Chappy 3~

The light draft in my room stirs me from my sleep this morning, the window left slightly ajar above my bed. The soft hum of jazz music is heard outside my door, a familiar sound inside the quaint house grandpa and I occupy.

I shift in my warm cocoon and turn on my side, peeling my eyes open and looking through my cracked doorway out into the hallway. At the end of the hallway is the open-doored kitchen, which shows me the small figure of grandpa, sitting at the table reading the newspaper. His fingers animatedly tap the edge of the table as he sways carelessly to the music on the record player.

I shift to my other side and close my eyes, letting the sun streaming in from the window warm my cheek.

You have to talk to him about it today.

My eyes open slowly and look blankly at the wall.

You can't just leave it until the last second. He needs to know.

I let out a groan after a few minutes of just staring at my blue wall and roll over. I won't be able to go back to sleep now that I'm thinking so much.

I push the covers down to my knees and lift my legs out from under them, the cool morning air making me shiver. The floor is cold when my toes press into the ground. I let out a very unladylike yawn before forcing myself to stand completely and grab a new set of clothes before making my way to the bathroom.

"Morning Gramps." I yell down the hallways before disappearing into the bathroom across from my own bedroom. I register a quiet mumble of recognition from the man down the hall, he's never been much of a morning person. No matter what anyone tells you, that saying about 'how as you get older you become more of a morning person', is completely bogus. He tries to not get up early, but something just always ends up waking him up.

I throw my clothes in the corner of the bathroom after clothing the door.

"Damn. I got uglier." I say to my reflection and make a face in the mirror before turning the faucet handle on the sink and beginning my morning routine. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower.

Once I'm done with my shower and have secured a thin purple towel around my long hair, I shave and then grab my new favorite lotion. It's in a glass container from within the cabinet behind the mirror. It's a pale cream color with light brown specs sprinkled throughout. I made it a couple days ago when I got bored. It's a cinnamon and honey lotion with other natural ingredients and since I have oily skin, it works really well to just keep it smooth.

I take my hair out of the towel after I finish moisturizing my arms and legs and wring out my thick coffee brown hair. I wrap it securely around myself, tucking the corner in under my arm to keep it from falling off as I begin doing my hair and makeup.

Hair goes first so I begin waving my hand over my hair and chanting a little spell for drying hair. Small heat waves start coming off from my palm, initiating the long and brutal process of dying.

About a half an hour later my hair is dry, wavy, and to my utter dismay, beginning to puff out and frizz. This happens whenever I wash it. It just doesn't want to cooperate.

Next is makeup, though grandpa has told me time and time again that I don't need it. I don't really do that much. I apply light concealer, powder, an eye shadow highlight, and then I do a pale layer of white with peach. Lastly, I curl my eyelashes and add mascara add eyeliner to my top eyelids. I don't do any base or lip makeup. Lip makeup just makes me look like a kid, or on bad days a clown.

Finally, I get dressed in some light denim jean shorts and a cute loose, white tank top. I then head back into my room and grab the tan strapped sandals from my closet floor, a miracle that I found both of them.

Heading back into the hallway, I notice that grandpa isn't sitting at the table anymore, his folded newspaper an indicator that I had been in the bathroom longer than I anticipated. I walk into the spacious kitchen and notice a steaming cup of cocoa on the table next to gramps' paper, cinnamon sprinkling the top of the mound of whipped cream. Practically beckoning me to it. I dipped my finger into the whipped cream and popped it into my mouth before moving back the kitchen and letting myself onto the deck.

The screen door slammed shut behind me with a loud pop. Grandpa was walking back up the pebbled driveway that ran between our house and our neighbor's fence. He had letters in his hand, letting me know he had just been to the mailbox at the end of the drive. His face tensing and untensing as he went from one letter to the next. The tensed face probably meant bills or letters from his children. They were beasts, the lot of them always asking for money.

His eyes met mine for a split second before returning to the paper in his hands, not registering my petite form leaning against the porch frame. After a second his eyes came back up to meet mine and a small smile found its way to his lips, making my stomach warm. I shot back a grin and backed up to open the door for him. He chuckled at my out of character actions and went inside ahead of me.

You're going to break his heart.

My smile faltered.

I watched as he went to the table and sat down after tossing the mail on top of the microwave, picking up the badly folded newspaper.

You're going to leave him all alone.

Pushing aside my inner voice, I pulled out the chair next to grandpa and picking up the mug he prepared for me. I took a sip without thinking and ended up jerking my head back swiftly as the hot liquid left a scalding spot on the tip of my tongue. I let out a whine as I held the burning spot with my index and thumb.

Grandpa peered up at my from the edge of the paper and let out a deep sigh before uncrossing his legs and folding his paper once more. Setting his elbows on the table he stared at me sternly.

I stopped whining and just looked at him with my tongue in my fingers and a questioning look in my eyes.

"Hwat?" I tried saying, still holding my tongue, so it came out in a choked voice.

"What's on your mind Mi?" Straightforward. Directly to the point. Just like grandpa to know me better than anyone.

Not that I was going to just give up without a fight.

"What do you mean?" I answered as I let go of my tongue finally, the tip tingling.

He gives me a pointed look. He knows I'm playing around.

"I've been giving you hot chocolate since you could drink it, and you know better than to just drink it while it's hot." His face softens as he seems the creases in my forehead.

He knows me better than anyone. He knows me better than I know me.

I love him so damn much.

Then tell him.

I put down my mug and turn in my seat so that I am facing him fully.

Taking a deep breath I reach over the table top and lace him fingers with him.

I open my mouth but close it as soon as I do. I don't want to tell him.

It's too hard.

He squeezes my hand in a reassuring manner and urges me to continue.

I close my eyes before I open my mouth to say anything else.

"Grandpa." I whisper. I open my eyes and make sure to give him full eye contact.

"I think it's time I leave."