Loving The Devil's Son ( #Wattys2017 )

Chapter 1: Now That Is Why She Is My Damn Sister.

Song: Best Day Of My Life

Artist(s): American Authors

Image: Lauren Resmick

12/30/16: Just letting you guys know that these first few chapters have a different writing style and feel to it than the later ones as I'm still trying to figure out how I should write her voice, but I hope you still enjoy the story and continue reading. 

1/19/17: So. Many. Edits.

8/28/17: I've completely re-RE-edited this first chapter. I'm much more pleased here! Hope you guys are too.

Any second now.

Any second that device will go off. I don't even need to look at the time anymore; my body has basically become accustomed to awakening just right before it happens.

I take a deep breath and, as I do, the music rings in my ears and I cringe. I let out a suppressed sigh. So, it should be 6:40 AM then. Eyes still closed, I lazily pat around on the white sheets for my phone.

Where is the damn thing?

I shift around in bed and groggily open my eyes to find my phone resting warmly between my legs. I slide it up to my side then lift it above my face— a dangerous tactic for someone who's still half asleep. I go blind to the brightness mercilessly shining in my face and jerk my head away from the pain. After letting my eyes adjust to the light I read the time, though certain I'm correct, per usual.

6:40 AM.

Just below is the expected text— at exactly 6:40 AM— from Bret. And, later tonight, there'd be a voicemail at 9:22 PM.

66 unread text messages.

65 voicemails.

I haven't read or listened to either... well, that is, not counting the first three weeks. Even with ignoring them, I've still been receiving these notifications for the past couple months, and there's not a day that's gone by where he hasn't sent me them. But, what should I expect? I was the only one left for him.

I tried— I really did try, but... he changed; and, I'm sorry to say— it was not in the slightest for the better. These days, I secretly fear him— despite what we used to be— and, for that reason, I can't block him on my phone. I've tried it.

I squint my right eye and shake my head. Why am I always thinking about this in the morning?

"Fuck," I breathe, resting the back of my wrist on my forehead.

Are these just daily reminders of our downfall?

Only after these mini overviews do I realize the heaviness of my eyelids again. Unfortunately, no matter how many times I remind myself of these newer 'alarms,' eight hours of sleep don't ever seem to be enough. I drop my phone and bury myself under the covers again, desperately wanting to avoid contact with reality— both of them.

"Laur, come on!" the Mrs. of the house bellows from outside my door. "Up! Up!" Thinking more clearly, I take into consideration the fact that I am currently half asleep and laying in bed, so any noise is inevitably loud and bothersome.

I wonder how larks— well, anyone— can contentedly get up this early. I'm simply surprised how there are people who can jolt out of bed and dance around as if they've never known sleep or tiredness. Oh, wait. I'm guessing they don't get those incessant notifications from an ex first thing in the morning.