I'm the Bad Boy's Princesa

Bastard

Staying bed is not helping my current state. My mind is going crazy with regret and anger. I need to let off some steam. To do that, I actually have to get out of bed. But that requires effort that I don't have. Well, there's no use in staying in bed when all I'd be thinking about is Serena. I should eat and then go to the basement again. That'll probably be my agenda for the day.

With a heavy heart and equally heavy limbs, I drag my sorry ass out of bed. By the time I'm actually fully out of bed, it's 9:04. The reflection that stares back at me from the mirror creates a heavy hatred towards myself. I can't bare to look at myself for too long. It doesn't take too long to do all necessities in the bathroom. I gladly leave the bathroom, walking to the kitchen—all the while ignoring the mirrors hung up in the hallways. The pancake mix is waiting on the counter. Ignoring it, not wanting to eat anything, I head back down to the basement.

I've got some anger that I need to let out.

Three hours passed before I left my punching bag. My muscles felt stiff but I relished in it. When I got upstairs, the pancake mix stared at me.

I simply push it away, turning to grab an apple. Taking a bite out of it, I cringe at the sour taste. Before I can even finish it, I lose my appetite. I can't deal with this. Serena doesn't deserve what I did to her. She shouldn't have to be in any more pain.

Moving to the living room, I grab the remote. I flick through the channels, nothing catching my attention. Giving up, I leave it on Freeform. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire is playing. I'll watch this.

After the movie credits end, my phone rings. I throw my head back with a groan. I knew I should have turned it off. My hands leaves the warmth of the blanket I threw over myself earlier to take a hold of it. My mother's picture shows. Great. Well now I have to pick it up. She'll smack me later if I don't.

"Hello," I say after answering.

"Hi, Jacob. How are you feeling?"

I throw my head back silently. Does she have to keep asking me that? I'm... not fine, but she doesn't need to know.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"...Alright. Did you eat breakfast?"

"Yes."

"What'd you eat?"

Frick. "An apple."

She lets out a sigh. "Hijo, I know you're hurting, but you have to eat. You'll never get better if you stay on this path. I want you to get better, please. Go make some pancakes."

My head begins to throb at the sound of her desperate pleads. Another person I've failed.

"Alright, mami. I'll go eat."

"Good, thank you. I'll see you in the afternoon. I love you, goodbye."

"I love you too," I say, before hanging up.

I toss the phone beside me, laying on the couch for a little longer. My options are either eating, or dealing with Mami's reaction later when she realizes that I didn't eat. She probably measured how much pancake mix was left before she went to work. Groaning, I get off the couch.

Upon entering the kitchen, the box stares me in the face. I'll just make one pancake, but there'll probably be some mix left in the bowl. I take out all necessary ingredients, placing them on the counter. As I making the pancakes, I'm reminded of the time our whole group had slept over Serena's house, and she cooked up breakfast—well, I helped a little bit. She is so perfect, and I ruined her. She didn't need the trouble I caused her, she needs stability and love. I couldn't give her that.