I walked into the bathroom, trying not to trip over my own two feet. My attention was quickly grabbed by the sheer size of the Jacuzzi. I was talking about a tub that could comfortably fit at least five people. And this was just the beginning. The walls were decked out in fancy wallpaper with intricate designs and patterns. The floor was made of marble. I mean, who the heck had marble floors in their bathroom? Rich people. That's who.

There was a pair of sinks that were as big as my entire kitchen sink combined. The faucets were so high up that I had to balance on my tippy toes to reach them. And let's not even discuss the shower. It was like a freaking waterfall. I could have taken a shower and still had room to do a full-on dance routine. But the real kicker was the walk-in closet. Yeah, you heard that right. In the bathroom! I was not joking. It was even bigger than my actual bedroom.

It was quite puzzling to me how Mr. Cross, a simple substitute, managed to afford a luxurious stay at the top-class hotel in the city. Well, at least it did not seem like he was dealing drugs. Damn. I hope I was not wrong. I mean, I love to get high and all that shit, but I sure as hell did not need all the drama that came with fucking a drug lord. Not that Mr. Cross and I were fucking. At least not yet. But you catch my drift, right?

My beautiful readers. Although it may sound crude, I could not help but feel relieved that Mr. Cross did not join me in the shower. Don’t get me wrong. I had hoped he would, but in all honesty, I was incredibly thankful that he did not. I seriously could not believe how many things went down between me and Mr. Cross in less than twenty-four hours. It was definitely overwhelming, and my mind was still reeling from it all. Your girl had to take a moment to calm herself down and gather her thoughts.

So, instead of my usual boring shower routine, I decided to switch things up a bit. Why not get fancy and take a nice bubbly bath? Without even hesitation. I grabbed the bubble bath liquid and poured a generous amount into the water. I turned on the faucet. To my delight, the tub quickly transformed into a sparkling oasis of bubbles. The bubbles were big and fluffy. They smelled like lavender and vanilla—my favourite.

I submerged myself in the warm water and instantly felt rejuvenated and pampered. I let out a content sigh and leaned back and closed my eyes. Before I entered the bathroom, my gaze fell upon the clock in the living room, and I took note of the time. I was certain it was around midnight now. Needless to say, I was officially eighteen years old.

In the beginning, I had the night all planned out. Drinking. Getting high, and maybe even hooking up with some random person. But now that it had finally arrived, I just wanted it to end immediately.

Throughout the course of one single day, I managed to accomplish a multitude of tasks that I had not done in months. My body and mind were exhausted, as if they had been overworked and pushed to their limits. Despite this physical and mental fatigue though, the last thing I wanted to do was think. Thinking only brought me to the heartbreaking realisation that it would be my first birthday without my mother.

This thought alone was enough to make me want to numb my senses with alcohol and weed. My mind was filled with a mix of nostalgia and sadness. I wanted to sleep. To not deal with any stress. I just wanted to check out for a while. Or maybe forever.

I was sobbing as I asked. "Mother. Why did you have to pick that damn idiot?"

In the past, I had asked her about Chump. She responded with a hint of playfulness, saying, "Thea." She went on to explain, "Love isn't something we actively choose. It's something that chooses us."

At that moment, I wondered what the hell she was sipping on. And if her words held any truth: Why did Chump have to fall in love with my mother, out of all the people?

The absence of that piece of shit in our lives would have allowed us to thrive even more.

 

I was not sure how much time had passed. But I slowly opened my eyes, and a wave of confusion washed over me. My mind was foggy, and I struggled to make sense of my surroundings. When my eyes adjusted to the bright room, I realised with a start that I was inside Mr. Cross's bedroom. The stark white walls and minimal furnitures were a stark contrast to the cluttered chaos of my own bedroom. I could not help but feel out of place in this unfamiliar environment.

As my surroundings came into focus, I looked around and saw a woman sitting in a chair and Mr. Cross sitting on the bed, holding my hand in his. The sight of him up close scrambled my brain. Those vibrant green eyes and striking features should be considered a sin. God truly took his own time moulding this perfection.

"Mr. Cross?" I asked, my voice hoarse and weak.

At the sound of my voice, he quickly looked away from the woman sitting on the chair and met my eyes. He gave me a warm smile, but it looked strained.

"Yes, it's me. I am here.” He gently squeezed my hand. “How are you feeling?"

My mind raced with confusion. I did not understand why I was inside Mr. Cross's bedroom. His eyes, usually playful and mischievous, were now filled with worry.

Despite the strangeness of the situation, the sharp pang in my head reminded me that this was not a dream.