Tug of War

8 | confrontation

8.

confrontation

By the time my eyes cracked open, hazy with slumber, rays of early morning sunlight were shining through the blinds, filling the room with a peaceful, angelic atmosphere - one that dissipated quickly due to Anthony's raucous snoring.  

        A lack of adequate rest and simply not being morning person significantly lowered my tolerance for all things annoying at the moment, so in retaliation, I threw the nearest pillow at the slumbering Beta laying on the floor next to my bed.  Blue eyes now wide, he shot up like a bullet, ligaments flying at an attempt at defense against flying pillows.

        In my still lethargic state, I let out a snort.  Throwing back my duvet, I heaved myself out of bed. I began walking before calling back to Anthony, "Let's go get some breakfast, Wood chipper."  By the time I'd trudged myself to the door, ruckus filled my ears, and the smell of breakfast cooking had wafted to my nose. Curious, I trudged lethargically faster.

        Ever since the Mystic Storm boys had moved in, I'd woken to a surprise in the kitchen nearly every morning, making me wonder why a girl couldn't just eat her damn waffles in peace.  Especially considering there was another, much bigger pack kitchen three floors down.

        Yet, the surprise that greeted me today was one that I had not expected.  In the kitchenette before me, Naomi and Wesley went about making breakfast, playing the role of domesticated superbly.  I was still in a stupefied state - courtesy of my body's insistence to wake me at the ass crack of dawn every morning despite the strained relationship between me and mornings - as I watched the pair dance around the counters to the sway of breakfast making.  As Naomi went to flipped another pancake, Wesley turned her to give her a small peck before heading to sizzle another batch of bacon.  

        Despite everything, they made a pretty damn cute couple.  

        Though, Anthony, who didn't quite agree with that, grumbled as he moved past me and into the kitchen, "It's too early in the morning to watch my sister swapping spit," while he ran a hand through his raven bedhead.

        It was his grumble that alerted the duo of our company.  Naomi turned around, giving us a sweet smile before pouring another pancake on to the griddle.  Meanwhile, Wesley greeted us with a bright, "Hey! Want some breakfast?"

        I replied, "Sure," while my Beta simply took a pancake from the stack of cooked pancakes besides his sister.  He aggressively bit into it, eating with his hands while he still pouted about his sister and her mate.  Anthony sat at the island.  Pulling my slept-on auburn locks into a bun, I made my way to the fridge and pulled out the orange juice.  While grabbing a glass from the cupboard, I asked the couple, "What are you two doing up already?"

        The clock on the stove read 7:07 a.m. Naomi pointed to her brother, "Talk to Snorlax over there.  He's the reason I woke up."

        Pointing to Naomi, he retorted, "She said there'd be bacon."   

        Naomi claimed, "Besides, everyone else is up already," in rebuttal as she turned off the griddle, stacking on the last of the pancakes.  Next, she reached into the silverware drawer below her, only to quickly pull her hand back with a sharp yelp.  Inspecting the new scarlet incision that dripped across her palm, the Gamma moved to shuffle around her mate, towards the sink.

        As she passed by, Wesley protectively hunched over the pork, exclaiming, "Don't you dare get blood on my bacon, woman!"

        By this time, Naomi was clutching a rag around her newly washed wound.  In retaliation, she smacked a cut free hand across the back of her mate's empty head, muttering about the "insensitive manwhore."  A recovering Wesley grabbed her injured hand into his and gave it a kiss on the palm.  Naomi's face instantly softened.