The smell of bacon overwhelmed my senses as I made my way down the carpeted steps of the house. It was barely above freezing and the sun hadn't even come up yet, but somehow I was awake. I almost missed a few steps, stumbling over my own feet and holding onto the walls. I avoided the picture frames and pointless collector's items spelling out nonsense like "Smile" or "Home, Sweet Home" in brass and copper. My half-awake mind miraculously guided me down the last few steps before leaving me to my own devices, allowing me to crash into the door. It was a stupid place to put a door and I had never loathed it more than I did in this moment. I swung it open to find the scene that had been set before me for the past three days every time I dared to venture downstairs.
"One morning." I whined. Aaron pulled his mouth away from Lorelle's and looked toward me.
"'One morning' what?" he asked innocently. I wanted to wring his pale little neck, adding to the collection of bruises that Lorelle had left.
"I just want to come downstairs one morning and not find you two devouring each other's faces." I threw my hands up into the air. Lorelle laughed, jumping down from the kitchen counter.
"Well, I didn't know you hated it so much." She strode over, wrapping her arms around me. "How are you feeling?"
"Hungry." I pushed her away, heading straight for the plates of bacon and eggs on the marble island in the center of the kitchen.
"You know what I meant." She crossed her arms as I stuffed forkful after forkful of scrambled egg into my mouth.
"Better." I lied. The throbbing pain in my entire body hadn't gone away and I was holding back on the fact that my bed sheets were doused in blood again. Aaron shoved a thermometer in my mouth, not bothering to remove the fork first. I hummed in protest but Aaron, being Aaron, didn't care.
"No you aren't . Your fever is higher than yesterday." He shook out two antibiotics into his palm and forced them into my mouth. "Swallow."
I reluctantly did as I was told, glaring at him. "Your fever is higher than yesterday." I mocked in a high voice. "I've handled worse than a fever."
"Do you want to have a seizure?" Lorelle crossed her arms over her chest.
"Shut up, I'm not going to have a seizure. I'm not going to die. It's a stupid cold and I'm a big girl. I can handle myself."
"Says the girl that almost bled out on her third comforter." Sheridan rounded the corner, holding up the light blue sheets from my bed. I slammed my hands down on the counter.
"Why were you in my room?" I yelled.
"Why aren't you telling us these things?" her voice was as calm as ever. She didn't like to yell if she didn't have to. She already knew what a case I could be and she didn't waste her energy trying to have screaming matches with me. There were reasons why she was my favorite person in the house.
"Because I told you I can handle myself!"
"No, you can't, Chandler. You can't simply deny the fact that you had pneumonia and, to top it off, you got yourself shot. We aren't going to sit back and watch you kill yourself. We're taking you to the hospital." She crossed her arms and stood next to her younger sister. They were split images of each other; the blonde, almost white, hair and gray eyes that had frightened me only years ago.
I slammed my hands into the marble again, not willing to admit that it hurt . "What are we going to tell them? 'Oh yeah she was held captive for a week in a wine cellar then, upon escape, she got shot. Minor problems.'"
"We all know the real reason you won't go." Lorelle spoke up. "You're afraid to admit that you lost."
"I did not lose!" I shouted, knocking over the glass of water on the island.
