Skurdulka's House (a LGBTQ chosen-family thriller)

Part 15: Hurry

Everyone was pissed.

It only took four weeks into the school year for the tension to turn into a fight. Storm didn't know why he was surprised. Just because they chose to live together didn't make the residents of Skurdulka's House the Brady Bunch. And, just because Ari was some kind of magical creature, apparently didn't make them immune to a bad mood.

Maybe pissed was the wrong word. But everybody was on some kind of edge. Storm sensed it, even if he didn't know what on Earth was twisting everybody's short hairs. It was that feeling of perching on eggshells, trying to be quiet, not sure what to say. At least this time, saying the wrong thing didn't mean getting bruised.

The alarm clock by the bed—tremendously old-school, with two little bells over a pineapple-yellow face—didn't wake Storm up. The arguing in the hall did.

He sighed. It was 6:10 in the morning, he hadn't fallen asleep until probably 1:00 AM—getting back into the unholy school-start time was a big task for everyone, it turned out—and it was too goddamn early for arguing.

Clicking the back of the alarm clock off, he slung his bare feet over the bed and stumbled sleepily into the hall. "Guys," he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The two people in the hall were still blurry shapes. "What the hell? What's going on?"

"It's none of your fucking business," Lee snapped. "And it's not your turn yet either!"

"It is my turn," Heather replied. "I'm always in the shower first. You're screwing everything up!"

Still willing his stinging eyes to perceive something better than blurs, Storm didn't know who was talking to whom. He stood in the hall, blinking tiredly.

"And you could've asked to use my make-up! You blurred all the colors together. You ruined my favorite palette, Lee!" Heather again. "You don't even wear makeup, it looks like shit!"

"Fuck off, Heather!" Lee cried, slamming the door.

"Hey." Chris sounded as exhausted as Storm felt. "Seriously. Can we not slam doors at the ass-crack of dawn?"

Finally peeling the sand and dryness from his eyes, Storm saw Chris standing a few feet behind him, their muscled torso shirtless except for a binder, blending almost seamlessly with their skin. Storm wondered briefly if they'd slept in it again. Ari had almost begged them not to.

"Who the fuck cares, you're already awake," Heather snapped back. "And you only take, like, five seconds in the bathroom anyway, so step off."

One hand rubbing their face, the other went up in a show of surrender. "Whatever." They looked blearily at Storm. "Are you going back to bed?"

Storm shrugged. "For, what? Three minutes?"

"Change your clothes, meet me downstairs." They turned back down the hall to their room.

Shrugging, Storm returned to his room as well. He snatched a pair of jeans, boxers, mis-matched socks and a gray V-neck t-shirt off the floor. Sniff-testing each, he dubbed them good-enough and put them on. Heather and Lee were still arguing—loudly—when Storm dodged through the hall and down the stairs.

Chris was brushing their teeth at the kitchen sink. Everyone's backpacks were placed by their chairs at the kitchen table, and a stack of steaming pancakes sat on everyone's plate. That was odd. Cereal was generally the week-day breakfast norm.

Sitting at the table drinking coffee from their Bob Ross mug, Ari perked up when they saw Storm. "Another early riser. Come have breakfast with me."