Learn to Love

~8~

Starling

I wake up nine minutes before my alarm goes off, not that I had really been sleeping to begin with.

It's five thirty-one in the morning. My head is reverberating with a dull ache from a lack of sleep, and all I want is to just close my eyes for the rest of the remaining minutes I have until I need to get ready. But I can't because every time I close my eyes, I see him.

The Italian boy.

With a frustrated groan, I throw myself out of bed and dismiss my alarm, knowing I'll be awake anyway.

I make my way over to my closed door and debate what I'm about to do. Waking up Robin in the morning brings a ninety-six percent chance of getting punched in the face. But not waking her up, never finding out what's wrong with me, that could lead to certain death.

Twenty-nine steps to Robin's room.

Her white door is decorated with nine different ribbons that go down in a zig zag. Four of them read Robin Forrest MVP. Others say 1st place, or state record breaker.

The ribbon at the very top, just eye level with me, is one I had made for her when I was seven and she made me promise we would get each other things for our birthday.

I'm not good at choosing gifts, mostly because I never know what someone will like or just end up throwing away.

I had stayed up all night making that ribbon. It reads World's Best Sister, 1st Place, in horrible handwriting.

       I slowly open her door, letting the light from the hallways stream into her room. Clothes and energy drink cans are strewn across the floor, creating piles that I step over gingerly, already regretting my decision to come inside.

Robin is sprawled out on her bed with the sheets partially covering her left side. She's wearing only sweat pants and a bra, no different than her usual attire. Her mouth hangs open and her eyes move sporadically under her eyelids.

I don't dream, not that I can remember. I simply close my eyes for eight hours, and then I open them again.

I reach out and gently pat the pillow, "Robin. Robin, wake up."

       She groans softly and rolls over so her back is facing me.

       "Robin, I need to talk to you."

       "What," Robin whines, "leave me alone."

        "I need to talk to you," I whisper.

         "Unless you're dying or the house is on fire, get out of my room."

        I smack my lips and breathe deeply through my nose, "I think I'm sick."

        "I don't care."

         "Robin."

       "Jesus," she exclaims, sitting up, "what? What's so important that you had to wake me up at five in the morning?"