My alarm clock buzzed loudly, forcing me to rise from such a deep slumber. I groaned and slammed my fist on the clock, desperate for the silence to encompass me once again. The lump of plastic moaned but persistently carried on buzzing. Shoot me now! Then I’ll be able to sleep peacefully – with no interruptions. Or maybe not...especially if there are gravediggers around or you never know, I might rise as a zombie or something non-existent. I yanked the wire out of the wall, grabbed the clock and threw it across the room. Quiet, at last.
Eventually however I had to say farewell to my beloved bed. My mother had barged into my room and quite literally dragged me out of it. But that was not the end of it. I did my fair share of yelling and complaining. She had stayed strong nonetheless and refused to let me stay at home. If my father didn’t work from seven to seven every day he might have been able to persuade my mother to let me bunk off. He wasn’t exactly a very good role model but if I had to choose my favourite parent I would pick my father. My mother could beg and I still wouldn’t choose her.
“Mum you have to understand there is nothing for me at that school!” I screamed as she threw a pair of jeans, a tee and underwear at my face. I ducked just in time as she threw a belt my way but when I stood I was hit full force in the face by a pair of high-tops.
“Is it so hard to be a little compassionate for once in your life, mother?” I growled rubbing my forehead.
“Just get dressed Mila,” she snapped before leaving my bedroom and slamming the door behind her. I grabbed my clothes off the floor and headed into my en-suite. Maybe a nice hot shower would release some of the tension I had in my body. After my shower I rubbed myself dry and blow-dried my hair. I was lucky in some ways my hair was already naturally straight. However, that was pretty much the only style I could do. It hung in long brown strands, sure my hair was decent but if I could be bothered I would cut it or colour it but I prefer to stay away from time-consuming tasks, they are relatively boring. Once I had dressed and slapped a bit of make up on I reluctantly made my way downstairs and shoved a slice of bread in the toaster.
“Lose the attitude, Mila, or I’ll shut you in your room for the month,” my mother ordered as she grabbed her bag off the kitchen table and crossed her arms.
“That’s the problem though, mother dearest,” I spat, harshly. “If you spent more time at home and less time at Mr. Crenshaw’s you’d know that I always stay in my room.”
“How dare you speak to me like that? Mr Crenshaw is a businessman from your father’s office-”
“Even worse,” I interrupted. “Maybe I should inform your husband of your...shenanigans.”
“I do not have to stand here and listen to such nonsense, I’m leaving,” she growled before turning around and heading for the front door.
“Good, at least then I won’t have to be in the same room as such a hypocrite!” I yelled as my mother slammed the door. The toast popped up looking slightly burned. I had never been good with food. I had nearly burned that house down a few times trying to cook pasta. I slapped a bit of butter on it, slung my bag over my shoulder and locked the door on the way out. Just because I was in the mood to cause trouble I took the spare key from under the flower pot. The stupid fool had forgotten to pick up her house keys on the way out and I was going to the library after school so she’d be standing outside until I got home. Please God, let it rain.