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My phone's alarm rang for the third time that morning.
I couldn't bring myself to wake up, not when last night left me completely exhausted, both physically and emotionally. It was one of those lazy days. The kind where I wanted to lie in my bed, shuffle between the sheets and not do anything.
After I cried in the bathroom last night—it was long, good, and exactly what I needed—I took a cold shower and walked out of the bathroom. The twins leapt to my attention, treating me like a delicate flower. I told them that I couldn't sleep in the same bed as them after the whole ordeal. They were disappointed, but understanding, and kind enough to lend me one of their guest rooms.
I was saved from having to sleep next to them, but I didn't get enough rest all the same.
The stupid alarm from my phone wouldn't stop. I groaned and grabbed my phone, tapping on the screen to turn it off. I should have set the damn thing to fifteen-minute intervals instead of five.
I slid my hand over the red button to shut the alarm up. Maybe it was this stupid sound that caused me to wake up with a bad headache. Hugging my blanket tighter to my chest and going back to bed felt so tempting today, but I had to get up. I didn't want the twins to go hungry without breakfast. Ever since I moved over, they instructed the part-timers not to put food into the refrigerator for them to microwave in the morning.
I threw the blanket off and sat up in one sweeping motion. Bad idea. Waking myself up like that usually put me in a slightly more energetic mood, but this time, all it did was cause my head to throb between my ears.
I did the usual morning stuff—brush my teeth, wash my face, pee—and then I walked down the stairs, thinking about what the hell I should poison the twins with.
Feeling spiteful, I actually considered putting laxatives into their breakfast. I wasn't that mean, but thinking about it and smiling to myself didn't harm anyone.
As I moved down the stairs, I saw Riley lying on the sofa while reading a book. I couldn't read the title from so far away, but it was probably some non-fiction novel about business or finance. I usually caught him with those in his spare time, while Ryan preoccupied himself with mysteries or thrillers.
He didn't wear a shirt, as the twins always preferred not to.
Looking at him half-naked sent images from last night flooding back into my mind. It made my gut wrench. I padded past him to move to the kitchen. Why the hell was I even making breakfast for them? I considered cooking just my share, and leaving the two of them hungry.
He shot to attention the moment he noticed me. "Hey, how was your sleep?"
"Great, thank you," I lied. I woke up at least three times in the middle of the night.
"About yesterday—"
"I don't want to talk about it." Turning my back to him, I opened the lower cupboard to pick out a saucepan. I decided to make instant soup today. They could dip some bread in and have some commoner breakfast. I wasn't in the mood to please their taste buds, or eat.
He pulled up a chair at the counter and sat down. "Sure. That's fine. We don't have to talk about it. But we will have to eventually, Scarlet. We can't have you being mad at us forever."
I put the pan onto the stove more violently than I should have. "We're not talking about it. Period."
"Scarlet—"
"Shut up. I can't cook with you sounding like a yapping puppy behind me."
He sighed. "You're being difficult."
Now hearing him say that really rubbed off on me the wrong way. "I'm the one being difficult?" I muttered to myself, suppressing a yell.
"Tell us how to make it up to you."
"Dig a hole and bury yourself in it."
"I'll wait for you to cool down."
"I don't need any cooling down."
Riley went silent after that, doing as he said, letting me cool down.
The soup needed more water. The twins didn't deserve good soup today, instant or not. I'd give them diluted crap, and if they didn't eat it, they'd be hungry until they got to the office.
Ryan joined his brother at the counter. "Good morning; how was your sleep?"
I turned around and saw Riley nudging his brother's shoulders, saying, "Don't talk to her yet; she's still really pissed at us. I don't think anything you say to her will get to her head."
I served the soup in porcelain bowls. They clanked against the counter, louder than they should have.
Ryan looked down and curled up his lip. "What the hell is this?" He dragged the spoon over the surface of my concoction. "It's so watery."
"It's your f**king breakfast. Take it or leave it." I grabbed some bread from a cabinet and dumped it next to Ryan. "This might make it marginally better."
Before I could withdraw my arm, Ryan grabbed it.
