Cobalt

0:5

Cobalt

0:5

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(Playlist is in the external link)

        A loud, manly holler shouting "breakfast" awakens me from my sleep. Reluctantly, I pull open my eyes and groan at the time. Half an hour later than usual, how great. Realizing this kicks me into high gear and I quickly throw the covers off of my body and jog downstairs.

        As I reach the bottom of the stairs, the smell of vanilla fills my nostrils. I make my way towards the counter where the kettle sits, but Brett stops me before I open the cupboards. 

        "Made you coffee already," he says as he lifts the red polka dot cup sitting beside him. I turn to him and cock my head out of surprise. Brett hates promoting unhealthy food. This isn't of his nature. "Oh," he says as he realizes my astonishment. "I can't take the credit for this one, it was all Dad."

        I roll my eyes and study Brett who's standing at the stove, cooking up a pan of godliness. "Is that of me?" I ask, practically drooling at the blueberry pancakes sitting in the frying pan. 

        He turns to me with a goofy smile. "Considering you look you've spend the entire night fighting zombies, sure," he says as he picks up the flapjack and drops it on my plate. I look at my feet and realize that I do actually look like crap. I suppose yesterday after my shower, I washed away the smell of drugs, along with my sense of style. 

        My naked feet brush against the black and white tile flooring as I make my way to the island chair and dig into my breakfast. 

        "You know that you're gonna miss the bus if you don't hurry up, right?" Brett asks as he pours his pancake batter on the pan, resulting with a sizzle. He waltzes to the counter facing the stove and takes two glasses from the counter and fills them with orange juice. Taking a sip, I cringe. I absolutely hated pulp in juices.

        "I could not care less," I declare as I finish chomping on my last bite of my pancake. As he processes the words, he frowns, his eyes dropping in disappointment. "But thanks a lot, Brett. I appreciate it," I smile as I hurry back up the stairs with fifteen minutes left to get ready.

        I open the doors to my closet and within a minute, I pick out my outfit. The opinions of my fellow class mates are completely irrelevant to me, so, showing up at school in a band shirt and regular skinnies doesn't bother me. 

        Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I groan. My hair's still damp from the shower I took last night, and I guess I was too pissed to bother taking off my eyeliner. I look for my makeup remover wipes, but I can't find them because all of my makeup is scattered throughout my room. This ends up taking a good chunk out of my time to get ready and lessens my time to make myself presentable.

        For once, I make an effort into my appearance and it's cut short due to the bus.

        I let my hair down in its naturally curly form - the dampness will probably fade away as soon as I step outside. My eyes are still irritated from the cotton swab and water I used in replacement to my missing makeup wipes. So instead of heading to school looking like a hairless cat, I take a few minutes and draw a thick wing on as eyeliner. 

        And that's about the only time I'll get to work on my appeareance for today. The bus honks his horn and from my window, I see Brett hoping on the bus. Like a bat out of hell, I snag my black backpack that I've been carrying around for the past few years and sling it on back. 

        I go down the stairs about as quickly as burglar who's been caught would and practically miss a step. Chances are, I would've came tumbling down face first, had I not grasped onto the railing fast enough to stop myself.