Sitting up, I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a scruffy mess from all the tossing and turning, and can see slight bags under my eyes. My back feels okay, just a little tender, but nothing that can stop me from going to school. I shower and dress in jeans and a black tight-fitting shirt that shows off my muscular physique with my favourite pair of black sneakers. As I comb my hair back, it flings back into the scruffy style, giving me the ruggedly handsome look instead of the sleek, handsome look I usually go for. I take my seat at the table for breakfast.
‘Magnus, darling, how is your back dear?’ mother asks.
‘It’s fine. It wasn’t anything major, to begin with.’
‘I’m glad to hear,’ she smiles.