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RACHEL GROANS and buries her head underneath her pillow. "Five more minutes."
It's not my fault she sleeps through every alarm. It's not my fault that Dad doesn't want to deal with her at six in the morning. It's not my fault that my preferred method of waking Sleeping Beauty up is by turning on every light in her room and singing (okay, so maybe it's a bit more like screaming) the good-morning-Rachel song I came up with when I was eight years old. (Rachey-Rachey, wakey-wakey, it's time for eggs and bacey-bacey.) It is, however, entirely Rachel's fault that she decides to take her early-morning anger out on my beautiful, shining face.
"We don't have time for five more minutes, it's going to be a very exciting day!" I march to her bed and pull the blankets off of her, which just results in her curling into a tighter ball to stay warm. "If you don't get up right now, I get to use the bathroom first."
That, of course, is a lie, one that I tell her every morning. I'm obviously going to get to the bathroom before her. I have longer legs and more determination. If she tries to overtake me, I will end her.
I don't fuck around.
"No fair!" Rachel whines, pushing her pillow off her head and slowly sitting up, blinking a couple of times at the sudden light. She looks like the human embodiment of death. "You always take years to get ready. You prick."
Needless to say, Rachel is not a morning person.
I grin. "Good morning, sleepyhead."
"I hate you. Get out of my room."
"I'll go turn the water on so that it's hot for you."
"Hm mh," Rachel lazily replies, her head falling back to her pillow, already nodding back off. "You go do that — Hey, wait!"
But it's too late. I've already left her room. "You need to go give Cerberus his breakfast, mkay, Rach?"
Rachel jumps from her bed, sprinting to catch up with me. "You do this every morning! You asshole! One day, I'll — I'll get back at you! I'm going to kill you! I'll sic Cerberus on you!"
"Language, language," I chide her, shaking my head.
She tries to shoulder past me, but I push her down, racing to the bathroom and locking the door behind me so that she can't barge her way in. Happy with my dose of early-morning entertainment of death threats and pissing my little sister off, I turn the water on to let it heat up. Outside, Rachel bangs on the door for a couple of seconds, yelling even more death threats at me, before she finally gives up and walks away. As my eyes linger on the door for a second after she leaves, I notice something that shouldn't be.
