A lady around the age of mid-forties stood in front of me, carrying a bowl of water. Her brown long hair was tied up into a messy bun, her brown eyes staring in awe at me.
"It's time to clean up."
I stared groggily at her, her words danced around my head, as I was totally uninterested in getting off this bed. I lazily pulled the cover over my head again.
I heard the clanking of the bowl dropping on the ground, then the footsteps approached closer again. Before I knew what was happening, the cover was pulled away, flying across the floor.
I snapped my eyes open, rage burning in my eyes. "It's time to wash you up." She stressed every word, placing her hand tightly on her waist while glaring at me to do otherwise.
I felt a tug in my heart as her posture reminded me of my real mother. I swallowed, before turning to the other side, with my back at her.
