Moving in was being more of a pain than I’d originally thought it would be. I ended up helping my parents through out the rest of the evening. Both of them wanted to unpack and sort all of the items out as fast as possible so we could establish a nice and homely atmosphere within the house. But I knew that wouldn’t happen for a while, considering the volume of boxes that were yet to be opened as we finished up for the night.
“I’m beat,” my dad said, collapsing onto a bean bag that we’d unwrapped from it’s plastic case. I shot him a glare, grumbling under my breath as I retired to the kitchen. My stomach complained, tossing and turning as it demanded a delicious meal.
‘Meal’ in my terms was basically Asian food, but on our way here, I’d noticed that the city was empty of any good restaurants. This is America – there had to be one somewhere in the niche of the town. But I know telling my parents would be of no use. They hated going out for meals. Now, I bet we barely had the chance to do so.
I raided the fridge, my eyes settling on a jar of Nutella and bread. Making myself a perfectly small but passable dinner, I headed to my room, clutching the chocolate sandwich in hand.
“I’m going to bed,” I shouted, already halfway up the stairs. I could hear my parents yell something back at me but I couldn’t decide whether or not it was an acceptance of the fact that I was no longer interested in hanging around. Besides, I had better things to do. Like break Maria’s privacy.
Entering the somewhat improved constraints of my new hole, I shut the door behind me, locking it with one turn of the key. I then crossed the span of the room to the other side. I’d closed the window, hoping not to let in any unpleasant bugs or cockroaches of sorts into my room on my first day itself. I wouldn’t want to wake up to the feel of the slimy little buggers on my feet (though I knew I was getting far too ahead of myself at the thought of that happening).