a strong scent of cologne, and it's really neat.

Like, really neat.

Everything he has is correctly in order, or really well intact. I'm not an organized person so this is just weird to me. But I can't help it. When I try to be organized, all of my stuff turns out a mess anyway.