𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯; 𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘪 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘰

·˚ ༘ 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦

         𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘚𝘖𝘍𝘛 𝘛𝘖𝘜𝘊𝘏 𝘖𝘍 my mothers lips meet my head. it's an all familiar sense to me, a greeting she used since i started talking. putting down the soapy plate, i face her.

her smile shining back onto mine. she purses her lips, moves to where we're shoulder length apart from each other.

"so..." she starts, the gaze she's holding with me already suggests the question she might ask. "did you do your homework?"

a groan escapes my lips as soon as the words leave her lips. stopping the chore i was tasked with to face her, she gives me a 'sorry, but no sorry' expression in return.

"mom, really?" i grumbled, dragging out her name in annoyance of the question. "yes really," she snaps back as quick as i respond. her goal is clear to see, but i'm not as eager to complete it with her.

"i'll finish it, i promise." lying though my teeth, i turn back to the grimy dishes. attempting to cut off the conversation or move onto another topic without making it too obvious.

"rome won't do it, she's lying," my dad boasts, his heavy footsteps entering the kitchen. a slight grunt being heard among a slight thump of something hitting the table. furrowed eyebrows now present on my face as dad mets both of us.

he greets my mother with a quick peck to the cheek. my moms smile returns, appearing to forget about integrating me for a moment. grabbing the green towel, i wipe my hands with a step in my actions.

"come on rome, we've talked about this,"

"i know—i'm doing it now." dismissing myself, i put the crinkled towel down on the marbled tile. feeling the bruns of my parents eyes while walking up the stairs. i don't have the intention of getting into another argument about them with school.

the old stairs creak with each step i take, wood floors matching. all i can mange to hear from downstairs are the husked mutters of my parents talking. i don't bother to ease drop more.

closing the door behind me, walking into the room i've had even back with my tiny crib. it's made some major changes, including the mural of many princess off the walls. my bed is near the wall, an open window letting out a breeze with noises of the neighborhood.

a few steps and crouching down allows me to reach under my pillow. rummaging through the white sheets until i find what i'm looking for—an old music player and a book.

pushing my pillows aside, i make room for my body to sink into the soft mattress while leaning against the headboard.

the book looks and feels old, the rough hardback having seen better days. its pages stained and dog-eared, and yet i wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

grabbing the old player next to me, i click play. fitting the plugs into my ears, the hazy small rhythm of jazz starts playing. i can't complain, especially with what i'm holding being highly illegal.

it could serve me harsh punishments from the reestablishment. it makes me feel icky at the thought. punishments never are taken lightly, no matter the person or their position in class.

it'll always haunt me, the first time i witnessed one. a young boy beaten; his screams from that day still enter my dreams.

pushing the nausea behind, i open the book to the page i left off at, and the words wash over her like a warm bath. finding the last page i left on with an flushed out blue tab, i reminisce on the last chapter. it was a heartbreaker to put it lightly.

books and music are my escape from everything as cheesy or pathetic it might sound. sure, friends can give you much. but

in my opinion, nothing can top the giddy feel you soak in after completing a book or hearing a song be released from your favorited artist.