Knock! Knock!
The girl remained coiled beneath her duvet, a human burrito oblivious to the insistent rapping at her door. Dawn's chill seeped through the window, biting through her pyjamas like iced needles. She pulled the covers tighter, mentally bargaining for five more minutes as her alarm blared relentlessly from the bedside table.
The door slammed open, hinges shrieking protest. Framed in the doorway stood a platinum-blonde woman - hair sculpted from glacier ice, arms folded like a displeased headmistress.
"For pity's sake, Raquel!" Her clipped received pronunciation accent dripped with exasperation. "Term started weeks ago. Aren't you going to uni again?"
The duvet mound remained motionless.
"Christ alive, girl!" The woman stormed in, patent heels cracking against floorboards. "It's gone seven! You're snoring like a walrus at Whipsnade!"
Her voice ricocheted off the spartan walls.
The girl didn't so much as twitch.
Emma's cheeks flushed crimson as Raquel stubbornly ignored her. Her jaw tightened, knuckles whitening as she balled her fists. Drawing a sharp breath, she unleashed a shrill cry that sliced through the morning quiet "Wake up, you daft mare! It's half-nine! Planning to bunk off your seminar?"
Raquel jolted upright, eyes snapping open like blinds yanked suddenly.
"Nine?" She flopped back onto the mattress, limbs splayed like a discarded ragdoll, and scrubbed at her leaden eyelids. "Why're you letting me sleep in this late?"
Emma—a wiry woman with shadows under her eyes and a perpetually dishevelled ponytail—crossed her arms, watching her niece's theatrics. Raquel's drowsy gaze, always half-lidded as if perpetually on the edge of a nap, narrowed further.
"Come on, love. Open those peepers properly," Emma chided, nodding at the sunlight now pooling on the carpet.
Raquel scowled, groping for her phone. The screen's blue glare washed over her face as she groaned, "Aunt Em! You're evil!"
Emma's mouth quirked, amusement briefly softening her stern façade. "Up you get. Breakfast's going cold."
"Why do you relish this?" Raquel rasped, flopping onto her side.
"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!" Emma trilled, flinging the curtains wider. "Full English on the table. Adventure awaits!"
Raquel's gaze followed Emma as she moved to the window, her voice hesitant. "Aren't you working today, Aunt Emma?"
Emma drew back the pale curtains with deliberate care, allowing morning light to stream into the room. It fell across Raquel's face, softening her drowsy features.
Turning, Emma gave a small nod, her blonde curls shifting faintly.
"I've taken the day off," she replied, her tone measured. "It seemed a good opportunity to share breakfast. You'll join me, won't you?"
Raquel hesitated, blinking against the brightness.
Emma clasped her hands loosely, her expression calm but insistent. "Come now—wash up and meet me downstairs. The food won't stay warm forever."
Raquel shrugged indifferently, her eyes half-closed and her lips forming a disinterested expression. She lacked the energy to acknowledge her aunt's disapproving stare.
Leaning her head against Emma's shoulder, Raquel murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion, "I could sleep for days."
Emma's sharp tone cut through the room, startling her awake. "It's seven o'clock. You need to get ready now."
Raquel had lived with Emma since her parents' frequent business trips kept them away from California. Emma's home had become her stable refuge, a contrast to the unpredictability of her parents' itinerant lifestyle. Raquel far preferred the comfort of Emma's apartment to the impersonal atmosphere of her university accommodation.
Emma, Emily's younger sister and legal guardian, was a respected lawyer known for her analytical precision and professional success. Her husband, Aldric Bethoover, had died in a plane crash five years into their marriage, leaving her widowed at twenty-seven.
Emma cherished Raquel deeply. When Emily and Marvin asked her to care for their daughter during their prolonged absences, she agreed without hesitation.
"Come downstairs," Emma said firmly, the aroma of cooking bacon drifting upwards. "Breakfast is ready."
Raquel's stomach growled as she stepped out of her room, drawn by the rich aroma of Emma's cooking. The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling bacon filled the kitchen, sharpening her hunger.
Emma chuckled as the loud rumble echoed through the quiet room. "Someone's eager! Come and tuck in—there's crispy bacon, buttery croissants, and a fresh salad. No excuses today."
"I'm tracking every calorie," Raquel replied, her tone firm. "I'm working with a trainer to get toned—proper abs, the works."
She adjusted her blue pyjama top, its loose fit emphasising her narrow waist.
Emma frowned, studying Raquel's hollow cheeks. "You've lost too much weight. You're wasting away."
Raquel glanced upward, irritation flashing in her eyes. "It's normal! Everyone in the industry does this."
"Enough," Emma said softly but firmly, brushing Raquel's slender wrist. "You're already as slim as a reed. This stops now."
"Whatever," Raquel muttered, slumping into a chair. Her gaze flickered between the flaky croissant and crisp bacon on her plate.
"Eat properly," Emma urged, sitting opposite her. "Your mind needs fuel as much as your body."
Raquel picked at her food, her movements hesitant. Emma watched silently, her chest tight. Fear, worry, and love twisted inside her—she couldn't lose Raquel to this obsession, but pushing too hard might drive her further away.
Raquel's pulse quickened as she climbed out of Emma's car and onto the busy university grounds. Her gaze swept over the throng of students, searching for any sign of Jonas Hemington—the boy who made her stomach flutter—and her closest friend, Nina Moore.
A familiar voice cut through the chatter, "Morning, love."