011. meet the parents

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                                ODETTE | MOETTI

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                                ODETTE | MOETTI

  

IT WASN'T MY alarm that woke me up for once, it was a notification from my phone. A text, specifically.   

I wasn't that type of person who didn't put their phone on silent. I only left my imessage notifs on from my parents because that was how we mainly communicated— and God knows what would happen if I replied too late. We spoke more through a glass screen than face-to-face, even though sixty percent of the time they were on campus, somewhere.

I didn't have practice this morning, my parents knew that, so it was probably why they "requested my presence" through a message. I couldn't help but stare at my phone after reaching out to grab it. My stomach churned at the prospect as I sat up.

That couldn't be good. What was I in trouble for this time?

Lesedi's yawn from the bed on my left pulled me out of my daze. I didn't expect her to rouse, but I underestimated the power that routine had on her.

We were up at six most days, what difference would another day make?

I knew the moment she'd read my expression and ignored the pull of sleep because she sat up and turned towards me. "Odey?"

I knew better than to shrug it off and tell her to go back to bed; she wouldn't leave it alone until I told her.

"They want me to meet them before period one."

Just the mention of the two made Lesedi pull a face that made me laugh. She slipped out of her bed and into mine so she could wrap her arms around me in a shea-butter scented hug. For a few moments we basked in each other's embrace and the gentle breathing in the room.

"I'm always here for you, you know."

"I know." I only let myself linger for another second before pulling back. "Thank you, I'll catch you at breakfast."

Spotting her drooping eyes, I escaped my duvet to cover her with it and let her fall asleep again on my bed. Her fight didn't last long as a yawn cut her off before an argument left her lips and I smiled.

After praying, I dragged myself to the bathroom and got ready. I didn't encounter any bumps to my routine my until I found myself looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror again. There was something about the small row of bright lights installed into the top that forced me to face the dark depths of my mind.

Memories — memories that I'd tried hard to drown — kept resurfacing. The muscle in my chest raced as if I was back in them. The scar on my calf ached with a phantom burn and I rubbed at the bare skin that was on show even now I was in my school uniform. The sensation didn't go away so I pulled my knee-high socks to at least hide it.

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