Chapter Text
I was created from hatred.
Crafted out of fear, out of resentment,
On a cold, red day.
Set to inherit power and use it-
To destroy.
I was born from a bad thought,
And raised on a good one.
RIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!
Ugh. Morning.
Why is it that we hate the things we need the most? As kids, we refuse to eat our vegetables, despite our parents- the first people we learn to trust- tell us they’re good for us. The teenage versions of ourselves don’t fair any better. Our amygdalas yell at us to do the most idiotic, dangerous, self destructive things possible just for kicks. Fuck self preservation instincts. I’m not an adult yet- not even a teenager- but I can safely assume by our government that adults definitely don’t know what’s good for them.
Don’t get me wrong, if someone is threatening you, by all means attack. Just know where to aim your missiles first. I’m talking to you Mr.Stark and President.
RIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!
Which brings me back to the present. Alarm clocks. Nobody likes then, but they're necessary. Annoyingly loud alerts ringing in the morning. Makes me want to just---
RIIII- SMACK
Better.
I get up from my bed and slouch over to the bathroom. My morning routine is something I’ve done so many times, it’s one of the many things I can confidently say I can do in my sleep. Everything is placed in an order that makes sense to only me. Toothbrush next to toothpaste in the bottom shelf that sticks out from behind the mirror cabinet so the air can dry up the remaining water. Hairbrush in the upper right corner because my arm is already up to brush a hand through my curly hair first thing in the morning- might as well make it work harder and reach up to equate the movement to a stretch. Ha, like I exercise .
In a nutshell, it’s an organized mess. Like me.
“Laura come down- breakfast is ready!”
Most mothers are either very nice and warm and welcoming, or strict as hell. My mom, Angie, is more like a hipster Asian teenager that never bothered with the cool crew. She dresses with zero sense in style and works as a grant writer for non profit organizations. In her free time you can find her lip syncing to 90s music on the radio when she thinks no one’s around. Fun fact: she adopted me during one of her trips to Italy, helping Ghana citizens gain Italian citizenship. She tells me my birth mother was from Ghana, fell in love with an Italian man after crossing the Mediterranean. They were supposed to marry to give her citizenship, but some tragic accident happened to my birth father and she was too affected by it to care for me. She died shortly after, “content her daughter won’t be suffering for things she had no control over,” Angie said.
I didn’t understand it.
Nevermind the fact that Angie won’t tell me what tragic accident happened. Car crash, murder, alien abduction…. whatever. My question is- why would you be so devastated that you literally die afterwards. How does that even happen? Was my birth mother a drug addict, alcoholic? No, she was just sad. And what else! Sadness doesn’t lead to death. It’s just an emotion. A “broken heart” is just a figurative term people use to describe the body’s natural response to sadness. A broken heart never killed anyone.
Half an hour later, I showered, dressed and was flying down the stairs. I almost missed my dog Penny resting on the last step. Quick reflexes allowed me to skip that step and jump down to the bottom. Penny had a tendency to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But she made up for it by being adorably clueless about it- even though Angie and I knew she knew what she was doing. Little brat.
“I gotta leave in 10 so hurry up,” Angie said. Breakfast- as usual- was a mess. Bagel bag was open, as well as the cream cheese and spice containers. Milk splats were on the counter from Angie’s previous attempts at being neat while making coffee-- get a coffee maker already! No I like to make things while I think-- and a simple black porcelain bowl was left on the counter for me to with as I please.
“10 minutes? Huh should’ve called our butler to make an omelet with a frappe,”I say.
"Why didn't you?" Angie asks
"He was busy cleaning our pool, I didn't want to rush him," I answer.
Angie lets out chuckle, "First of all, we don't know how to swim, so why would we own a pool? Secondly, since when do you care about others feelings?"
She's right. I'm a harsh person on default and easily annoyed at the slightest things. But I also have the least understandable type of humor, the kind that only 0.8% of the world's population understood. Luckily Angie was a part of that percent.
“5 minutes!” said person was now scrambling. Multi-tasking was a thing in our house. Angie was taking bites of her cream cheese and bagel while filling up Penny’s bowl with food. I was cleaning up the counter while taking bites of my cereal every time I passed the black bowl. My bag and lunch were already packed from the night before, so I scrambled to grab them both and run out the door after Angie. 12 minutes later the car was started and Angie was zooming down the streets of Brooklyn to my school. It took five minutes to drive to my school, but she had meeting in 15 minutes-- all the way in Manhattan.
“How is it that we always prepare our stuff the night before, but always end up rushing anyway?” I wonder out loud.
“Don’t question it, just put up with it,” was my answer.