The day started off like every other painstaking, monotonous day of my mediocre post-Edward existence had. I woke up after having a very restless night’s sleep, thanks to my recurring dreams about handsome vampires and heartbreak. I had spent the majority of the night awake, drenched in cold sweat and screaming at him not to leave me. Luckily Charlie, being a relatively heavy sleeper, never seemed to hear or acknowledge my night time shouts.

I rolled out of bed, rubbing my blurry eyes. I stepped into my slippers and left my bedroom, almost tripping over the rug on the way out. I paused for a second as I left to look in the mirror. I examined the large black circles which were growing each day beneath my red puffy eyes as a result of severe sleep deprivation. I looked away quickly as I didn’t enjoy seeing myself like that. The darkness reminded me of him, but while his added to his mystifying attractiveness, my undereye circles just made me look bedraggled.

On my way to the staircase, I peeked into Charlie’s bedroom, to find that he had already left for work. I saw that he had left me a pile of dirty clothes to wash, and picked up the full basket, deciding that it would be easier to get the machine loaded before I went to school.

I walked down the stairs slowly, clutching the washing tightly and dragging my feet behind me, each step seeming to take more effort than the last. I loaded the washing machine carefully, making sure not to mix the colours and the whites, and watched it begin to spin. Somehow, the revolving colours seemed almost hypnotising, and I began to feel a little dizzy.

After snapping myself out of the trance, I walked over to the kitchen cupboard, intending to pour myself a bowl of cereal. I stood in front of it for ten whole minutes, staring at the food inside before deciding that I wasn’t really hungry at all. I slammed the cupboard shut with unnecessary force and sighed.

I went back upstairs, the ascent of the staircase being as hard as the descent had been, and opened my wardrobe. I stared at the clothes on the hangers, which were all in the dull shades of black and grey: the only colours I wore in my state of mourning. I pulled out a plain black cotton shirt and a pair of dark grey trousers to wear. As I slowly closed the door, I glanced remorsefully at the brightly coloured clothes that had been stuffed into storage boxes and stowed away towards the back. I longed to wear colours like that, but I did not want to draw any attention to myself.