𝙌𝙪𝙞𝙧𝙠: 𝘽𝙀𝙀𝙏𝙇𝙀𝙅𝙐𝙄𝘾𝙀

Mommy issues WOMP WOMP

I went to sleep that night feeling heavy.

But let me tell you, when you pass out when you're emotionally drained it hits DIFFERENT. No waking up randomly at 3:00 am because the urge to sleep suddenly fucks off.

Just, sweet sweet slumber.

Until the alarm clock had the fucking audacity to go off.

The jarring sound of Present Mic on the FM channel made me nearly jump out of my skin. I groaned and fumbled for the snooze button, clumsily knocking various knick knacks off of my nightstand in the process of doing so.

Getting frustrated with how long it was taking, I grabbed the alarm and yanked it off of the cord. It had been silenced.

I flung the covers off of my body still heavy with sleep, sliding onto the chilly hardwood floors completely uninterested in standing at this point.

I rub the crust from my eyes and blink several times in order to get adjusted to the brightness of my bedroom.

"Babydoll please, turn down the brightness!" Beetlejuice moans from beneath my bed, whining like the bitch he is-

"DON'T BE SO MEAN THIS EARLY, YOU KNOW I'M SENSITIVE ASS FACE!"

I groan, stretching my aching muscles before grabbing the pillow and flinging it under my bed at the giant baby squatting down there.

"OOF, not the face!"

"Can't even get mad without being bitched at, stupid ghost" I grumble, grumpy from lack of food. I stand up, shake my head in disappointment and move to my bureau. Time to be a person. First step? Pick an outfit that doesn't make you want to kill yourself.

"I can't turn the brightness down on the sun skid mark. Best I can do is close the blinds-"

"Then do that" BJ hisses with an attitude. Every morning with him is like this.

"Just for that, you can do it yourself dick head." I reply, grabbing a suitable outfit for the day ahead of me.

"NO I'M SORRY!"

"Die." And with that, I open my bedroom door and head to the bathroom, ready to shower and change. I was gonna be prepared for anything the day could throw at me!

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I was not ready for anything the day could've thrown at me.

"Oh no" I croak.

Beetlejuice is hovering over my shoulder with a look of horror on his face. "Dear Satan..." he whispers in disbelief.

"Good morning honey!" Dad chirps from the arm chair in the lounge. I would refer to it as 'his chair' if he was ever around often enough to get the nickname.

It's a privilege he hasn't earned.

"Uh... hi?" I mumble, what is he doing here? And if he's here, then where's-