So, I was takin’ that good ol’ floor nap when I heard shuffling in the kitchen. Presumably it’d be Kyle so I peeled myself off the grayish carpet, saying goodbye to Drool Lake. It’s ok though. We would not be apart for long. The creator is never separate from the created.

The cupboard doors banged and the fridge was opened, I could see the glow of it through my open bedroom door.

I sat up and grumpily dragged my gaze around the room, tugging my blanket tighter across my shoulders. The darkness and I had a love-hate relationship. Most of the time it freaked me way out because you never knew what could be hiding in the darkness, but then there were other times where I absolutely loved the dark because I felt so safe and hidden. Right now, it was my good friend, metaphorically patting my back and giving me its condolences.

I did get up though, scrubbing a tired hand through my hair, making it messier than it already was, but I didn’t really care. Being a mess was practically my aesthetic.

I managed my way to the kitchen to go bother Kyle. He may be annoying at times and a bit rude but I need people around me to be functional and he’d do in a pinch.

“Sup, sup, Roomie,” I said with a limp wave of the hand. “Y’ain’t gonna believe this.”

“Sawyer please, no.” He said, his eyes bulging out in distress.

“What?” I questioned, knowing full well the sin I was committing in his eyes. “If you and Jordan had been their y’all’d’ve-“

“Stahp.” His distress now becoming verbal.

I grinned.

He dragged a hand down his face.

“Well, anyway, as I was trying to say, before someone disapproved of my word usage, Lydia Bittenbauer was askin’ about us again.”

“Ughhh.” Kyle complained, but continued stirring whatever was in the pot he was using. “Not again.” He looked over at me. The bags under his eyes were becoming more and more pronounced these days. Whether that was due to school, sports, or something else completely, that’s what I was supposed to find out. Course’ I couldn’t’ say much on that account, mine didn’t look that much better. Though my darker complexion would hide something like that better than his pale skin. “I thought you’d already told her we weren’t a couple.”

I hopped up onto the counter top, drawing the love chair over with my toes, so I could rest my feet on it. “Yeah. I did. But she don’t listen to nothin’ I have to say. It’s like talkin’ to a fly.”

“Ah, so about like talking to you.” He gave me a side glance.

“Hey! I listen all the time,” I protested.

“Uh huh. But, actually hearing is a different story.” Kyle countered. Couldn’t argue with him on that one so instead I crossed my arms with a “humph” and grumbled a few choice words to myself. Kyle continued, “But really, she needs to stop with all that stuff. Where is she even getting it from?”

“Beats me,” I leaned my head back on the cupboards, closing my eyes slightly. I wasn’t quite recovered from my recovery nap. “I barely talk to her unless she noses her way into my business.”

Kyle stared intensely into his pot of what looked to be . . . beans or wheat noodles. Neither of which sounded very appealing to me. Looks like I’d be finding my own supper tonight. Then he said, “I barely talk to her either, barely even see her really. One of my buddies is dating one of her best friends, but even then.”

“Hmm, yeah,” I pondered. “I wonder what’s got her so fascinated?” I thought about this for a few seconds, both of us quiet except for the burble of whatever was in that pot of his. “Maybe she’s got a crush on you?”

A look of shear panic overcame his usually calm features. He looked so ridiculous I couldn’t contain my laughter, it exploded out of me, almost bashing my head on the cupboard door behind me.

“Hey, doofus. It’s not a laughing matter,” he said, back to grumpily stirring his whatever-you-call-it.

“Ah, sorry Kyle. It’s just too ridiculous. I’ll drop it.” I wiped a few tears from my eyes with a corner of my blanket, taking in deep breaths to stop the giggles. “Hey, so, what is that stuff anyway?” I asked, gesturing a cloth clad fist towards the stove.

“This?” He questioned, waving his wooden spoon for confirmation. “Quinoa.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Sounds about too syllables too healthy.” That got a chuckle. He grabbed something from a bag sitting next him on the counter. I could see tufts of green as he started plopping some of it into the pot. “Are you dumpin’ broccoli in there?!”

He gave a nod.

“Why?!” I countered with all the sophistication of a diplomat settling a dispute between two warring countries.

“Because it’s good for you! Now shut up.”

.                                                     .

After that harrowing experience with *shivers* broccoli, I made myself a mean PB & J. Nice and simple. Complete with a glass of apple juice.

Then I shoved off for the Soft Mattress Space Port, callin’ it a day.

I didn’t sleep though, well, not for a while at least. Not till I heard the soft click of our front door closing. I squeezed my eyes shut and took in a deep breath. Not really sure if I had the tenacity to go through with this.

After a steadying breath, I rolled out of bed, gently covering Nebula with the covers. Just because I was up didn’t mean she had to be up and about.

I padded over to my desk and opened my laptop, quickly pressing the dim screen button saving my retinas from sun burn. I pulled up the spreadsheet I’d made earlier that day. My mouse hovered over the empty boxes. A few distinct images flashed in my mind. My heart quickened, the night’s silence closing in, and I began typing. It didn’t take long, just a few seconds and I was done.

It was a shared document, as we’d agreed on. Already, someone had read my entry. My phone dinged from by my bed. I grabbed it, and there it was:

NICE WORK CRIMSON BULLET