Temi POV

I wake up before Isa. I'm sitting up in bed, watching her large form hidden in the blankets beside my bed. I know it can't be comfortable sleeping on the floor, but I know Isa is so strong headed and insists on doing so in case I 'sneak off' in the middle of the night.

Even though she can't see me, I roll my eyes. I'm awake. Isa's asleep. Realistically, I could just sneak off right now if I want to. I deliberate the thought for a moment. It would be really nice to get away from Isa for sometime, especially as she has been extra overbearing lately. But there's a part of me that still remembers the events of the night I had done so. As much as I wouldn't like to admit it, there is a part of me that fears Isa's anger.

For a moment, I watch Isa as she sleeps. Her back is turned to me and she is basically just a breathing lump under all the blankets, and my mind immediately flashes back to last night. My ears heat up as a feeling of embarrassment passes through me as I remember tripping, and Isa catching me. In a strange way, I wish she had just let me fall, rather than catch me like we're in some romance book.

The only other time I have been that close to Isa is the night I had snuck off. And from the events of last night, I have concluded that I did not enjoy it. I ignore the voice in my head that seems to tell me otherwise, busying myself instead with trying to stand up as quietly as possible.

I rise from my bed and quietly exit my room. A part of my brain tells me to slam the door behind me in order to disrupt Isa's sleep. But the more dominant part of me values the alone time I have right now, so I shut my room door quietly behind me as I bring my phone out of my pocket and call my mom.

She doesn't pick up the first time I call her and it takes me calling her two more times before she answers.

"Mom," I say.

"Temi, honey-," my mom begins, interrupted by the sound of her whispering to someone in the background, "how are you?"

I bite down on my lip.

"Fine," I lie.

"That's good, honey," comes my mom's reply, followed by more chattering in the background. It's clear that she's only half paying attention to our phone call.

"I could be better," I say, which is an understatement. I could be alot better. "I need Isa gone."

There's a silence on the other end of the line, then there's more whispering and my mom's voice comes back clear.

"Isabella? She's your bodyguard. Why do you want her gone?"

"She's more of a babysitter," I reply, rolling my eyes even though I know my mom can't see me. "And I do not need or want a babysitter."

"That's absurd, Temilola. She's only looking out for you."

I cringe internally. I do so anytime my mom uses my full name. She does it when she wants to sound stern.

"Besides, it's good that you have her," my mom continues, "I've decided to run for New York City Governor this year, isn't that exciting?"

I cannot think of anything less exciting, but my mom does not wait for me to say so. Her question is purely rhetorical, and she carries on unbothered.

"I think that it's good for you to have Isabella for extra protection, especially during this election period. You don't know who might try to target you."

"Nobody is going to 'target' me mom, this is not the 1900s," I reply.

"Temilola, I really do not like your tone. I think you could do with being a bit more optimistic."

Her words are like a blow to my chest. Optimistic? My best friend in the entire world died-she killed herself less than three months ago, and my problem is that I'm not optimistic enough?

I want to retort. I want to say something to defend myself. I want to bring up the fact that my mom barely even checks up on me. She's way too concerned about her prestigious job and politics to care about me.

I hear chattering once again through the phone. "Honey, I have a meeting I've got to attend to. You should work on being a bit more grateful. Everyone is not as lucky as you are." The line goes dead.

If her previous words had been a blow to my chest, this one is a dagger forced straight through my heart.

Grateful? Lucky?

I can barely process what I have just heard as I stare blankly at my phone in my hand. Despite myself, I feel incredibly stupid. I wonder why I ever thought Grace's death would change my mom's attitude towards me. I had hoped that in some way, it would possibly bring us closer. But even she can't bear the burden of dealing with me and my grief.

So, in her usual manner, she pays someone else to do it. My chest is heavy as I turn over my phone slowly in my hands, as my eyesight goes blurry.

It's moments like these that I wonder about my dad. I wonder if he could understand me, to treat this whole situation differently. But it's a typically deadbeat dad scenario. I never even met him and my mom never wants to talk about him, so I learnt to avoid the topic and live without knowing.

"How fucking stereotypical," I murmur to myself as I wipe my tears with the back of my sleeve.

I open up my laptop, which I had left on the dining table, and begin scrolling through my poetry blog. I still have posted nothing since Grace passed away. So I just scroll idly through my previous posts, and try to ignore the comments from my usual blog readers asking why there has been no new post in so long.

I opened my poetry blog, hoping that it would take my mind off my recent conversation with my mom, but as time passes, I just get angrier and angrier. Nothing seems right. Nothing seems in place. There is not one thing in my life that is working out, and no matter how much I try to distract myself by burying myself in schoolwork-nothing really eradicates the pain and hurt that I feel.

I slam my laptop shut. My hands are shaking now, and tears are spilling non stop from my eyes. I sniff, feeling my nose start to run. I know that I look like an absolute mess. I am an ugly crier and this isn't news to me. But at that moment, I can only handle so much.

Without properly thinking my actions through, I grab my phone from the table and hurl it across the room. My phone shatters as it makes contact with the wall, breaking a part as it falls to the floor.

At that exact moment, my bedroom door opens, and Isa appears in the doorway. My phone barely misses her head by an inch as it collides with the wall.

Isa first looks down at my phone, now lying damaged on the floor, before bringing her eyes to rest on me. I'm standing there, still shaking, with tears running down my cheeks, and I feel embarrassed. I don't want Isa to see me like this. I quickly bring my sleeve up to my face, wiping away the combination of tears and snot that has formed.

Isa, on the other hand, continues to stare at me- she's dressed in a simple gray cotton nightshirt with pajama bottoms. Her long hair is loose, falling past her shoulders. She looks beautiful, fresh out of bed, and my anger boils within me.

"What are you looking at! Fuck you!" I yell at her. I know I look and sound deranged. I am absolutely unhinged, and want nothing more than to take my frustration out on her.

Isa barely flinches but continues to look at me. I can't make out her facial expression. Her brown eyes scan me like she's simply reading the back of a cereal box.

"Good morning to you too," Isa finally remarks, before casually walking past me with her hands tucked into the pockets of her pajama pants.

I watch her in slight shock as she fixes herself a bowl of cereal without so much as a bother in the world.

I slowly sink into my chair on the dining table, feeling exhausted. Most of my anger from a few moments ago has evaporated out of me, and I am left feeling a sense of tiredness that goes beyond just physical.

Isa takes a seat on the dining table opposite from me and begins eating her cereal.

"You're not hungry," Isa says. It's not a question, it comes out more like an observation, or weirdly enough, an acknowledgement.

I shake my head and Isa continues eating her cereal, unbothered. All I can think about is how at home Isa seems to appear seated at the table made for Grace and I. She moves around our apartment as if she belongs here, as if she has some right to be here.

My anger boils through me once again, but this time I'm careful to keep it at bay. I make sure that it does not suddenly explode. So I sit there, feeling heated as I watch Isa eat out of the bowl I had gifted to Grace a while ago.

Isa does not belong here. And somehow, or another, I need to get her out of here.

"You know, you should eat more." Isa says, "as much as I hate to say it, I'd start forcing us to have mealtimes together if you don't."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I do that already from time to time."

My ears heat up, and I scowl at Isa as she smirks at me. What more, an image I'd rather not think of pops into my head and I squirm uncomfortably. Isa can see this and she appears to be taking great pleasure from my discomfort.

"You're so unprofessional. If you keep saying shit like that, I'm going to report you. That's so inappropriate."

Isa does not look the slightest bit convinced, but she puts her hands up in defeat before putting a spoonful of cereal in her mouth.

"So... any plans for today?"

She keeps talking, and the more she talks, the more annoyed I get. Her tone is so casual, so uninterested, as if this is a typical day for her. To be honest, it has been quite recently but I won't bring myself to acknowledge that.

I'm about to just stand up and stomp to my room, maybe flick her off as I do so, but an idea suddenly pops into my head.

For the first time in a while, a feeling of glee passes through me.

"Actually, I do have plans for today."