As per usual, I'm interrupted from my bleak darkness by the sudden blaring of random music from the radio. I don't keep up with modern songs since my general favourite bands are things such as FFDP or Metallica - Father's tastes rubbed off on me in childhood.
Rolling out from under the sheets, I stumble over to the device producing horrific sounds by some autotuned 'musician'. Honestly, I would have been kicked off of a music course for complaining about the awful tragedies current singers are creating. The amount of rants I've been on to The Squad when they try getting me to listen to the radio; it appears to be one of their favourite pastimes.
In an attempt to turn it off, I smack my hand down onto the off button only for it to smash under the minimal force. The loud cracking noises echo from wall to wall, slipping underneath the slot below the door. I can't help but cringe, hoping no one else heard it.
Taking my phone off of the charger besides the now destroyed alarm, I flick through the messages asking if I am in today. Typing out a quick response to each, I put it back down to gather my supplies for a morning shower. The amount of sweat still tainting my skin from last night has only thickened through my sleep.
With clothes and a towel under my arm, I creep down the corridor in the hopes Mother is still asleep. Typically when she's at home, she doesn't crawl out of bed until lunch time due to staying up all hours to get extra work done. Dad is also an early bird, so he's probably already downstairs and getting stuff done while she catches up on all of the rest she's missed out on.
This week, I've probably taken a total of thirty showers. Ever since getting back, I can't get rid of the dirty feeling that's always creeping along my spine. My OCD used to be horrendous when growing up, I had rules that ruined my life. I couldn't leave the house without doing the same routine every day. If I messed up or got distracted, I would have to start all over again. It was the reason I was always late to school or gatherings.
I ended up getting medication and counselling, both of which I no longer need since it is now manageable. I created a morning routine a few years back that I always follow, but if plans change then I have to push myself to accept it and remind myself that everything is alright.
It only takes me about fifteen minutes to shower. I managed to get my speedy shower skill up a few years back; shampoo and conditioning as well as exfoliating and washing my body. One of my best developments. Considering the thickness and length of my hair, I'm still surprised I can get it taken care of in such a short amount of time.
It only takes ten more minutes to get dressed and style my hair, giving me plenty of time to eat breakfast. I take a final look in the mirror, deciding I look pretty good. I never bother with makeup, I personally see it as a way to conform to society's ideals, though I understand that isn't the case for everyone. My friends see it as enhancing their favourite features.
I've always stood out in a crowd with my style, but since starting Sixth Form, it has only drawn more attention to me. Our uniform is rather laid back, we have a dress code that has certain requirements but they still want us to express ourselves. As long as we are in trousers or a skirt with a shirt and tie, we can do what we want.
When I first started, I got called into the office a lot for my clothing choices. The issue was soon dropped when they realised all of my clothes meet their regulations. Plus they seem to give me special treatment for my parents and grades - which often pisses me off.
Today's choice is casually flattering with faux leather skinnies, a dragon chain belt hanging from the loops. Being careful not to prick myself, I secure some safety pins to the cuffs of my black blouse that I've rolled to stay above my elbow. Since it doesn't have to sit properly until I get to class, I let my tie stay around my neck with a lot of slack.
I remember a year back when some classmate decided to be a dick and call me a 'slut' among other things for the way I present myself. That soon changed when I volunteered to help them out when they began failing the class. My personality always makes people second guess their judgments, a simple weapon to hold in my back pocket.
Opening the door, I am engulfed with the delicious smell of perfectly cooked food. My Father's cooking is always amazing, and it saddens me that I only get to taste it when he's at home. Over the years, I've become accustomed to thriving on McDonald's or Domino's. He's the home maker, she's the business head despite both being the owner's of a large company.
When Mum's had a few drinks, she always tells me about when she first met him. She thought he was gay because of his sense of style and 'stay at home' Dad vibes. That's until he kissed her at a party and nearly had a panic attack over it. She basically fell in love that second, he was wrapped around her finger long before that though.
Too eager to see what he's dishing up, I dash down the stairs only to almost trip over myself in the process. Though I do have to catch myself on the last step when I cockle on my ankle and hurtle to the floor. I hear him laughing from the stove. He must have turned when he heard me thudding down the steps from the way he appears to have seen everything."You sound like an elephant." He chuckles lightly, turning back to the oven to watch what appear to be scrambled eggs.
"Is this for me?" I turn my voice sickly sweet. "Your Mother threatened me, I have no choice but to make you breakfast while we're here." We share a gentle snicker at my Mother's expense.
Collecting a breadstick from the jar beside the fridge, I take up a spot on the counter. He turns to face me while the bread fries, instantly giving me the concerned Dad look to which I raise my eyebrows. "What's that look for?" Might as well fill the silence even if I do know the answer. "What are you wearing?"
"Clothes." I wink, he should have known what he was walking into. "You know what I mean, does it meet the school's standards?"
"All of my clothes meet their guidelines, we've been over this." His head tilts in response. "I am a good girl, I follow the rules." I shrug my shoulders, blinking rapidly while making a face of innocence. "I wouldn't say that..." Cheeky Bugger grins. "Hey! I am a perfect student."
"Only because you're smart. Any other school would kick you out for those." He motions to the trousers, making me scoff. "Probably, but my skills keep them quiet." No emotions are shown in my words, I don't know what would happen if I didn't have my brains.
"I'm assuming you're hungry." He holds out a plate stacked with cheesy eggs and buttery fried bread. I make grabby hands like a child when he keeps it just out of reach.
He lowers it just enough for me to snatch it up and start scoffing down the calories. My stomach hums about finally being filled with the delightful nutrients. I've never been so happy that he believes in the first meal being the most important. He's always given me more than I can eat due to thinking I'm too skinny, but with my current appetite I doubt there'll be any leftovers.
"We're not going to be in tonight, so I'll send you some money across. I don't want you burning the house down." He smirks, arms folded over his chest. Pointing my fork at him, "My cooking isn't that bad."
"Last time I let you near the oven you burnt a tea towel." He takes my now empty plate, piling more onto it without a second thought. "What you wanting to order? I need to know how much to transfer."
"We both know the answer to that," my cheek is stuffed with a large shovel of eggs. "Pizza it is then." The sound of his eyes rolling makes me grunt. I can already taste the beautiful unhealthily fattening meal. "Make sure to at least get a salad on the side, she's going to be asking for evidence you've eaten something with at least some vitamins in it."
"The order I get is perfectly healthy." He passes me a glass of juice, seriously doubting me. "The amount I pile onto my pizza provides plenty of nutrients from the eat well plate." Downing the drink, I place the again barren dish into the sink.
"What classes do you have today?" He takes a sip from his mug, the smell of the bitter bean juice forces me to get my own. "Just Economics, but I need to go see my other teacher's."
"Don't think I didn't notice all of the secret work you were doing." He smirks, bringing a glare out of me. "Trust me, I'm not going to tell your Mother." We both shiver at the thought of her finding out I've been going behind her back, she's a scary woman at times.
"Refill?" He holds out the jug of coffee. I pass my mug over, waiting eagerly for another drink of the caffeinated darkness. "Think they're going to make you do more courses? You've nearly finished these one's, right?" He sips happily, sighing as the brown liquid slips down his throat. "Don't think so. I've got the exams left to do, then I have completed the entire course but there isn't really enough time to do the work for many more. I may look into doing an entirely coursework based class just to fill time."
"There's only twelve weeks left, will you have the time for all the work?" He checks the time, "I don't know."
"Maybe you should try the food tech course, get some advice on not poisoning people." I jump down, hitting him on the arm. He grunts at the sharp pain then proceeds to snort.
"The choice is yours. I have to go up to the office and get some paperwork done before we leave. Have a good day and tub up any leftovers." I stare at the remaining delicacies. "If you finish the coffee before you go, clean up the jug as well."
"Will do." I stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek before he drags himself up to the second floor where his office is. Mother's is in the basement to accommodate all of the files while his is mainly a desk and computer.
It was his idea to renovate most of the house when they moved in eighteen years ago. The decision left us with six fully furnished bedrooms and two offices. Each room has an en suite apart from mine with it being the loft conversion. Two of the spare bedrooms have been claimed; one for Rosie and Oliver, the other for Carter. The couple stay here to keep me company, while it is Carter's safe house.
Making sure to follow his orders, I separate the food into two containers - one for her and one for him. From being obsessive workaholics, they often skip or forget about meals. It's often up to me to remind them to eat. I then down the last of the drink straight from the source and rinse it out under the tap.
The final five minutes before I need to leave are spent rushing around to get all of my stuff together. Having a few weeks off means my bag is practically empty, and I forgot to put everything back last night like an absolute idiot. This has resulted in running around like a headless chicken.
I've had to carry around so many textbooks these last couple of years that I've become an amateur bodybuilder. Each book is at least three hundred A4 pages.
Slinging the bag over the top of my jacket, I tighten the straps to secure it from throwing me off balance. I then have to force my feet into my boots, they've gotten too small for me recently. However, I refuse to buy a new pair since they are my favourite pair of shoes. Knee highs with a bullet strap and three inch heel are difficult to come by.
Speeding into the garage via the side door, I zip up my jacket and pull my gloves from the pocket. I snatch up my helmet from the table before running over to my Queen Bee. She's a stunning matt black Yamaha R-six. Technically, she's against the law. Seventeen year olds can only ride one-two-five cc, she's six hundred.
I bought her from a scrap heap last year after she'd been damaged in a car accident. She was deemed too broken to fix up, until I bought her. It took me about six months to have her fully repaired and roaring again. I've also made a few modifications, she can now run on nature trails and run up to five hundred MPH.
Before long, we're in the driveway waiting for my bluetooth to sync with my phone. I upgraded that also, I can now form texts on the group chat by speaking my message out loud. It also means I can listen to my music whilst being able to hear the road around me. Sometimes I think I should have chosen more technical courses as well.
Throttling her up, the new messages ring in my ear with the help of that annoying Google voice. Releasing the clutch and kicking off, I speed down the street, flipping open the visor enough to feel the breeze on my face.
I've become an alarm clock for the rest of the neighbourhood over the last five years. When they hear me, they know it is time to set off for their own jobs. Although I get a few glares from the older folk because of my extravagant mode of transportation, most here still adore me. I'm a respectful young lady that helps out and converses with the entire town.
Composing the message while waiting at a red light, I observe the primary school students stumbling over the crossing in somewhat of a straight line with the selected escorts at front, middle and back. My favourite little girl waves, I mimic.
Shoving up the screen, I smile down at her, causing an adorable giggle to brighten my day. She's one of the last to cross, and the light changes to green. Passing by, she claps as I leave a gentle wind behind.
I allow the almost instant responses to speak to me before turning on my music for the remainder of the journey. 'Wrong side of Heaven' blares into the compact space, making my head bounce along to the beat.