Bad Guy. Duh.

Wake up without a girlfriend, I'm bored

Waking up is probably my least favorite thing in the entire world. Waking up and realizing it's a weekend, however, is usually a much different case, but not today. You'd think that on a fucking Saturday, a guy would get some nice, long sleep, but no. My friends had to text me. My ringtone had to be on full volume. And my sleep paralysis demon had to go on vacation to Dubai with his girlfriend (Come to think of it, my sleep paralysis demon has a much more active love life than me). Groaning as I crawled out of bed, I quickly realized how sore my back was from sleeping. Tripping on my charger cord, I slammed to the ground, gave up on life and promptly went back to sleep. The next time I woke, I was being rudely prodded in the ass by a shoe. I quickly came to the conclusion that the prodder was my mom and all hell was about to break loose at this moment. I scrunched up my eyes and waited for the end. When nothing happened, I opened one eye and realized that the legs standing in front of me were surprisingly skinny, and dressed in red leggings, a fashion statement so utterly horrifying, that even my mom wouldn't make it.

"Wake up, Ahmed, or I'm gonna throw a chappal at your face," my sister, Sara, said in a nonchalant way, totally oblivious to the end-of-the-world heart attack she'd just given me.

"What the fuck is a chappal?" I yawned as I got up, my back feeling as if someone had given it a romantic massage with a spatula, "And why the hell did you wake me up?"

"Because," she said, her face shifting into an expression of innocence that I knew all too well, "I need you to give me a ride to my friend's place." Huh. Should've seen it coming... When it comes to getting what she wants, my sister is  fucking Cardi B.

"The answer, my dear, is a no, because, if you haven't forgotten, I got pulled over for speeding,"

"Again," she muttered.

"and my keys and license were taken away by our beloved parents," I finished, "Either ways, why can't you just go with Ramesh?"

"Because he's out dropping poppa!" Sara whined.

"Then just wait until he gets back, genius," I was not about to back down from this fight.

"Noooo!" she argued, "look, I'm not allowed to leave the house because, apparently, nine o' clock is too late a time to get back home by, and I need you to drive me and disable the CC TV's!"

"Ha. No way am I going to risk getting in trouble for your whiny ass," I replied, heading towards the washroom, because my bladder (which had endured twelve hours of sleep and another thirty minutes of painful argumentation) was about to explode, a scene that I really wouldn't want my FBI agent to witness.

"Please!" Sara begged, stretching out the word much longer than should be humanly possible. I slammed the washroom door shut on her face, which improved my mood a lot more than I'd expected. Once I had, uh, relieved myself and was nestled in the safety of my toilet, I took out my phone to check the text that was important enough to wake me up. It was from Baha, something about heading to the beach, I wasn't entirely sure, but, hey, name one person who actually reads their texts start to end. As I approached the mirror, I was once again reminded that curly hair plus sleeping equals disaster. In fact, my Arab head looked as if a dead, black sheep was lying on it. Combing it out and pulling on a t-shirt and some jeans, I walked out of the washroom and was thoroughly annoyed when I saw that my darling sister hadn't moved an inch from where she'd stood before.

"You know I'm not taking you out, right?" I asked her as I strolled downstairs. She followed along. Fahaz, our butler, was flitting around the kitchen, preparing breakfast, and smiled as we approached the semi-formal dining room.

"Morning sir," he said in his south-Asian accent, "Morning madam."

"Morning, Fahaz," I greeted through a yawn, "What's for breakfast?"

"No breakfast, sir," he said. When he saw my horrified expression, he laughed and added, "It is noon. Time for lunch." Fahaz had been our butler ever since I was four. He was originally from Pakistan, but had spent most of his time traveling abroad before settling in Dubai, working for us. He'd never gotten married and claimed to never having a girlfriend, though I was ninety-nine point nine percent sure that was a lie.

"Ahmed, please," Sara pleaded once more, "I promise if you drop me off at her house I won't tell momma and poppa 'bout your girlfriend." She shot me a look. I leaned forward and raised an eyebrow.

"My what what what?" I asked. No way was she talking about what I thought she was talking about. "I think you know very well that I don't have the absolutely haram thing that you're accusing me of having." She smirked.

"Oh, really?" she asked. Now I was starting to think that this conversation was getting a little, no, a lot, too personal. Rolling my eyes, I, shamefully, gave in to my younger sister. Once again.

"Fine. I'll take you there." And with that, I busied myself with the food in front of me, not wanting to give Sara the pleasure of pulling my strings yet another time. I almost gagged as her face lit up.

After I was done with my breakfast, er, lunch, I got up and walked to my dad's room where he had the controls for the CC TV cameras located at the front of our house. During a little searching around a couple months before, I had found the password to access the CC TV monitors and shut them off. Obviously I hadn't told my sister, but she knew that I knew, and could probably tell on me anytime she wanted, but I knew she wouldn't. It was too much of an advantage to let go of. In just about a second, I had the cameras asleep. Walking down the stairs, I was greeted with a smile from my sister, one that I badly wanted to slap off.

"So... How're you gonna get us there without a car?" she asked with a sickly sweet voice. I showed her my finger with which I was twirling my keys. My license was on the other hand. Looks like poppa forgot to lock the drawer he'd put them in. For the first time in centuries, she stared at me in awe, and I felt a tiny bit guilty that it was an act like this that put that expression in her face.

"Let's go," I told her, heading towards the door.