Amaya grumbled, walking downstairs only after she was sure her mother was no longer within earshot. She, deep down, suspected that her mother wasn't the reason her dad left. A very, very small part of her believed he left because he was sick of both of them, or maybe he was just unequipped to handle a family. Whatever the case, Amaya had still lashed out at Mrs. Grant, and nothing was going to change that. It wasn't as if she could go back and manipulate time.

Besides, Amaya had enough on her plate anyway. Did her mother really think that she of all people didn't know her sleep schedule was abnormal? But try as she might, she couldn't do anything about it. It sounded stupid for her to even take it as a legitimate possibility, but maybe Opaque actually was in charge of her sleeping, at least in some form. Never before had she slept for so long on such a weird time frame.

Walking into the bathroom, a towel and a set of clothes already in there on the counter, waiting for her, she thought. If all of that was real, was what would happen to them? Why had she suddenly lost control of what used to be so calm and serene?

What would become of her and her group? And most of all, why was it taking so long for Kane to return to them. So many unanswered questions, and all she had to do to get the answers was fall back into the warm embrace of sleep. Alas, that wasn't an option. Not yet, anyway.

Amaya undressed and stepped into the shower, the matching pale blue of everything, it was so in order, so lovely. So plain. She turned on the cold water, pulling up the spray nozzle immediately. She preferred to take cold showers, especially for when that awful monster named puberty really started to hit. She didn't want to be pizza faced just because she couldn't handle a few frigid drops of water.

With the water hitting her skin and bouncing off, Amaya noticed just how cold it really was. It was always a lot colder in the beginning than it actually was, though... like a swimming pool in the middle of the summer. After a few minutes of goosebumps and shaky hands, the water started to feel like it was a temperature humans should be able to survive in.

Lathering her body with soap and reading further under the cascading water, she thought. Even when these silly dreams stopped, if they stopped, would things actually ever be normal? She was pretty sure doctors couldn't prescribe a dose of functional family. If they did, she'd end up overdosing.

But with that put aside, a problem still arose by her going to the doctor. She didn't know exactly what she was supposed to accomplish, but she was supposed to do something, and she hadn't done it yet. She figured her adventure in slumber was only just truly beginning.

The flow of water running through her freshly shampooed hair gave get the serenity she needed. It calmed her down enough to truly think, and actually thinking, she realized she was being silly. They're just dreams. They couldn't harm her, and they could not effect her sleeping schedule. She was just letting stress get to her... yeah, that was it.

When the last suds of soap had washed out of her, she stopped the water, and stepped out onto her plush bath mat, drying herself thoroughly with the towel, her hair, as straight as ever, weighed down her head. Number whatever on the list of things wrong with Amaya's hair: it took forever to dry. Her hair could very well still be damp when she woke up the next morning. If, after whatever happened, she could go to sleep, that is.

She dressed in the clothes that were laid out for her, grimacing when she saw the drill on the end of the white top, but still happy when she saw the denim jacket she could cover it up with. Her mother always pushed her to wear clothes that were more 'feminine'. It never stopped, no matter how many times she said that it wasn't her style, or that white wasn't her color.

With jeans and worn, white converse (thank god for worn out converse) get outfit was finished, she was ready to tackle whatever the day tossed in her direction. Except, of course, long trips to doctors, waits in waiting rooms, and nosy doctors. Scratch that, Amaya Grant was not ready for the day.

Then she remembered, she had to spend the next hour and a half in a car with her mother. To most, this wasn't that trivial of a task.  It most didn't spew off at the mouth about how their mother was the reason their father abandoned their family,  either. The next few hours were going to be long.

Realizing the dire state of emergency she was in, she went back to her room to see what all she could take to accompany her. She snatched up her sketchbook, which had pencils taped on the inside of the ragged cover, it saved a lot of time. After also grabbing a book of crosswords, she was ready. Or at least as ready as she could get.

Walking back towards the front portion of the house, she kept hup her silent treatment, basically shunning the woman that gave birth to her. Smart move, Amaya.

Amaya wasn't the only one who could play that game. Mrs. Grant did the same, giving her daughter the cold shoulder as she walked out if the house, Amaya in tow.

Once both females were in the car, Amaya opted for the back seat to avoid confrontation, they were ready to leave. Mrs. Grant pulled out, slinging gravel off to either side of the car, and started going at a steady pace down the road. It was going to be a long ride to get to Amaya's regular, but most trusted doctor.

I'm worried that this seems like a filler chapter? Hhh but it's not. Good things come to those who wait.

So, who's in the wrong in this situation. Mother? Daughter?

#momagrant #amayaftw

And why?