Him not you, book one.

Chapter 5

Kit's house was average looking, it was a little old fashioned, had two stories and was big. Kit threw a backpack out of a window on the second floor. The air was sharp, the sky pink and orange as it was waking up. Kit climbed out the window and gently slid down the drainpipe, she was wearing sheer black stockings that were grey against her pale skin. She had a short black pleated skirt and an oversized white knit sweater. She hit the ground as she fell from the pipe a few metres from the ground, she rolled from her back onto her bum pressing her knees together as she stood. Her platform boots making it a little more difficult. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She dusted herself off, grabbed her bag, and started running down the street, trying to get away from the house before her father noticed.

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Felix's room was small, the wooden walls were thin so it was almost always cold. There was a tiny bed with a window above the head, there was a desk at the other end of the bed and a closet opposite the bed on the same wall as the door. It was tidy, but a little bland. There were a few things here and there but not much. Felix was sitting at his desk, he wasn't wearing his shirt but still had pyjama pants on as it was still early. About six thirty AM. He was trying to do maths homework, tapping his pencil on the paper debating how to approach the questions. He wasn't dumb but he just wasn't great at maths. Algebra was the thing he found the hardest, his teacher had a super strong accent from somewhere in Europe which didn't help. He pulled out his phone and opened instagram, the first post is from Charlotte. The post is a photo of her in her cheer uniform with a few other girls. The caption: 'Can't wait for the cheer meet tomorrow'. He goes to his Dm's and clicks on Charlotte.

Felix

Are you free at lunch? I need help with my homework.

Charlotte

Yea meet me in the library.

Felix checked the time on his phone, it read 6:45 AM. He realised he needed to get going to make it to swimming practice on time. He wanted to be there early, in case Luke was. Felix got up from his seat, grabbed his bag from the floor and put his books in it. He zipped up his bag, grabbed a shirt from the floor, whipped it on and walked out of his room. And into the kitchen, the door led straight there.

It was a tiny run down kitchen, it felt lonely, with hardly any personal touches. Harold, a mid-sized thirty five-ish year old hispanic man, had a scowl on his face. He leant on the kitchen bench sipping a coffee and reading the newspaper. Felix wandered into the kitchen, dragging his feet, he had a school bag thrown over one shoulder and was dressed now. Felix opened the fridge, he wasn't avoiding talking to his dad but their conversations were just never natural. He grabbed a single slice of bread out, and he examined its blue spots. He sighed at the fact that his dad couldn't even keep up with the groceries.

"What now?" Harold said, finally acknowledging his son. Felix held the bread up.

"The bread is mouldy." He said in response.

"Cut it off." Harold said not understanding the issue.

Felix pulled on a draw and jiggled trying to get it to open. He grabbed out a knife and started cutting the mould of the bread.

"Why do we never have food?" Felix said, sighing.

"Don't cut on the bench." Harold snapped. Felix put the bread in the toaster and pushed it down.

"Why are you up so early?" He questioned, trying to get past their last interaction.

"I gotta get some things done before work." He responded, still emotionless.

"Pass the jam." Felix said, gesturing to a jar on the bench. Harold passed the jam to Felix.

Felix opened the jam, he struggled for a bit, his dad watched but never offered help. The toaster dinged, and the bread popped up. Felix grabbed the toast out of the toaster, he spread the jam on the toast and took a bite.