I took a deep breath and ran a hand through my long, dark tangles of hair as I studied my appearance in the body length mirror. The night before had been, well... interesting to say the least. Walking in on your Dad and his wife who were seconds away from ripping each other's clothes off wasn't exactly what I was expecting. Not that I was expecting everything to just be exactly how it had been when I'd left, but to be quite fucking honest, I was thankful for my sanity and theirs that I did not manage to stroll in any later than I did.

I shook my head and turned my gaze down to the floor as I let myself crack a small smile at the memory. After a few more minutes of comfortable silence, I sighed softly and made my way over to the bedroom door, finally deciding on shoving my hair into a simple pony tail. I jogged quickly down the stairs and into the living room, my eyes widening in shock as I glanced at the time on the clock which sat comfortably on top of the black, metal fireplace. Since when the fuck did I, Lauren Branning, ever wake up earlier than 8am? This whole rehab/counselling thing must have really fucked up my brain...

Negative thoughts aside, I smiled to myself and shuffled into the kitchen, bringing a hand up to rub the side of my face tiredly. It was then that I realized that I was the only one who was actually awake at this time of day, a little taken back since I'd expected Abi to be gulping down her usual cup of coffee and stressing over how the hell she was going to pass these exams or whatever. I reached up to the kitchen cupboards and grabbed 4 different cups, placing them on the counter in front of me. I chewed gently on my bottom lip, leaning over to the kettle and turning it on, letting the water boil up inside.

I raised my eyebrows and made my way over to the fridge before opening it, managing to thwack the door against my arm in the process. I winced slightly and peered inside, spotting the unopened packets of freshly purchased food from the days before. I took a couple of them out, balancing them in a small pile in both my hands and shuffled back over to the kitchen counter, placing them all down in front of me and turning my head towards the pots and pans that were dumped on top of the untouched oven. What better way to start the day than to stuff a load of unhealthy, shittily prepared goods down your throat?

-x-x-x-

"Lauren?" my dad suddenly called from my behind me, making me jump and whip my head round to look at him. He was leant against the kitchen doorframe, his arms folded over his chest and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the sight of his 19 year old just-returned-from-rehab, never-awake-this-early daughter tossing ripped up bits of edibles onto several plates. I finally managed to regain some consciousness and flashed him an innocent grin, before turning back to the counter and getting back to work.

After a couple more minutes, the tension rising between us every passing second, I felt his hand lightly gripping my shoulder to get my attention. I took in his usual appearance of a crisp white shirt tucked into a pair of smart trousers and smiled, "Morning, Dad. I was just making breakfa-"

"I see that," he interrupted me, my mouth slamming shut at the smidgen of harshness in his voice. What have I done now? "It looks pretty good," he pointed out, nodding his head in approval towards the plate gripped lazily in my hand. "So, uh, what's all this for?" he questioned with a curious glint in his eye, gesturing to what I'd been doing in the last half hour.

"What do you mean?" I asked with another cheerful smile, wiping the grease off my hands onto my pyjama bottoms. "Am I not allowed to make breakfast for my fa-"

"Lauren," he cut me off coldly, before softening his gaze as he obviously saw me wince at his tone. He sat down at one of the chairs and tapped the chair next to it, signalling for me to sit down next to him, so I did. He reached over the cups of coffee I had already put in front of us and placed his hand over mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. A few more moments of hesitation passed by, until he finally opened his mouth to speak, "Are you sure you should be back so soon, Lo?" he started, watching as I slipped my hand away from under his and performed my signature Lauren Branning eye roll. He sighed and fiddled with his fingers, turning his gaze down to his lap before speaking again,"It just doesn't feel like you've been away long enough," he continued, a pang of rejection slicing through my heart.

"Don't you want me here?" I muttered sharply, slouching back in my chair.

He instantly shook his head in response, "No, Lauren. That's definitely not what I meant, babe," Dad murmured and exhaled a short breath. "Listen to me, sweetheart. It is absolutely amazing that you are back and willing to prove that you are ready," he went on, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "I just don't think that you're in enough of a stable condition to be facing the latest Walford dramas..." he trailed off.

I took a hard swallow and forced a half-hearted smile, straightening myself back up, "I'm sorry, Dad. I knew you didn't mean it like that," I sighed quietly, running a grease-covered hand through my hair. Stupid idea, Lauren, I thought. "I don't want you all to be worrying about me. I want you all to trust me. I know I was a complete fuck up in the past but I can promise you that I've got this. I know what I'm doing this time around," I continued, taking another deep breath to steady myself, "They taught me loads of things, Dad, back at the clinic. I know how to cope, deal with my emotions... that kind of stuff. If I don't even get the chance to prove myself then how am I supposed to?"

I closed my eyes and put my head down slightly, ready to take in the next 10 minutes of my father's usual ranting. A few moments passed and the series of shouting, screaming, eye rolls and insults I expected hadn't seemed to have come. It was silent... way too silent. "Does your Mum know?" he asked unexpectedly, snapping me out of my daze. I raised m head to look at him and stared at him blankly. What did he mean by that? "Does she even know you're here?" he corrected himself quickly, clearly noticing my struggle in comprehending how to answer. "Surely she wouldn't have agreed that yo-"

"No," I cut him off with a brief shake of my head. "No, she doesn't know I'm here. And no, she wouldn't have agreed that I could come here. That's why I didn't tell her. She just doesn't trust me, Dad. I know she has every right not to after everything that's happened but if my own mother can't trust me then who else can?" I inquired, hoping I sounded as serious, if not more, as I felt at this moment.

He nodded slowly, "Alright then," he agreed, standing up and smoothing down his shirt. "You have this chance, Lauren. Please, please don't blow it," he concluded with a pleading glance, pushing his chair back under his table as it scraped along the rock hard kitchen floor and headed off into the hallway.

It was one of those extremely rare occasions that I actually agreed that my Dad was right...