ZOE’S POV

The car ride I could barely remember, nor could I remember how I came to waking up in my own bed – redressed and apt. The comforting sounds of crackling and the kettle whistling from the kitchen soon grabbed my attention, and tossing off the covers, which had kept me warm last night – my feet carried me downstairs without a care. Unlike last night.

“Morning sweetheart, how’d you sleep?”

My fathers voice was deep and dry; I could tell he’d just had an argument with my stepmother; it always seemed to become dull after she’d spat poison his way. Slipping down into a seat at the kitchen table, I let my fingers tap to their own beat along the top, reaching over to grab a glass of orange juice he must have poured earlier.

“Alright”, I mumbled loud enough that he’d hear, “Did you let me in?”
“No.”
“Must have been Emily…”

With his back still towards me; my father filled up a plate sky high with browned toast, fried vegetables and scrambled eggs. Perhaps he’d known I’d had a bit to drink – a hang over cure, although I felt reasonably fine. Elliot walked between my legs, curling his tail around my calves and purring methodically. Breaking off a piece of toast the moment my plate was in front of me, I dropped it off the side of the table, buttered side for once landing up and listened quietly as the cat munched away his human appetite.

“Much on for today Zoe?”
“No, not really Daddy – maybe work a little on a paper I have due on Friday.”
“You could go visit your mother.”
“I thought we said we were never going to mention her.”

Eyes clasping shut, I could smell the innocent scent of camomile tea being served up, the screech of chair legs drawn across tiled floors and another body; take seat for company. Eyes open; I took in the sight of my father, a once ambitious man turned seemingly weak; the grey hairs scuffed across his jaw only adding to aging defeat.

“Zoe; she’s your mother.”
“And?”
“The least you can do is…”
“Not bring her up again dad!”

Pushing myself up and away harshly, not bothering to listen to any of the feeble words thrown in my general direction, I raced up the stairs; stomach filled with anger and hands clutching into my hair with despair as I knocked on the bathroom door; each thump growing louder and louder – cutting at my fingers, tensing at my wrists.

“Alright hang on… just a minute.”
“Emily get out. I need to--.”

The door swung open before I had a chance to even finish off my sentence, my sister moving past me with wet hair draped across her shoulders – I kicked shut the door behind me, step one, two, three and brought up the little contents I had in my stomach to paint the toilet bowl a horrific colour of stained memory green. The muscles at my waist began to tense; tighten in such a way I couldn’t do anything but kneel over; forearms and forehead against the cold tiled floor. Tears built up at the corners of my eyes but like last night, couldn’t run - a gentle tap from outside the door; not a bother.

Picking myself up and turning on the shower to the hottest setting my body could handle, I peeled the night tee and sugar candy printed shorts I had on off, dropping them into a makeshift laundry pile on the floor before stepping in. Every drop acting like a cleanse, each squeal of the shower head creating a song and rhythm for me to dance to – to sway my hips with; washing away the problems, the thoughts, the past I kept reliving inside my mind. Hands pressed to the glass surrounding me, I felt my bangs wash before my eyes, which peered out to the mirror across the room – baby blue, just like my mothers. Sweet, naive baby blues that always seemed to lead me into harms way.

Finishing off and creeping back to my bedroom across the hall, the sounds of my sisters voice singing crept through the paper thin wall dividing our bedrooms, her choice of words, delicate and opaque.

‘It’s not the way you smile, that touched my heart.
It’s not the way you kissed, that tears me apart.’

“Girls, you have someone at the door.”

The call up shattered my concentration; my stepmothers voice piercing through serenity like a ghost train. I scuffled through my draws looking for underwear, a bra that could of matched and pulled an ocean blue slip dress over my head which had sat by my bedside all week; feet slipped into black leather flats and drenched hair, tucked over one shoulder with the songs of saints still coming by from Emily’s room – I took the opportunity for post haste; heading out and down to answer the door.

Walking right by my stepmother, right by my father and taking a cliche deep breath as my hands wrapped around the door handle, key turned left with an exhale and heart bursting with fear, I let the outside world drop in.

“Hey…”, I mumbled before licking my lips. I’d ajar the door enough to keep my family away from sanity and for sanity to make its move before being forced into play. The boy who stood before me was a little worse for wear than I’d imagined, although a part of me, wished I’d seen my reflection before coming down. Dressed from head to toe in blacks and grey, eyes of loathe yet kind looking down at me, I stuttered with false talk, wishing I’d let my sister answer the door.

“You here for Emily, Harry?”

My lips didn’t bother coming back together before he answered. My weight shifting left before falling right.

“Actually I’m here to see you.”

Notes

Yay! Another chapter. Thank you to everyone for the feedback; keep it coming because it is seriously great.

On another note does anyone have wattpad?

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