More or Less {A.C.M}

3) Not A Morning Person

Even within the strained, dark depths of my subconscious the constant banging thunder against my compartment door was a continuous nagging in which viciously tore at my patience. If there was anything I hated worse than being patronized for the differing anatomy between female and male, it was being woken up forcibly by excessive banging on my goddamn door.

 

With the final noise of my door flying back against the wall, meaning it had been thrown open, I shoot up from my bed, gun in hand, and in total defense mode. Only to see Carter standing in the doorway smirking tauntingly, all my girls circled around with both scared, and shocked looks etched onto their faces.

 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty! Let’s go! Get the fuck up! We’re leaving!” Carter laughed mockingly, clapping his hands before turning, and walking out into the hallway, leaving all my girls to scurry out after him.

 

Rolling my eyes, and grumbling to myself, and rose up out of bed, already plotting Carter’s death as I walked to my walk in closet, lazily picking browsing through my closet for something to wear. After spending about five minutes picking up hangers with shirts on them only just to put them back, and a skillfully put together string of profanities, I decided to leave it simple, and stay in my hot pink and black plaid plush pajama pants, and matching hot pink sports bra.

 

Slamming my closet door closed, I walked over to a chair sat in the back corner of my room where my black leather jacket was hanging on, ripped it off, throwing it on over my sports bra, and throwing on my black chucks, grabbing my suitcase, and bringing it downstairs, still cussing to myself about the worlds’ incompetence.

 

I was so not a morning person. Funny thing is; Carter knew that. Which is why he was such a dick about waking me up this morning. It amuses him to see me this way. He obviously doesn’t remember what happens to whoever pisses me off in the morning.

 

I couldn’t help, but perk up a little at that thought. Just the thought of the look on his face amused me to no end. As I made my way outside, I saw all my girls and Carter standing around the gray minivan out front. The girls were laughing, and Carter was already giving me his infamous “What the actual fuck?” look. For some reason, I always loved that look.

 

“Let’s be logical, here, Carter. What cop is going to assume people in an old as hell gray minivan are up to no good, hmm?” I smirked, raising my eyebrows quizzically. Groaning to himself, he turned back to look at the van, and rolled his eyes. I couldn’t help, but laugh a little to myself at him. Still the same old Carter…

 

Shaking my head to myself, I walked up to the van, and waited for all my girls to put their stuff in the back before I did. After all of them had thrown all their stuff in, I walked up, and bent down to pick up my suitcase, but was stopped due to the fact that it was already being picked up, and thrown into the back.. by Carter. After he threw it in, he just stood there smirking at me like that ass he is. And, I just want so badly to slap that smirk off his damn face. And, I planned just so.

 

Without a stitch of hesitance, I drew my fist back before slamming in directly into his gut with so much force I could have broken something. Groaning, coughing, and double over in pain, his head fell onto my chest as I automatically braced myself to support his weight which wasn’t as easy as I thought. I stumbled a bit before regaining composure, holding him up.