THIRTY-FOUR

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THIRTY-FOUR

I don't think I could recall the last time I had this good of a sleep. Everything felt warm, extremely comfortable and I was surrounded by this calmness that hugged me tight. I didn't open my eyes immediately, letting this feeling go on for as long as possible.

I breathed out softly, before small snippets of what happened yesterday come back to me. The beginning of the day when I got ready for Link and I's date, the set up, the talk we had outside, the walk back home, the break in, jumping out the window, Link suddenly being there...

My eyes shot up and I knifed off the bed. I looked around, and saw the spot next to me was empty. I knew he was here last night. It all felt too real to not be real. He came for me, I had called him and he came.

I threw the covers off me and looked down at myself. I was wearing a clean shirt over my bra and underwear. Images of what happened last night came back to me and I groaned out in embarrassment.

Damn it, I practically begged him to carry on after he stopped.

I wanted to scream in my pillows but knew that I didn't have the luxury. Events of last night were not something easily to brush aside and direct your focus on hot make out sessions with your sworn enemy.

I got out of bed and slowly etched towards the door. I opened it carefully and stuck out my head, looking in both directions. It looked painstakingly neat and tidy, not one thing out of place. I could hear the faint mutter of the TV on downstairs and someone was in my parents bedroom.

My heart started racing involuntary, already assuming we were in danger and I nearly followed suit. But I allowed myself to take in a quick breath, stayed alert but didn't leave my bedroom.

Until I saw my mother strolling out the bedroom. She looked the same, even though I haven't seen her in a while. Her light blonde hair was hanging down her back, not one strand taking their own way. The outfit shouldn't have surprised me since it had Joanne Shea written all over it, but with how well the nude pencil skirt and the plain white blouse were put together made me realise that nothing fazed my Mother. Even if her only daughter hated her guts.

Her face, surprisingly light with the make up, was scrunched up in a deep frown. I could bet it was due to the phone being plastered to her ear and she didn't like what she heard.

"Make it work," she clipped into the phone before hanging up. She let out a small agitated sigh before putting her phone into her purse, her head still down and walking towards me. She still hadn't spotted me but when she walked past the toilet, and lifted her head up to look at my bedroom door she nearly did a double take.

"Orianna," she gasped, her hand flying to her chest where she clutched on her blouse tightly. "What on earth are you doing?"

There was no pleasantries exchanged, no "where have you been? I've been worried sick!".

"I'm just grabbing a few clothes," I lied. Somehow telling my Mother that I slept over didn't seem like a good idea, mainly because I'd create a dent in my own ego. I didn't want to prove her thoughts right by returning home after an outburst even if it was true. I did come back home. I came back and so far nothing good came from it.

She looked down at my attire, the shirt dangling just down to my thighs. I've been living with her all my life, it would be naive to think she didn't know my just woken up face and outfit. She knew I slept in my own bed last night, but she wisely decided to no comment about it.

"I'll prepare some breakfast for you," she said and that was it. I watched her walk down the stairs, not looking back at me once. You'd think that, what with everything that happened between us, there would be more to say. But it was clear that my Mother had nothing else to say.

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