May 31st, 2018. Thursday, 08:00am.
The heat in the kitchen is suffocating. The room is too small, so when we use the stove, it's like we're cooking ourselves. I'm sat on the rickety seat that's marked with years of wear and tear, holding loosely to the piece of burnt toast Keaton made for me. It's swimming in butter that's melted over the two minutes I've been sat scrolling through my phone, and I can't bring myself to bite into it as I look through the most recent Unsolved Murders in the country. Scotland isn't very big, and some would say that it adds to the beauty of it, but our little town of Reedmurr has been off the maps for years. We don't have much, but we have enough that none of us ever really leave here.
It's like this odd sense of belonging that only we can understand. Things are different here, we've grown up with that because we've had to, but it doesn't stop me wondering what it would be like to leave, to get away from this God awful town and the memories that have come with it.
"I know you're mad, but I don't think I deserve the silent treatment, Jo."
My eyes lift from my phone to the form of my brother as he leans against the counter beside the stove. He's got his toned arms folded over his chest, his right eyebrow raised towards me. His face is still young looking, and I suppose it's to be expected when he's only twenty-six, but I remember how my dad used to look when he came home from work. The Police here are always run thin, and despite our town's suffocatingly small atmosphere, the place is actually quite large. There's enough to keep everyone of all ages occupied; bingo, bowls, and golf for the older generation, football for the boys, shops for the girls, parks for the kids, and work for the adults. There's even a library for those who want to escape from the town, but don't have the necessary materials to do it.
I sigh, leaning into my seat as I move my toast back on to the chipped plate laying on the scarred table in front of me. My lips lift gently at him, head shaking softly, and my blonde curls splay with the action.
"I'm not mad at you," I reply softly. My thumb pushes against the lock button on my phone, and I lay it face down as I listen to the bubble noise it makes as the screen shuts off. "Your cooking sucks, so if I'm mad about anything, it's that," his deep chuckle brings a slight warmth to my chest. I can't remember the last time it was that easy to make him laugh. I let it hang in the air for a moment longer, savouring the sound before my fingers begin to play with the crust of the toasted bread in front of me, my eyes tracing over the scars of our war worn table. With a shrug, I adjust myself in the seat, sliding into it slightly further. My legs cross at the knees. "Besides, it's good to see you eat before you go to work. That's the first time in two weeks. I'm impressed."
baratheonpilled
kianamaiart
annaxmalina
germansingergirl
dededos
romaincrisis
