My Tearsoaked Heart

My Tearsoaked Heart *{7}*

I opened the door slowly, not knowing why I was being so paranoid and popped my head through the gap that I had created, observing the bathroom. It was all white and looked like it belonged in a 5 star hotel. I wonder if this was what heaven looked like, all white and bright.

Heaven, my family are probably there right now…

I stopped thinking because I knew it would lead me to another couple of endless crying hours. I lifted my hand, staring at it before slapping myself across the cheek, painfully hard. A stinging overpowered my right cheek where is chose to linger as I had a shower. I let the cold water run over me, not even feeling the cold temperature over my skin as I stood there, hands beside me and motionless.

My heated cheek stood out in the cold environment around me, surely there would be a mark there for a couple of hours. Even though there was a knob telling me that it supplied hot water I rejected the offer. The cold water felt better against my body, making me feel more numb, hoping that the more colder I was, the more dead I felt.

After what felt like an hour I turned the cold water knob off slowly, hoping to spray myself with as much of it as I could before leaving. I stood in the shower cubicle, locks of my drenched hair falling across my face, my cheek still burning. I must have slapped myself pretty hard or it was just protesting under the long cold shower. I placed my wrinkled hand from being in the shower too long lightly on my cheek, the skin feeling deadly cold on the outside though inside it was burning like a raging fire that was too big to put out.

I left the bathroom with my clothes on and hair combed though still slightly wet and walked towards the exit, not wanting to be trapped any longer in this or any room. I slipped on my black flats before entering the hallway. I had nothing else to do other than meet Owen though what Matthew decided not to clue me in on was that I didn’t know where his room was!

I groaned and made my way towards one of the kitchens that could remember the way to. It took me 5 minutes to walk there though as soon as I walked through my stomach grumbled quite loudly I might say. Plates of pancakes and syrup were placed on the white countertops, begging to be eaten. I could imagine a trail of golden scent wafting towards me as I take a deep breath of the sweet aroma.

A short man was standing at the base of a stove, frying pan in hand as he flipped a perfect golden pancake. There were at eight plates sitting on the kitchen countertop, two of them were clean of pancakes and syrups and I was wondering why he was cooking so much. He turned around, placing the pancake on one of the clean plates before he noticed me, smiling brightly. He had brown short hair, and a curly moustache under his nose and crooked though white teeth. He looked just like a French chef out of a fairytale book.

“Bonjour!” He thundered loudly, all while smiling. Well that answers my theory of his appearance.

I stared at him blankly, finding his accent amusing though not physically showing it.

“Comment tappelle tu?” he gazed at me, waiting for an answer to his unknown question.

(AN: Sorry I studied French though forgot all of it though I’m pretty sure that, that meant ‘What is your name?’ or ‘Who are you?’ Which ever one you like though you get it anyways.)

“Umm. I don’t speak French” I told him and watched the realisation and understanding flash across his old features.

“Ho Ho! I am sorry mademoiselle! What is the name of such a beautiful lady?” he questioned as he grinned happily. I could never get tired of his heavy French accent and if it was 3 weeks ago I would have been rolling on the floor and laughing though I guess things change.

“Rose” I said bluntly, face blank of any emotion.

“What a beautiful name for such an elegant lady! My name is Chef Pierre and I am the head chef of the Gray residence!” He informed me with a proud character as he told me his status. I didn’t say anything as he looked at me, as if evaluating.