You’re a bit apprehensive as you come downstairs. We had a fight last night. Well, not so much a fight. I scolded you for coming home late. Apparently you were out with a co-worker? I didn’t like that at all.
I’m in the kitchen already. You can hear me moving about and you curse silently to yourself. All that time you spent mucking about in your room; you had hoped I’d have gone to meet up with one of my girlfriends today. Unfortunately for you, I was determined on having a family breakfast this morning.
It’s been like this ever since I came back home on Summer break. You tell yourself that you only have to put up with me for a few days more until I move back into my dorm. Our relationship isn’t that abnormal, after all.
The first thing you notice when you enter the kitchen is that I’m dressed somewhat provocatively. I’m a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, usually, but this morning I’m wearing a white tank top with a black bra underneath, as well as a loose, plaid miniskirt. I’m wearing four in heels instead of my usual trainers and my footsteps make a sharp clicking sound as I walk on the hardwood floor. Each footstep makes you feel a nervous tug at the back of your navel. You swallow hard and try your best to put on a manly voice, saying, “Good morning.”