Centuries

Bimbo's and Barkley's

I roll over in Justin's big bed, knowing he's not here. I sigh as I sit up, the sunlight blinding. I glance over at the clock and read 10:52. Great.

Checking my cellphone I see three missed calls from my mom, and another one coming through.

"Hello?" I sigh.

"What kind of daughter have a raised if she's not up by 10:30 am. Did you go on you're run?" My mother barks through the phone.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Boyle had us up at 9 am. I was in the shower when you called. Now Margy is showering," I blatantly lie, knowing Margy would cover for me as Mrs. Boyle, her maid that doesn't actually exsist.

"Once you're done with freshening up, what are your plans for today?" My mother asks sternly.

"Mr and Mrs. Greensdale should be back here soon. Margy says they wanted to take us to the museum," I reply.

"Which museum?" My mother rallies off another question.

"Mom, we only have one in town," I sigh.

"So they're not taking you out of town?"

"No mother," I groan. "I have to go, my phone is going to die and I lost my charger," I add.

"Did I raise you to misplace things, Eliza Belle Parker?" My mother shouts.

"It's not lady like to raise your voice, mother," I reply.

"Don't you start with me young lady, I-" Her voice stops as I press the end button on my fully charged phone.

That'll teach her to use my full name.

Now, where are my clothes?

I groan as I climb out of the bed, my feet pressing firmly to the ground. Justin needs to clean his room. Clothes are strewn every where and I can't pick out what's mine. My eyes scan the cluttered floor and spot my navy blue bookbag with brown leather straps.

I shuffle over to it and rip it open, my fingers dig and search through clothing articles because I can never decide what I'm going to wear one day, the night before. Finally I pull on a pair of ripped black skinny jeans and a gray and white plaid shirt. Pulling out my black wedges, I hear the front door opening.

Justin must be home, I think to myself as I tug on my shoes, sitting amidst the mess in the middle of his bedroom.

"Justin," A girl calls out. Excuse me?

My head snaps to the door as a brunette girl who, at the age of probably eighteen, as had one too many boob jobs, walks through the doorway.

"Who are you?" She raises a brow and places a perfectly manicured hand on her hip.

"More like who the hell are you?" I growl.

"I'm Justin's girlfriend," She smirks.

"I find it uncanny how many of you bimbo's think you're actually more than a booty call," I roll my eyes, standing up to tower over the skanky girl.

"So then who are you," She ignores my comment.

"You're worst nightmare," I reply as I pull back my arm, my hand wound in a tight grip as I release a sturdy punch to her fake nose. My ears catch the crunching sound followed by a shriek, her hands flying up to her bloody nose.

"You bitch!" She screams.

My left hand grabs my right as I position myself. I raise my right elbow and send it smashing into her mouth.

"Don't get blood in my boyfriend's apartment, he'll probably kill you," I smile sweetly as I push pass her.

Once in the hall of the apartment, I pull out my phone. My feet fly down the stairs I've walked a million times, as I dial Margy's number.