ORPHIC

if it's wrong why does it feel right

I kinda like it when you waste my time

'Cause it means I get to look in those eyes

Got me feelin' like there ain't no need to think beyond tonight

So go ahead and waste my time

^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.^.

LUKE

It all starts with stupid fucking pancakes, absolutely fuck pancakes by the way, and the descent of an absolute demonic angel into the world, my town and then somehow my pathetic excuse of a life. 

The first thing I feel is the hard bang of bone against bone. 

Still nothing is out of the ordinary and I manage to catch another five minutes of sleep.

Five minutes and then it is all skinny limbs and cold skin, starting from my up ridden T-shirt to my arms. I shift and the sharp poke that follows goes straight to my core.

I groan and the moving pile on my chest goes still. Inching my head up, I grimace as my stomach flexes and all the muscles of my back scream from the relentless exertion of yesterday's late night swim. This morning's really.

The curtains are wide open, light from the morning sun lighting up every inch of my room and I wince, flopping back down to shield myself from the brightness as much as the heat. The view, thanks to a whole wall worth of glass overlooking right onto the gorgeous Clearwater Beach was usually nothing short of breathtaking but right now all it is doing is making me want to bury myself into the mattress.

Something squirms on my stomach and I lift my head up, arm shielding me from the glare of the sun.

Tristan is rolled up into a tight ball, the covers I had ditched in the early hours of the morning that he has tried to hide under, doing nothing to help him.

I stare at the top of his head, the giant bush of jet black hair covering half of my waist. I patiently wait for his baby blue eyes to meet mine.

He rises up slowly, trying the best his five year old deviousness can manage to be inconspicuous, and looks at me with just barely open eyes. His face turns red and I grin.

Sneaky little shit.

Tristan shrieks, knowing what is coming, and I quickly swoop my hand across all of his back, picking him up and stretching my arm over the edge of the bed.

He shouts louder, I hold him tighter, making sure I wouldn't drop him, as he coils his skinny limbs all around my arm. He has descended into a symphony when my door bangs open and the mothership rustles in.

"Mommy," Tristan starts wailing the second he catches sight of her, squeezing all feeling out of my hand.

I brace myself, from the noise and the extra noise I know is soon about to hit me. Margaret Holden, a small woman if there ever was one, can not only scare me but would gladly kick my ass if I let anything happen to her tiny, precious bundle of joy.

Well, mine too. There was no way in hell this small excuse of a human was getting any kind of hurt on my watch. Especially at my hand.

"Luke," she trains her glare on me and I stick my lip out, forcing her to switch from looking at one pouty child to the other. "What the brick are you doing?"

I chuckle, groaning at my dry throat. At this rate, Tristan is going to be saying motherbricker for the rest of his life. Not that I want him to say the real word anytime soon, just anything but brick.