eight | getting back with the ex

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october 19thdallas, america

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october 19th
dallas, america

I WAS WATCHING Chilling Adventures of Sabrina on Netflix when my mom came into my apartment. She walked into the living room, saw me, gasped and then laid her hand on her chest. I snickered at her, but she didn't find the event as funny as I did.

            "Autumn!" she exclaimed – actually, it was almost screaming as if she had a shellshock – "When did you come home?"

            "Yesterday." I stuffed my face with chips and chewed loudly. I really did hate me too, in general and in particular my eating behavior defined by loud chewing and loud swallowing, sometimes burping too, but only when the food was really good. I absolutely despised food-moaners, though, but maybe I was worse. Only did this shit around very familiar people.

            "Yesterday?" my mom dramatically grabbed her cheeks and pulled the skin down so her eyes appeared to be two times as big. "Why didn't you call me?"

            "I didn't want to ruin your fun. Where have you been?"

            "Tom's." She looked around at all the rubbish spread over the floor in both the kitchen and living room with a disgusted expression on her face. "What for God's sake have you done to your place? I cleaned up your apartment three days ago before I went to Tom!"

            "Tom," I groaned as I stuffed my face some more, "iws he ywour pwarwamour?"

            "My what? Paramour?" my mom asked while she cleaned the room.

            "Ywes."

            "What about no talking while eating?"

            "Fwuck thwat."

            "You're nasty and unmannered. Anyway, Tom and I are dating."

            "Grwoss."

I swallowed the chips and drank from my water. At least I was doing something healthy, mostly because of the major breakouts in my face. Who with the ripe age of twenty-one suffered from random acne break-outs? Exactly, Autumn Morris.

My parents had been divorced since I was eleven. I remembered them fighting a lot and it made me sad back in the days. Going through a divorce hit me harder than I ever had expected, but fortunately, I got over it without help from a specialist. My sister, Blanche, moved to England with my father, but I decided to stay with my mother. Ever since then we had gotten a lot closer and she had become one of my best friends. Lately, she had been talking to a man called Tom Davidson who lived around the corner. She met him during a baby shower. Legend had it that Tom danced to Teach Me How to Dougie when he wasn't at the gym – which he visited like all day. He sure was very buff, but to me, he looked like a big, masculine ape. No offense. I had a lot of things to hate him for, his sporty behavior, his fake-niceness, but I realized those arguments were shitty and I only tried to keep him from my mom, because otherwise I could lose her. It was immature, but I couldn't help it. We were two independent women who didn't need a man in their house.

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