𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❪ 𝘣𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘦 ❫

6

My alarm clock beeps, a signal for me to wake up. 

I'm already awake anyway. 

I've been up, more or less, all night. 

No matter how hard I try to forget the day before, I can't. It always finds a way back into my mind. My mother's smiling face, slowly morphing into a cold, lifeless corpse is a frequent image displayed in my head. I was never told how she killed herself, and so that leaves a lot to the imagination for my inner demons to conjure up. 

So far the hospital hasn't contacted me further, apart from an email sent to me last night when I came back to my room at around midnight explaining if I changed my mind about the funeral I was welcome to call a phone number listed at the bottom of the email. 

I put any remaining thoughts about my mother and the night before to rest at the back of my mind, hauling myself off my bed, approaching my desk stacked with books, stationery, a small collection of make-up and a mirror, hanging above my eyeshadow palette: a gift from Kori on my 16th birthday, two years earlier. The eyeshadows in it are still untouched. 

I grab my face-cream, rubbing it into my pale face, laced with tiredness, whilst opening my wardrobe with my free hand. I grab a black skirt along with a white t-shirt adorned with a simple red heart in the centre: a basic outfit designed to not attract attention. Once I've got dressed, I apply some mascara and look in the mirror, shrugging at my appearance, the bags under my eyes a constant reminder of the sleepless night I've had. 

My alarm clock reads 6:27 am, approximately 2 hours and a half until my first class: ''An Introductory Lecture On Media: 9 am commencing'', my timetable reads. I grab my backpack from underneath my bed, putting essentials into it to last the day: a notebook, my pencil case, my phone and a portable charger.

Next, I go out of my room, not surprised when I notice no one else is up. My portable bottle sits on the side, next to my kettle. The main kitchen is downstairs, but I keep my essentials up here, on the side table, because they do not need many appliances to make. 

I turn on the kettle, place my backpack on the floor and go into the bathroom, to brush my teeth. Once I've finished in there, I go back to brew my herbal tea, startled to see Richard all dressed and ready sitting on the sofa, on his phone.

''Oh hey, Rich,'' I say. ''Didn't expect you to be up.'' 

''I always get up early,'' he responds. ''I go to the rooftop garden to watch the sunrise. It's what I always do.'' 

''Ah. Right.'' I put the lid of the bottle on, securing the heat of the tea inside. 

''Have you been to the roof yet?'' he asks. 

''Yeah,'' I recall last night again: Garfield finding me there, and how I had a complete breakdown in front of him. ''It's a nice place,'' I half-lie. It is a nice place, with all the flowers and plants, but it isn't at the same time, because I will associate it with sadness from now on, because of the tears shed last night in that very place.