Page 37 of The Loathing

“I know, it’s brilliant.”

I let her have a moment more as I stare at my bedroom door, I suppose I should go downstairs. I inhale deeply and hold it for a moment until I let it exhale slowly.

“Did you still want to meet in town? I saw a dress weeks ago and I am annoyed that I didn’t get it.”

“Please learn from this, you always do this,” I groan.

“You know me so well… so, you game?”

“Yeah, twelve meet? I’ll pick you up seeing as you still haven’t learnt to drive.”

“Why would I learn to drive when I have you?” and I smile.

“Exactly.”

“See you at twelve.”

“See you then.” I hang the phone up and flop down on my bed. I turn to look at the fresh daffodils my mother put in my room yesterday, bringing a little bit of colour to my very dull room. Well, I don’t think it’s dull but to an outsider it probably is.

My walls are an off white, they almost have a cream feel to them in certain lights. My bedframe is a black metal, four poster queen-sized. I have black frames sitting on the wall opposite my bed with some of my abstract paintings. Most of my paintings just sit collecting dust, only a few have been put around the house. But that’s more on my parents than me, I am quite happy having them sitting in the glass outbuilding under dustsheets.

My father swapped all my light switches from chrome to black, and I had off white bedding with cream and black scatter cushions.

Boring.

But I liked it and that’s all that mattered.

A soft knock on my door has me sitting up, pulling the duvet up and round my chest.

“Amora, darling.” my mother’s soft voice breezes through the room, the wind dancing in the trees outside.

“Morning.” I give a small smile as she enters my bedroom and pulls back my heavy, black curtains, letting the sun stream through the windows, lighting the room up.

“Breakfast is just being dished up; will you be joining us?” she asks as she begins trying to tidy my bed whilst I am still in it.

“Yes.” I throw the covers back and slip my feet into my slippers as I stretch tall. I pad over towards my bathroom and grab my waffle dressing gown and wrap it round my frame.

I enter my room and see my bed all made up, cushions karate chopped in the middle, and I smile softly.

“I can make my own bed, you know.” I wink.

“I know… I just…” my mum turns and spins to look at me.

“I know.” I nod gently and I notice her eyes roam up and down my body, her brows furrow, “Do I need to get dressed?”

“Well,” my mum clasps her hands together, her lips pursing into a pout as she tries to fight her smile. “I mean, it couldn’t hurt… there is an extremely handsome young man downstairs and…”

“Fine,” I roll my eyes, stomping into my walk-in wardrobe as I scan my clothes. My cheeks flush at how embarrassed I felt when I caught my reflection last night when I shut myself away in my room and I had lilac paint smeared into my cheek, my hair wild and loose.

I was a sight.

And not a good one.

“Is it warm out?” I call out.

“Not particularly, still got the British chill in the spring air.”

“We need to move somewhere hot.” I groan.

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