I grimaced.
The overbearing scent of fresh roses, honey, and butter threatened to knock me out cold. It made me nauseous. Not only did it circulate in the entire room, it also settled on my tongue every time I took a breath.
I drifted my attention to other things to distract myself from the smell. The porcelain vase, the dirty dishes on the sink, and then towards the man in a pink apron as he danced around with a spatula waiting to flip pancakes.
I placed a hand on my mouth to stop myself from laughing.
There were indeed two kinds of walls. One painted in light purple where a flatscreen was attached to, and one that I had built around my heart- the one that was starting to crumble in the hands of a dork who sang songs off-tune.