Ink | Soulmate AU | ✓

ten | late

  
   Suddenly I woke up. My vision was foggy, and I didn't have my glasses, but I could just make out the time on the clock to be quarter past seven; I let out a breath of relief. Class didn't start till 12pm on Saturdays. It felt good to have slept finally, no matter how few hours. I didn't remember much of what I was thinking before I'd fallen asleep – around 4am – but what I did know was that I'd made a firm promise to myself: I was going to get my life sorted. Eat right, sleep well. Hand work in on time. Not take my life for granted so much and actually try to make myself proud.

   Ugh. I cringed at the thought.

   Wobbling a little, I stood up.

   My pink fluffy exterior – my dressing gown, not me – appeared to be covered in crumbs and cold bits of burnt toast. I wasn't even surprised at this point. On the floor next to my feet sat a mug, around half empty— no, wait. I was changing my outlook. It was half full with strong, dark coffee. I lent down, took a small sip and winced. Of course that was stone cold, too.

   In the distance, I realised I could hear a faint tinkling noise, like little bells. For a moment, a childish part of me thought of Father Christmas and began to get excited — then I remembered that I was an adult now, and began to look for plausible excuses for the sound. My mind raced. What could it be? What repeatedly made a loud chiming sound like Father Christmas? And then I realised. My phone. My phone was ringing.

   With more speed than one would have thought possible in bunny slippers, I sprinted up the creaky stairs and crashed into my ghoulish bedroom. Looking past the impressive variety of moths on the wall (the window had been open all night), my exhausted eyes struggled to find the source of the ringing— and then it stopped, just as I spotted the tired old phone on my desk buried under a pile of post-it notes.

   Slightly confused on the basis that I had no friends, I decided to check who had rang; these days I hardly ever got phone calls due to the efficiency of texting, or my use of other methods of communication that were very definitely illegal and best left nameless.

   Of course, it all made sense once I saw the name Grandma on my list of missed calls. She usually rang me about once a month, always on a Saturday, although not usually this early; she must have been getting confused— then, as I noticed the time on my phone, I almost dropped it. It was me who was getting confused. I had completely forgotten that the clock in the living room was broken and at least five hours slow. It was 12:20. I was very late. Class had long since started.

   So much for getting my life together.

   Ripping off my dressing gown and pyjama bottoms, I stuffed my legs into my old jeans and decided to leave my pyjama top on to save time; I pulled my usual grey hoodie over the top, zipped it all the way up, and began to look for shoes.

   Deciding this was futile, and that I clearly must not own any shoes, I shoved my feet back into my slippers and took the stairs 3 steps at a time. I necked the cup of cold coffee that sat on the floor next to the sofa, winced painfully, then sprinted out of the door - and arrived just in time to be half an hour late for class.

   I gulped and strode through the door.