As I skip and jump towards the door I'm stopped in my tracks, a loud knocking from the other side making me grind to a terrified halt. A voice suddenly calls out from the other side, soft and sweet with a delightfully wholesome note to it.
"Tiffany? Sweetheart? Are you up?" calls out the voice, obviously well aware of the fact Tiffany had a bit of a problem sleeping through her alarms. "Sweetie, if you want a ride to school from your father you'll need to..."
"I'm awake...mom" I stammer, pausing as I find myself searching my head for the woman's name and drawing up this as the first response.
I watch as the door handle twists, the long curved silver handle shifting as the door creeps open slightly. my new mother pauses on the other side of the door, a small stream of light streaming in from behind the door.
"Are you...decent honey?" she asks softly, having been chewed out by her bitchy daughter one too many times for barging in unannounced. I'm forced to choke back a giggle in response, immediately reveling in the power dynamic that was coming into play in this house.
"Yeah moooom, I'm decent" I drone incredulously, leaning into this new persona for the time being. I could always adjust it later, or at least I hope I could. The thought of sounding like a bitch for the rest of my life was...not a fun one.
The door finishes swinging open, my gaze quickly falling onto the sweet older blonde standing in the door. She was around my own height, the fact that I was on equal standing with someone under six foot. She is around five foot five, perhaps even a little taller than that, with a short wispy mess of tousled light blonde hair dancing around her high cheekbones. Her bright blue eyes look into my own lovingly, her soft pink lips grinning as she looks at my cute outfit.
She is in her late forties to early fifties, her face showing her age as wrinkles line her forehead and spread out from the corners of her joyous eyes. She is classically gorgeous, not even needing makeup to improve her already perfect face. She shares my sweet button nose, though lacks the obvious bend in the bridge of my own.
Her slender figure is covered in an airy white nightgown, the lacy trim being visible as it covers her rather large bust. Her chest is, in relative size, smaller than my own and causes a strange sense of superiority and pride in my own body as I compare us. She is further wrapped in a shimmering blue robe, the soft silky material looking incredibly comfortable as it glides over her arms.
"So..." she says expectantly, her eyes drifting to the phone in my hand for a moment as she struggles to find the words she's looking for. "Have you heard anything about coll..." she begins to ask, my blood boiling against my will and causing me to cut her off.
"Urgh, no mom" I groan, rolling my eyes as I let out an annoyed huff.
She quickly drops the subject, seeing how I was acting in relation to that particular topic.
"Well...would you like me to make you something for..." she chirps, eager to please. Her sentence is cut short however as she begins to sniff the air. A cold chill runs down my spine, a worry hitting me as I ponder what she could be smelling. Was it me? Could she smell the soaked set of panties I had left in the pile?
"Is that...plastic?" she mutters, looking around for the source of the offensive scent.
My shoulders slump and the tension quickly leaves my body as she asks about such an innocuous thing. Looking over my shoulder I glance down at the partially melted headset, letting out a faked sad sigh as I grin down at the machine.
"Yeah, like, the dumb thing broke" I huff, pretending to be upset at the fact I'd lost the only thing that could take me from this body.
"Oh sweetie..." the older woman coos in sympathy, placing a hand on my shoulder. "And you only just bought it too. I warned you about second hand..." she mutters, pausing as she begins her 'I told you so' but decides against finishing the thought. "Come on sweetie, if you're quick your father can..."
"I was..." I begin to respond, pausing as I ponder whether I could be as forward and blatant as telling this woman that I was skipping school. I mean, the year was over, exams were done and dusted, but is that really an excuse she would accept?
"I was going to walk" I state, quickly looking down at myself. "I don't wanna get fat" I quickly follow up, hoping that something so superficial would be a concern for Tiffany.
"Sweetie you look wonderful" coos the woman, bringing me into a warm and loving embrace. A part of me screams to wriggle myself free, to be the bitchy Tiffany I looked like, but I decide to enjoy the hug instead, having missed this sort of interaction after moving out all those years ago.
"Thanks, mom" I murmur, my whole body easing up as I feel our chest squish against each other and her hands gently rub my back. "But...I still think I'll walk"
The older woman slowly releases me from the hug, lingering in it for far too long as she to appears starved for this sort of affection with her own daughter. Her smile is even brighter than before, her perfect pearly whites on full display as she looks at me.
"Oh alright, but let me get you some breakfast first...maybe some pancakes...no the carbs will...oh some cereal could...but we only have raisin bran for your father..." she stammers, struggling to think of something quick and simple so I could make it to school in time.
"Do we have fruit?" I ask, wincing slightly as I hear my bitchy tone return against my will.
"Apples!" she chirps, waltzing out of the room with a spring in her step. She quickly rounds a corner, heading to the right as she makes her way to parts unknown in the house.
I follow her out, though admittedly slower and more cautiously in the unfamiliar house. My room appears to be on the ground level of the property, though it also appears to be a single-story house regardless. The walls are painted a bright modern white, the fluted skirting matching the color exactly. The floor in the hallway is a lightly varnished wood, the earthy brown grounding the otherwise monochrome space.
Directly opposite my door is a small study, several piles of notes and plans resting atop a cheap wooden desk being flanked by gray metal filing cabinets. My gazes quickly begins to follow my apparent mother as she minces down towards the other end of the hall, her pace causing me to speed up in an effort to catch her. A small storage closet sits between my room and the next, the tiny sliver of space likely filled with cleaning supplies or spare linen. To the left is the open door to an extremely light blue painted bathroom, the aquamarine tiling attempting to theme the room in a slightly tacky fashion.
While the left wall ends, opening up into an open plan kitchen, the right hand side continues with one more room. The door on the right is slightly ajar, a messy and unmade queen-sized bed resting inside the dark and poorly lit space revealing it as the master bedroom.
The kitchen is a little cramped but still a bright and vibrant room. The walls are painted in a similar white to the hallway, the wall of cabinets matching that tone as well with an accenting black countertop creating a desperately needed change. The appliances range in age, with a shiny new toaster sitting next to a decades-old gas-burning stove.
Opposite the countertops is a large archway, the hole in the wall leading to a rather spacious living room. While the room is filled with natural light it is difficult to see clearly from this angle. A large TV rests against the wall, nestled near the corner bridging the kitchen to the living room. A vase rests a little way down on the same shelf, a long green stem rising from the yellow glass before the flower disappears behind the wall.
In the center of the room sits a small dining table, likely only able to seat four or five people with any semblance of comfort. While it looks rather nice with its glossy black veneer, it is obvious to the trained eye to be a relatively cheap Ikea table, with most of it being made of cheap materials and cardboard.
Sitting at the table is an older man, his receding light brown hair having been shaved down and styled into a slight comb-over in an effort to hide that sad reality. His slender jawline and weak chin are thankfully well disguised behind a layer of thick curly hairs, his beard almost looking as though it was eager to replace the hair on his head.
The man peers down at a tablet in his hands, swiping through the news as he sips at his morning coffee. A half-finished bowl of raisin bran sits in front of him as he reads, the remainder of the bowl slowly turning to an inedible mush as he ignores it.
He is dressed in a tight and well-fitted dress shirt, the soft green color causing his own emerald eyes to pop. His pants are a sharp black, the perfectly ironed crease along the front being the work of his diligent and loving wife. His shoes complete the look, the shiny black leather giving off the air of a serious businessman as he slowly works to finish his coffee.
"Can I have a coffee..." I ask, freezing up before I realize that I had no clue about Tiffany's drinking habits. Her dad looks up from his tablet, cocking an eyebrow critically.
"Sweetheart..." the man mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You know what coffee does to you" he states, obviously not wanting to deal with this early in the morning.
"Oh come on Charles, it's been four years since then" my mother rebuts, waving her dainty hand in a dismissive fashion before gritting her own teeth. "Though...I think we're out of milk, I don't think you'd..." she starts to muse, looking down in thought.
"Urgh, never mind!" I groan, feeling the rage of a young adult being talked down to by their elders. Walking up to the counter I snatch a small red apple before walking off down the hallway
"Sweetie!" the older man calls out, downing his coffee as he climbs to his feet. "I can give you a ride to..."
"She wants to walk today honey" coos my mother sweetly, leaning closer to the older man as she begins to whisper. "She's worried about her weight again" she continues, her voice carrying a little further than she thought it would in the quiet home.
I simply huff, struggling not to shout back in response as I approach the front door at the end of the hall. A large coat rack sits next to the white-painted two-panel door, a variety of items hanging from the towering light brown piece of furniture.
Looking at the coat rack I feel a draw to one specific item, a buzzing in the back of my head demanding that I don't leave it behind. My eyes are drawn to a small black leather bag dangling from one of the lower hooks, resting perfectly at a height where I can reach it. I aggressively snatch the bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I unzip the top. Inside I can see a few things, from makeup to a set of keys, my mind recognizing this as my purse and the final piece to my outfit.
Dropping the phone into the bag I quickly pull the door open, storming out despite my attempts to calm myself down.
"What the fuck is wrong with me?" I whisper under my breath, still feeling hotheaded and flushed as I stomp my way down the short concrete path to the sidewalk. I begin to count to ten, trying to use any method I can to bring myself back to the sweet calm manner I had left Tiffany's bedroom in but struggling to keep her emotions in check.
The houses around me all look rather nice, albeit overly similar, the shady suburban neighborhood appearing almost lazy this early in the morning. Down the street I can see families ambling out to their cars, parents and children eager to get a start on their commute.
Reaching the shade of the towering trees lining the footpath I begin to grumpily stomp my way in what I feel is the right direction, swallowing hard as I let my new sense of direction take control and hopefully guide me to my destination.
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