𝖣𝖾𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖢𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 [on hold]

16 | for me

XVI / sixteen

✧𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐂𝐀✧

It has been one week since mom left and to be honest with myself, it's not what I had expected.

Lately, my alarm clock has been Johnny, who is so freaking obnoxious, screaming at my face that I got to go make him something to eat which makes my headache every five seconds.

Friendly reminder... I can't freaking cook for the love of my life.

These last months are being a total mess. I have got a ton of things to finish, to start; some small projects due in a couple of days... High School is slipping away from me. It's finally close to being over.

And to top all that, dad rarely stops at home, like never and when he does, he's sleeping.

So I have turned into a nanny, a cook, and a housekeeper all at once.

Fantastic, isn't it?

Today, however, is a good day. Hunter is coming over to pick me up so that we can go finish the project at his place and Lord, I'm so eager to see him.

"Hey, Cass!" I say on the phone with a babysitter Kendra recommended me.

My mind can't come up with a reason why I didn't think of a babysitter, it's amazingly practical, and damn it I need a break from that troll.

"Oh hey, Rebecca. I'll be there in ten." Her soft voice assured me.

When I told dad about her, she approved it so quickly and with such an enormous grin molded on his face, as if he stayed home taking care of my brother twenty-four/seven.

That moment I wanted to clap back to his reaction and shout out how bad of a dad he actually is.

But I kept my cool and played the good girl he thinks I am.

"Okay, see you then. Bye," I hang up after those last words and exhale deeply as the thought of leaving my brother with a stranger pops up in my head.

To make my heart leap rapidly, the bell rings and a new notification appears on my home screen.

|H u n t e r
Becca, I'm at the front door.

Becca. Fuck.

Even with messages, this dude manages to give me thousands of fucking butterflies.

Are you being serious about this, Rebecca?

It's my damn name I'm getting butterflies to. What the duck is wrong with me?

I text him that I'm on my way downstairs, then I check myself out in the mirror for the hundredth time this morning.

Hair, braided.

Eyebrows, on fleek.

Lips, juicy.

Nails, done.

Hotel, Trivago.

I'm set.

"John Gray, you better behave yourself while I'm out with my friend!" I shout from the stairs. He must be playing Xbox or something.