In Drunken Matrimony ✔️

Eight - Coffee Or Coquetry?

Oʟɪᴠᴇʀ

I wake to noise. Voices - shouting voices to be precise.

It's not to be assumed that I am used to silence. I've grown up in a household of seven people, with flitting individuals further increasing the number of presences at home, be it friends, significant others, or extended family. Quiet isn't something I am accustomed to, but it is something I prefer at 8am following a full day of travelling, packing, and convincing my family that what I am doing is a good idea, while failing abominably - the acceptance given only because they expect very little else of me.

To put it bluntly, I'm exhausted. And cranky; did I mention that shouting voices wake me at 8am?

With gritted teeth, I clamber from my bed, tugging on a discarded pair of jogging bottoms. I tousle my hair as I trudge downstairs, the voices now louder and that much more infuriating. Jarring voices, dissonant as they fracture beyond a pitch which should be impossible for a human to create.

"Oh Helena, please," Hallie snaps venomously. She loiters in the foyer, arms folded as she poises her body in the most tense manner. She is not at all inviting - she's uncomfortable.

"You're telling me you didn't plan this?" Helena screeches, stamping her foot and no doubt leaving an imprint of her heel in the oak flooring. "The day I was supposed to be the cover of Glamour, you and your husband steal it from me with this picture. This picture!" Her voice nears an key that I'm sure only dogs are able to hear as she thrusts a magazine into her sisters chest.

She's furious - Helena. Red faced, despite the makeup that layers it. Her hair is gelled back into a tight ponytail high on her head, but wisps escape and stand erect as if static with the burning electric that courses through her. She still looks rather perfect - professionally dressed in long, wide leg pants that are a brilliant white against the mocha of her body suit and reefer resting on her shoulders.

Hallie is in her sleepwear, hair astray, and not a single spec of makeup, but she manages to look just as stunning as the model sister before her. Speaking off, as Hallie observes the magazine, Helena's eyes flit to me.

"Are you just going to loiter, thief?" I can't help but grin at the sheer disgust that taints her tone, especially when Hallie jumps to my defence, scolding her sister for such a choice of phrase. It pleases me to see Hallie and I on a united front, though how long that will last - it really is anyone's guess.

"Helena. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Although I wish I'd have known you were planning to drop in. I would've readied myself - half naked is hardly the best first impression." As if only just noticing, Helena's eyes drop to my bare chest, her hard expression dissipating as she swallows in my appearance. Quite literally - I see her gulp.

"Well," she begins in a much kinder tone. "It was impromptu." Returning to the matter at hand, she scowls at her sister. "I just can't believe you Hallie. I have worked so hard to get where I am. You get hitched and suddenly you have all my front pages?"

Hallie slaps the magazine on to the wooden accent table beside her. "Honestly Helena, do you think that was my intention? We didn't think they'd have a good enough picture to sell." I stand beside Hallie, peering over her to the magazine. On the front, an abysmally poor quality photo of Hallie and I in her car. My face is covered by my hand; bar my stubble covered jaw. Hallie is focused on the road - large sunglasses over the majority of her face and hair to hide her profile, but she still looks so prepared. Beautiful.

"I never know with you anymore sissy! You upstaged my engagement announcement, remember?" She reminds and I very nearly almost shoot her a look of disbelief.