Mr. Cinderella (5SOS) {discontinued}

(6) Not-A-Cake Cake

By the time I wake up on Sunday, it's already past noon - according to the clock, it's about one thirty in the afternoon - so I'm pretty surprised that someone hasn't come in to wake me up yet.  Mum or Dad would have normally woken me up by now, or at least tried to.  Then again, I know I will get bored being up in the morning if Brandy isn't awake; over the last week, while I have been at school, she's been sleeping in.  I leave out little post-it notes to help her navigate her way around the kitchen, just in case she gets hungry while I'm gone (which, like me, she does.  It's good to know I'm not the only foodie here).

I stretch out slowly before flopping back onto my bed, flipping my pillow over to the cold side and pulling my duvet back over my head.  After closing my eyes, I roll over again, sighing in frustration when I find that I am unable to find a comfortable position again.  Eventually (after about five minutes of tossing and turning repeatedly) I decide that it would probably be best to get up and out of bed right about now - I don't necessarily want to, but, as Mum has constantly reminded me this week, I have a guest.  Therefore, I am a hostess, meaning that I should be awake before Brandy so she's more comfortable - whenever I go to sleepovers, I feel so awkward when I'm the first person to wake up (just me?), and I wouldn't want to inflict as much awkwardness and discomfort onto my friend.  Especially with my parents.

Reluctantly, I slide out from under my covers and drag myself to my bathroom.  Hopping into the shower, I wash my hair, use some of the new shower gel I bought right before Brandy flew in from America (it's cherry and almond flavour - nice.  I literally stood there in the shop smelling it for about ten minutes before buying it, it's that good) and, naturally, wallow in self-pity for a while as I contemplate both the meaning of life and whatever drove me to indulging in that kiss yesterday.  Just as the hot water descends into sub-zero temperatures, I shake myself from my depressing thoughts, rinse the last of the shampoo from my hair and step out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy white towel around myself.

The water that drips from my body is absorbed by the mat on the floor, and I dry off before shimmying into a dark blue dress and navy tights, my a smaller towel tightly knotted around my hair to keep it from wetting my clothes.  Just as I am about to leave the bathroom, I notice something that makes me freeze: on the mirror, someone has scrawled a hasty message onto the condensation of the glass.  Without even reading it first, I scream - you can't really blame me, I watch a lot of horror films and whenever there are messages on mirrors, they've normally been left by the killer.  I start freaking out - after all, if there is a killer in the house, that would explain why my parents haven't come to wake me up yet: because they're dead.

Cautiously, I reach just outside of the bathroom door to my dresser, which stands right next to the doorway to the ensuite bathroom.  Feeling around the table, I my fingers finally close around my phone, which is still on the messages screen - I was texting Ashton and Michael last night before I went to bed, and I must have left the phone on my dresser after brushing my teeth.  Without checking which contact I'm on, I press the 'call' button.  It rings a couple of times before someone picks up.  "Hey Yasmin."

I can tell I'm talking to Ashton without even checking the phone screen - I can hear him smiling.  Most people think that's impossible, but I'm telling you, he smiles in his voice.  Kind of like Louis Tomlinson when he sings.  "Ashton," I whisper.  "I think there's a serial killer in my-"  Before I can finish my sentence, someone appears in the doorway.  Automatically, I jump back towards the shower, grabbing the shower head and brandishing it like some sort of sword.

Ashton would be proud.

Frozen in place, I find relief coursing through my veins as I realise that the so-called 'killer' in front of me is now doubled over in laughter.  The killer also has blonde hair and goes by the name of Brandy.  Great.