Falling for Paris

03

Chapter 03 | Life as Hell

Alone:

Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym

- Stephen King

***

The sound of door slamming woke me up from a fantasy dream that seemed to entice me leading into a beautiful journey of darkness. The darkness slowly disappeared from my sleep. I heard the sound of someone's footsteps entering my room.

I want to see who the figure is. After all, my body is limp feeling like to continue the journey back to the world of darkness that would not seem to make me feel anxious even afraid as happened in the real world.

My eyes are still closed. Yet, my ears still heard that person as if calling my name. I am still lying on my cushioned bed with a warm blanket covering my body. Until at last, someone drags my blanket along with pulling my hand to get up from the subconscious that kept asking me to come back. With a heavy heart because of this riot, I open my eyes forcefully seeing who the figure is. I see with the half eyes opened, the figure is Daddy.

Lazily, I drop myself back into bed grabbing a pillow to cover the head then pulling my blanket back to keep sleeping. Unconsciously, he pulls back my blanket asserting with enthusiasm "Paris. Come on, Pumpkin. Wake up. It's time for going to school."

"No. I'm not going," I tell him pulling my blanket back with the eyes closed.

"What do you mean you're not going?" Daddy pulls my blanket back with his hefty arms till I could not reach it.

I am awake from my sleep and sit while looking at Daddy who is putting the hands on his chest. As he gives me with a serious look, emerging the cunning intentions of my mind to pretend to be sick in front of him. Yes, it is true. I have to pretend to be sick so that I do not have to go to a new school that makes me frightened.

By putting the right hand on my forehead hence performing my acts like Emma Stone. I act doing fake cough in front of Daddy. Then, I convey showing the illness of mine.

"Daddy, I'm sick. Really sick. I don't think I can't go anywhere this time."

Good job, Paris. You are certainly a smart girl. Withstanding a giggle followed by an amused smile on my lips, I keep doing my best acting in front of him. I know he will not give permission for letting me go to school with this painful condition.

A moment before Daddy speaks, Peter steps front at me while touching the forehead with his right hand aiming to check my body temperature, "Yeah, Dad. I think she is sick.."

Apprehending a piece of his words, this makes me even more proud to do my fake illness in front of Daddy.

Nevertheless, it is all in vain when he goes on his words completely. "It's really sick of this pretty little liar." He says by glaring at me until he finally knocks my forehead firmly till making me aghast in pain. Stroking my forehead, I stare at him with exasperation.

Peter looks back at me sticking his tongue out while occupying a wooden chair powdered with glossy pink. By tucking his hands together formerly pointing me with his finger, he starts ridiculing me. "You're really terrible at doing act."

"And you're really terrible at being a fake doctor," I reply irritably.

"Paris, if you're trying to be Emma Stone this time. It's not going to work anymore." The wisdom of Daddy's talking causes me showing a misery.