The Beginning (Ch. 1)

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Always so repetitive. Wake up, breakfast, school, home, dinner, sleep, repeat.

Your POV

I woke up with a start. Another nightmare. Always the same when I have nightmares. Arguing, fighting, lights going out, and then silence that swallows me whole while I run around, panicking, wondering where everyone is, wondering why they left me.

I sat in bed for a while, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and the anxiety from my mind. I look around my room. Still the same. A nightmare is just that; a nightmare. I get up and change into normal clothes: a gray sweatshirt and black cargo pants, both men's larges. As I look into the mirror to the left my closet I see my tired eyes staring back at me.

God, I need more sleep, I think to myself as I walk towards my phone on the desk near my window. I check the time, only to be shocked by the fact that I'm up twenty minutes earlier than I need to be. I smile as I shove my phone in to a pocket and shove whatever homework is left on my desk into my navy blue backpack.

With one last look into the mirror I walk downstairs to cook breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast with grape jelly. That's the goal.

Once I'm down the stairs I place my school bag on a chair in the dinning room and head straight towards the kitchen. I grab all my ingredients and get to work. The sound of bacon sizzling soon fills the room and I start to grab two plates for my masterpiece that was nearly done.

"Honey, what are you doing up so early?"

I turn around with a smile, "I just happened to wake up and thought, 'Hey, breakfast sounds good'."

My mother walks up to me and stares at the eggs as I place them onto a plate.

"(y/n), I could have cooked that for you," mom says as she grabs the other plate for my toast, "You could have asked."

"And wake you up? Nah, I'd rather cook. You need sleep."

"But honey, your insomnia-"

I turned around and grabbed my mom's hands, "Is getting under control. I can handle waking up early once and a while. Besides, now you get breakfast without cooking it for yourself."

My mother sighed, but nodded. I smiled and quickly served my mom a plate of everything and a glass of orange juice before getting my own. As we sat down for a quiet breakfast, the Wicked Rat of the West walked down the stairs.

"Breakfast? Ready already? You're getting better," my stepfather, John, said, grabbing a fork and a bite of my mom's eggs, "Mm, and it tastes great."

"I cooked it, you scallop." I grumbled, glaring.

"Heh, really?" John said, grinning, "Needs less salt."

"Come now, both of you. A quiet breakfast for once." mom pleaded.

I rolled my eyes and ate in silence. As soon as I finished, I hurried to wash everything and head out for school. A quick kiss on my mother's cheek, a quick glare at John and I was gone. I rushed out through the gate in front of the house and sped through the weeds outside. After a few minutes I saw what I was walking towards. Who, actually.

"(y/n) early? World must be on fire," exclaimed my friend, Jack, as he pulled his headphones down.

"Lay off, brat," I grinned, playfully punching him. In return, Jack ruffled my hair and we continued to walk down the sidewalk to pick up our other friends.

Jack was a brat. A smart brat, but still a brat. Jack grew up an only child and it shows. Not because he gets stuff from his parents, but because he acts like he's some tragic genius. Under the silly, dramatic, smart exterior, Jack is a smart mouth and is waiting to go to jail for something dumb--his words, not mine. Jack is an interesting guy, and we love him. We being myself and our other friends, Eve and DeeDee. Eve and DeeDee grew up in... Less fortunate situations. They don't really talk about how, but it shows. Eve is over protective and quick to rush into something blinded by anger. DeeDee comes off as annoying, but she does so to manipulate and get something out of it. Other than that, all I know is that they're getting therapy for it and are being fostered by the same family. I'm not even sure they're related. They don't quite look it. Eve is white, paler than pale. DeeDee is blasian. Then again, Jack looks white and is actually Caribbean.

"So, why were you so early?" Jack asked.

"Nightmares." I answered, frowning.

"Again? You should do something to figure out why they happen. Or to get rid of them."

"Like what?"

"Hypnosis."

I playfully shoved Jack, "You're a dweeb."

"I'm serious! I hear it works!" He grinned.

I wish it did. That way I could forget everything. Or at least, certain parts of my life.

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