ARRANGED (Book 1) ✔

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

(Lea's Pov)

It was a Monday afternoon. I spent the day cleaning, washing and doing normal household chores. It wasn't that the house was filthy, it was just the fact I wanted to keep myself busy and if this was the best way, so be it.

It had been two days since Eric and I watched that movie and somewhat got along. I could definitely say that Eric was slowly becoming more friendly and softer towards me, but I knew for a fact our relationship wouldn't progress. That was the limit - friends.

Not that I minded.

I absentmindedly hummed a tune as I dusted around the living room, making sure to get every single spec of dust that could be seen. My mother had taught me all I knew. She always made sure both Mary and I cleaned the house properly, or it would result with a slap.

Compared to my father, my mother was definitely less abusive. Although she didn't stop my dad when he would break my bones and bruise my face - she was less violent. The worst she would ever do was a slap...or two.

Not saying they didn't hurt, though.

I continued to dust, eyeing up the framed pictures on the wall. It was all family, I guess. There were some pictures of a young, blond boy, which was probably Eric. He looked adorable. I was extra careful when it came to dusting around framed pictures. I had learnt that the hard way.

I remember once I was dusting the hallway in our house and ended up knocking off a framed family photo of us four. My mother went mad and I earned my very first slap from her that day.

It would always be a memory - not a good one, but a memory to remember.

I finally finished my task of dusting and paused a minute to let myself think. I pursed my lips as I knotted my brows in confusion. 

What now?

I've hovered.

I've dusted.

I've washed all the laundry

And I've even cooked dinner.

My thoughts came to a stop when my eyes landed on a radio placed on the coffee table. My eyes lit up and I walked towards it, pressing down on a play button. An unfamiliar pop song burst through the speakers and entered my ears. A large grin sprung onto my lips and I slowly felt myself begin to dance.

Again, I felt a memory from the past welcome itself in my mind. It was of Mary and I, when we were younger. Since our parents didn't care to buy us much toys, which would keep as amused and occupied, we would spend our days using our imagination.

I remember once we would act as if we were world, famous dancers. We would sneak in a radio, which belonged to our father, then we'd dress up, do our childish makeup; consisting of smudged red lipstick, which was our mother's. And although we knew we'd get into trouble, we still wore it.

Once we got prepped up and ready for our 'show'. We turned on the radio and began 'dancing' - what we liked to call it. I laughed at the memory, remembering how young and carefree I was back then.

If only things were the same.

I found myself slowly getting lost into the beat, a cheeky grin growing onto my lips as I danced on spot.