Their Average Morning


The sweet scent of fresh bread awoke the sleeping girl. It was no mistake that her troubled dreams had denied the sleep she desired. Despite pleads of her mind and body, her pale legs unsteadily carried her from her soft bed to the bathroom. Looking at herself in the mirror, a small smile graced her face, but it soon faded away leaving her face with an expression of complete and utter misery.

This was her morning routine: waking up from upsetting dreams to an all too familiar scent of bread. She would walk to her bathroom and stare, if only for a minute or two, at herself. To her, it was an almost sad and depressing morning custom.

Taking a damp cloth and cleaning her face, a sigh escaped her slightly parted lips as she turned to leave to bathroom. Glancing back for a moment, her reflection taunted her in such cruel ways. Frowning at her own image, she brought her pale, thin fingers to her face. Touching it softly, her digits traced the faded mark of a bad memory across her lips.

She sighed again, likely for seventh time that week.  "Better start the day..." She murmured to no one in particular.

"Avery, breakfast is ready!" The woman, Avery, jumped slightly with a jolt going through her spine. She was used to silence of the morning that she forgot about her temporary roommates living in the level below. But Avery relaxed at this; she was now aware that she was not alone with her thoughts.



The clatter of plates in the sink was an all too familiar sound for ears like his. It was even annoying sometimes... But, putting that to the back of his mind, he pushed himself of his queen-sized bed and leisurely walked to take a shower.

Moments later, he stepped into the main room of his apartment, or in other words: his kitchen, living room, study, and dining room all in one. It was small-compact really. The creamy walls were comforting and gave him a "vintage vibe" while his furniture was moderately modern: not too many designs and it was simple, but still considered fashionable.

He found two figures playing some sort of childish game on the counter in the kitchen and a meal waiting for him on the table. "Eggs and bacon? She shouldn't have," he thought with dry humor.

Catching sight of the man, the nanny's mouth twisted into something disapproving followed by a frown. "Put a shirt on, Damien," Stephanie scolded, referring to his half-nakedness, "You'll catch a cold."

Damien shrugged without as much as reply or an expression; he simply gulped down a cup of orange juice and took a couple of bites out of an apple.

Another scowl from the blonde nanny, but her question was voiced by a less threatening person: his adoptive son who was previously giggling madly at Stephanie's never resting need to tickle him. "Photo thingy?" Taylor questioned, cutely for a six year old.

The man nodded, reaching out to ruffle the boy's blonde locks.

Taylor continued his questioning with his tone drifty from curiosity to innocent wondering hope, "With Aunt Gabby?" Remaining unspoken, Damien nodded again but with the silent and unspoken thought of Gabriela and her fury to his tardiness floating inside his head.

Stephanie took over the brief easy and innocent exchange of words. "At this time? Why always so early?" Ah, but she was unheard. Damien pulled on long sleeved shirt on, grabbed his coat, bag, scarf and keys.

"At least fix that darn bed head or yours." He already slammed the door closed.

The End

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