Chapter 2 - Off you go

My eyes snapped open to the sound of an old rumbling car nearing our house. Slowly sitting up, I let my long wavy hair fall on my face, hiding the black circles under my eyes. Ugh, perfect. Lifting my hand to my forehead, I wiped off the drops of sweat. I've been having nightmares again. Even when I was little, I would constantly have these vivid nightmares and I would wake up screaming. I glanced at the big red numbers on the clock sitting on top of the bedside table. 6 am. Forcing myself out of bed, I walked right in to the edge of my bed, stubbing my little toe. D****t. Biting down on my lip, I waited for the pain to pass. Walking in to the bathroom, I stood in front of the big round mirror hanging on the wall above the sink. The black shadows under my eyes stood out on my pale skin making me look like a zombie.

"Dawn" a soft voice echoed through the air. I glanced at my reflection one last time before following the voice. My mother stood at the door, her red hair in a neat up do, except for that one strand of hair that always seemed to find its way out. She wiped her hands in to the red apron she had tied around her waist before walking closer to me and gently holding my head, kissed my forehead.

"Did you sleep well?" She asked, with a hint of concern in her voice. I simply smiled and turning on my toes, walked to my closet. Digging through the mess, I pulled out a pair of old ripped jeans and a black tank top.

"I'm fine, mum" I said, not looking at her but knowing quite well that she was still standing there, watching my every move.

"Breakfast's ready" she said before walking out. Sighing, I threw myself on my bed, not wanting to face the day. It's been a week since my mum had thrown that horrific news on me and today is my first day of college. I still can't believe she went behind my back and enrolled me even though we had a deal. But, it's too late now.

"Do I have to come back up?" She yelled and I pulled myself up, sighing loudly. I quickly went through my morning routine; brushing my teeth, washing my face, flipping my hair around a little until it looks presentable and that's pretty much it.  I pulled on the black tank top I had found in the closet and before I could put on my jeans I saw a brand new pair of black jeans neatly folded on my bed. I pulled them on and threw the old ones back in the closet and pulled out a wine red sweater before closing it. Leaving home is always difficult but I have a feeling this might be a good thing. I walked through the door, glancing at my room one last time, quietly saying goodbye, like to an old friend. Walking downstairs, I strode right past my mum and grabbing my boots, walked straight through the door without a word. I sat on the steps outside and pulled them on, taking my time. I wasn't really mad at her, deep down I knew she was doing all of that for my own good but she did it all behind my back and that pissed me off.

"Ready?" Dad was standing in front of me in his usual shoes, black pants, white shirt and a black vest, making him look professional. But then you look at the smile on his face, his messy hair and those big glasses resting on his nose and you can't help but smile.

"Yeah, dad" I said, smiling, and took the hand he had offered me. He pulled me up and right in to a big hug. I've always loved his hugs; they always make you feel better, no matter what. When I was little I always liked to pretend that it's his special super power. I didn’t have a lot of friends back then, so I started making up stories. Like for example, my dad was this hero that could heal anyone with just a hug. And my mum was a witch and the broom she used for pretending to clean was a magic broom and she could fly around with it. I guess that's why I've always wanted to become a writer; to give someone an opportunity to escape from their reality in to a whole new world full of possibilities.

"College isn't so bad. And I'm sure the dorms are going to be lovely" said mum, walking up to us and putting her hand on my shoulder. I kept my eyes on dad, trying not to acknowledge her. I realize I was being harsh, mean even but she shouldn't have done what she did. Living away from my parent might actually be a good thing. Maybe, just maybe it'll give me what I need to start writing again. Maybe, it's a good thing. Yeah, it's a good thing.

"Let's go then."