Eleven Favours I Owe Him (Kismet-on hold)

Chapter 6

*still editing

Chapter 6

I keep running without stop until I reach the apartment-forgetting about the boy altogether or at least I force myself to forget that beautiful face. Breathing laboriously, I stop at the familiar door and take out the keys and unlocked the door.

Flopping down to the sofa, I lean my neck on the cushion so that I'm looking up. I freeze seeing cobwebs on the ceiling; Cobwebs mean spiders. I shudder at the thought of spiders as I never liked creatures with more that four limbs.

"Mom?" I call but no one answers. Maybe she's still out looking for a proper job.

Working, is the only way I can think of how to help my mom. Maybe by doing so, I'm going to be able to move on and stop being sad and feeling pathetic about myself. Although working will probably have a negative impact on my studies, all I can think right now is a way to help my mom and to keep her by my side.

Getting up from the couch and I go to the kitchen and rummage in the pantry. There isn't much in there except cereal, and canned tuna. I decide on the earlier option, dousing the bowl of mini wheats with the skim milk we have in the fridge. I settle on the small table, sitting on the wobbly chair-which reminds me that I have got to do something about this house.

As generously as appraised it the first time, I have to admit that it's all been a lie that I am trying to convince myself. There are death contraptions everywhere, and avoiding them will not solve the problem. And honestly, my mom can't really do anything else aside from cooking and cleaning. Everything else I have to deal with myself.

I decide that I might as well be productive since there is nothing else I can do. I start by getting a hammer and nails, fixed the wobbly chair and steadying it- like it should have been from the beginning. While at it, I fix the wooden stairs, strategically nailing the corners securely in place-so that it doesn't wobble when I put my whole weight into it.

I also start unpacking our belongings, placing, arranging and rearranging them, until they fit the right spot. Doing organization duties helps me feel more in control of my life, a distraction from the spectrum of life I cannot control.

After hours of complete concentration, I now sit on the couch in marvel how I used my newly developed freakish ability to organize things.

There is a now a clean light brown area rug in our living room, a coffee table right at it's centre. The plain orange walls are now decorated with small paintings and pictures which hanged symmetrically and neatly on the wall.

For the first time after days, I feel like our abominable-and structurally challenged apartment has finally become our home. The dull aura changed into warm and welcoming. I smile to myself and the small accomplishment I've done by myself.

My thoughts are interrupted as I hear rapping sound coming from the door. I snap out of my trance, quickly maneuvering out of the mess only to slip onto a roll of duct tape. I manage to use my hands to break the fall but it's a little too late as I bang the upper right side of my forehead on the side of the coffee table. It wasn't that hard but my the edge of the table was sharp enough to penetrate through some layers of skin.

I lie there to my side, unmoving, eyes closed. I can feel a hot liquid steadily flowing on the side of my face, the rapping sound continues but after a while, dies down. There is a clinking sound and a sound of an opening door. I hear an audible gasp then shuffling. Mom tries to shake me softly and when my eyes fluttered open my mom is already on my side tearing up.

"Emily, Emily! Are you okay? Answer me. " Her voicd pleads. She is about to dial 911 when I grab her hand and shake my head. At that a few emotions flash in her eyes. Concern the most apparent among them.