IT ONLY TOOK ME THREE YEARS! So frikken sorry guys, omg. I totally understand if you hate me and don't read my story anymore.

So, I don't remember if I ever mentioned what time of the year it was in my earlier chapters, but it's near Christmas now in real life, so it's going to be near Christmas in this story.  That way I can keep up with the time of year as I continue to write this.

                 Have you ever felt like even though you know that when you open your eyes, the same dull ceiling will be staring down at you from above your bed, and yet you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to savour whatever time you have left, and thus, avoiding the inevitable? And then, in those few minutes after you awake, you are forced to make the huge decision that is to get up and force yourself to become awake, or asleep, 'just a little longer' until eventually you're late instead of early?

                I have. Except, I have found that despite however good it feels to remain 'asleep' and to stretch out those bunched muscles, it is totally not worth it.  I always totally regret it.  Which is ironic, since the next morning marks the beginning of the same idiotic feat.  You would think I would've learnt, but it's just so damn hard to think in the morning. 

                I believe, that at five am, the brain has two functions.  The 'breathe-because-I-have-to' mode, and the 'I'm-tired-so-shut-the-hell-up-and-sleep' mode.  So every day is an ongoing battle with our brain, and I ask myself: "is it worth it?"  If the brain was a human -one that controlled our entire life (Donald Trump?) and we argued with him every morning, we'd either be really annoyed, or fired.  It's a lose-lose situation.

                That was exactly how I felt every morning, except, oddly enough, this morning. Because this morning, I would have to walk down that hallway, into the kitchen, and pretend that absolutely everything was okay between Mal and I.  He would probably stare at me over his glass of pulp filled orange juice -side note: seriously though, who drinks orange juice with that much pulp? My mom had to go BUY him a whole new jug of it for just him! It had his name on it and everything!  The point is, he would be there unnerving me with that serious lawyer look that I'm sure he gives people when he's trying to figure them out.  And my mother wouldn't notice, because she never does; Mal is amazing! Mal is perfect! She wouldn't be thinking that way if she knew what happened yesterday in my bedroom.... But, lo and behold, I couldn't tell her that.  Why couldn't I tell her that? Because then she would throw Mal out (probably), and he would very likely throw something in there about my tunnels to get me into trouble, and he would probably mention the skull, and then I wouldn't be allowed to go exploring anymore... So, you see, it really wouldn't do me any good to do anything but try to ignore his evil stare, and munch away at my breakfast.

                I sat up, and threw my covers off of myself, and took a flying leap for my bathroom.  I hadn't showered after my incident with the tunnels -gross, I know- but I had kind of just laid in my bed for the rest of the day, and sulked over cheap cheesy movies that I found on Netflix, and ate junkfood that I managed to sweep from the kitchen; thankfully without my mother noticing.  She had probably noticed the trail of dust leading to my room, then to the kitchen, then back to my room... If she came into my room and saw the state of my bedding, she'd probably have a conniption fit. 

                It's probably a good thing that I do my own laundry.

                And that she didn't come check on me.

                I should probably have that shower now, I thought, sluggishly turning on the water to the perfect temperature, and then turning to jack the volume of my music on my phone to an all time max. This shower should be rather relaxing! ...Not.

 ~~

                It took probably about an hour and a half to work up the nerve to leave my room.  I figured that the longer I took the more relaxed I would be.  My dawdling had nothing to do with the fact that Mal had to be at work fifteen minutes ago, and that it took ten minutes for him to take his time to get from the kitchen to his room, to work.  Nothing at all!

                Despite knowing this, I still took my time walking down the hallway.

                As I came around the corner, I could hear my mother singing at the top of her lungs, which, most people would assume means that she's alone.  However, this is my mother, and if there is one thing I've learned about my mother in all my years with her, she's going to sing when she wants to sing.  As loud, and offbeat as humanly possible.  And she doesn't care who is attempting to digest their food nearby as she does it.

                "-THE HATERS GONNA HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE, BABY I'M JUST GONNA SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE-"

                And like any good daughter, I can rarely resist joining in. 

                And that was why I practically sprinted around the corner, power slid into the kitchen, all while belting the next few lyrics of Taylor Swift's 'Shake it Off'.

                It's also why, after roughly two minutes of spinning in circles with my hands interlocked with my mothers, singing as loud as we could, with our eyes closed, the sudden chortling laughter from the island seats sent me reeling back to the floor in shock.

                Apparently I should've taken in my surroundings before I had given in to the rock and roll feeling, because who was sitting at the island? Two of my least favourite people at the planet.  And my dad.

                Mal's icy eyes locked onto mine before I looked away quickly, reaching for the nearby counter top to yank myself back to my feet.  My mother had since stopped singing, and was now leaning against the counter doubled over in laughter.  Her laughter was only matched by my father's wide, cheesy grin, and the occasional rumbles that left his belly.  Then there was Linda, wish her wide smirk and judging glance... She was probably going to find a way to use this to her advantage on her quest to get Mal.  Not that I cared or anything.  In fact, she could have him- Oh wait, she already had. The devil in question was hiding his laughter behind his mug of coffee, while his gaze continued to search out mine. 

                "Must've had his OJ earlier then," I mumbled to myself, as I turned my back to the peanut gallery.  My mother had been preparing something that smelt delicious, which a quick lift of the cover of the pan revealed it to be hash.  No, not the drug you hooligans; my mother had this thing where she mixes hashbrowns, canned ham, sour cream and shredded cheese, and then calls it hash.  It has proven to be quite a wonderful dish.

                "Mom, is this ready yet?" I asked, continuing to ignore the others behind me. I flicked my wet blonde hair over my shoulder, and turned to look at the delighted looking woman. 

                "Yes, yes, I figured you wouldn't be up until late today, so I was just keeping it warm," she smiled, walking over to turn off the burner and tugging on a lock of my hair.  "Everyone else has eaten, so just take what you want."   

                "Thank god," I mumbled.  My stomach was about ten seconds away from eating its way out of my body.  Apparently the junkfood I ate yesterday did not exactly tide me over.

                "And don't think I didn't notice that trail of dust coming from your room yesterday, because I did," she whispered with her one raised eyebrow, as she passed me a plate.  She quickly glanced over at Mal, and back to myself with a smirk.

                "There's nothing going on!" I whisper shouted back, avoiding her glance and furiously scooping a mound of food onto my plate.  I wasn't sure I could eat all of this, but I was going to try.

                "Right." 

                I'm sure you all are aware of the condescending mother look I received after that abrupt statement.

                "Analee, aren't you cold? Shouldn't you be wearing more clothing?" This was more of a statement from my dad than a question.  I couldn't really fault him for it; I had felt Mal's eyes on me since I had realized he was there.  I was sure my father hadn't noticed, but, I mean, he's my dad.  He thinks the entire world is staring at me when I walk outside to pick up the paper in my onesie.  

                It wasn't like I was wearing anything special anyways, unless a pair of skinny track pants and a crop top had become trademark wear overnight.  Which I was certain it hadn't because Linda was giving me her more usual disdainful, judgemental stare.

                But she probably gives that same look to Lady Gaga.  So I guess I'm not that special.

                "Oh hush dear, that's what all the girls her age are wearing now!" my mother tittered, as she came around to pat my father's cheek.  "Now to shoveling with you! No one will be getting anywhere with all that snow on the ground out there!"

                I tried to pretend I didn't notice the swat she gave my father's behind as he jogged out of the room.

                Sometimes my parents are way too much.

                "Oh, I hope my little snookums was okay last night!" Linda whined, as she not so subtly leaned into Mal's bicep. "I mean, all the noise from the snowplows has probably scared her half to death!"

                "I'm sure she was okay dear, don't you worry!" My mother smiled, patting the top of her shiny hair reassuringly.  "It was far too dangerous for you to be going home with that blizzard last night, Mal was right."  My gaze shot from my plate up to Mal, who was mid sip of his coffee. Oh, so he ran straight to her after I kicked him out of my room?  He even managed to get my parents to allow her to stay. I guess he really couldn't keep it in his pants. 

                His blank gaze met mine, and I raised an eyebrow.  The only response he gave was a small shrug, before he swallowed his coffee and covered her hand with his own.

                "We should probably go get things organized in the office.  I doubt he'll make it in today, so as long as things are in place for his return, we should be good to retire early today."  The smug glance Linda sent me  across the kitchen made me want to puke.

                "You're right! Let me just gather my things from your room, I wouldn't want to leave anything... incriminating... behind."  The wide smile she gave him also made me want to puke.

                In fact, everything she did made me want to puke.

                "I'm sure Analee would be willing to loan you some clothing," Mal suggested, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head.  "You two look about the same size."  I wasn't sure whether or not that was meant to be offensive, as Linda was about two sizes smaller than me, at least, in pant size.  And her boobs probably brought her to a shirt size two times bigger than mine. 

                It definitely seemed as though it was offensive to her though.

                "I'll just be in my office!"

                And my mother just left the building folks.  Chicken.

                "I'm sure that'll be great," Linda said, in that sugary sweet voice of hers. 

                "Great," Mal smiled, pushing himself away from the counter.  He headed towards where I was leaning against the sink with my now empty plate of food, to place his coffee mug in the sink.  "Play nice sweetheart," he whispered, leaning far closer than necessary to place the mug.  

                Let me just tell you, he smelt really, really, really good.  And it felt far more amazing than it should have to have him so close to me again.

                I blame it on the hormones.  Teenage girls have lots of those, don't they?

                I brushed my one hand along his side, in a way that was hidden from Linda.  What wasn't hidden from her; however, was the way he stiffened.  He seemed to lean into me before he caught himself and my hand, and moved away. 

                So much for ignoring him eh?

                "Linda, let's go get your things," he snapped, speed walking out of the kitchen.  She slid from her stool, and followed, leaving her dirty dishes on the counter for me to take care of him.

                Great.

                Buttface.