FIC: Morning Rituals PG-13

Snuggling deeper under the covers, you flinch realizing that you gave in again. It was so easy, giving in. Letting someone else boss you around and twist you until you’re in place where no thoughts are necessary.  Simple.  You’d already spent the night, no need to make the morning after difficult. Moving closer to the warm body under the covers you smile as it snuggles against you. Your body betrays you a little more everyday. This is not a time for smiles.

“You’re always there when I need you.”

“And you’re always there when I’m at my weakest.” You reply getting out of bed. Smirking to yourself, you skip the robe and strut naked into the hallway. You’ve done this so many times now; you could care less about children that weren’t yours or friends stopping by.  Things shouldn’t be like this, but they are. It’s always a game of pushing and pulling that never ends.

Walking into the bathroom, you grab a toothbrush from under the sink, and your favorite toothpaste. You gave up caring if anyone else figured it out. You don’t even understand it half the time. All you know is that toothbrush and toothpaste are under the sink. Brushing quickly, you spit messily, leaving your mark on the sink. You fondly touch the green toothbrush, and then lick the red one in spite.

Pulling your shirt and underwear back on, you trod to the kitchen where coffee, three sugars is waiting. You sit down at the breakfast nook and start reading the leftover section of the paper. In exactly five minutes, you’ll switch sections (Local and Global) and be so sickeningly cute until a small head will bob out and demand cereal.

Said head does, Leah, named after her grandmother. She likes you, you remember. You held her when she was scared one night. You know your parenting skills suck, but for some reason this seven-year-old likes you. Yay you.

“Hi.” She says quietly, opting to sit at the table. Smart Girl.  Two more heads appear, identical, but they go straight for the guilt trip. They make their identical puppy dog looks and they sit facing you at the table. They glare, they judge, and it makes you feel like you’re doing your senior thesis at Hearst all over again. They’ve thrown up on you, treated you like dirt and they refuse to acknowledge your presence. They are the bane of your existence.

“Behave little midgets.” The oldest smiles pouring his own bowl of cereal. He is 16, and he is your favorite. He’s yours (you know that you play favorites),and he understands your life better than you thought possible. 

“Keith, you’re going to be late for school.” Veronica warns ruffling his blonde hair.

“Sure, Mom. See you Dad.” Keith smiles. You ruffle his hair and then smile sarcastically at Veronica. Keith grabs the keys and heads to the Corvette you bought him. Hopefully, one morning you wouldn’t feel like you were sneaking around.