Nevermind [90s fic]

Chapter 11: Natural Lube, A Conspiracy Theory?

Remember how we talked about Saturday mornings and how semi-decent they were? Remember all the fun little details and how tranquil and totally cool it was made out to be?Okay well take that all away, replace it with misery at first sight of the ceiling and the stark awareness that you didn't die, then double it once you realise it is Sunday.

Sunday mornings were awkward. It's the day before the start of yet another dreadful week of hauling ass to the worst place ever and you have to spend it at the other place that comes pretty close to it: home with all family members present all day long. Perhaps it was pure exaggeration on Lauren's part though technically every place as of late was the worst place ever. Even if nothing was wrong with the environment, everything was wrong within her so forget about enjoying it. Mike, Clara, Chris and Marilyn were all awake and doing their own thing separately for the moment. Lauren had escaped her room very early to get a head start on breakfast and some quiet time before the living space downstairs would inevitably be taken up by arguments over the remote control; talk of maybe going out fishing or maybe getting the family together to eat at a diner with the neighbours just coming back from church; Mike lecturing about Softball and Clara complaining about her beauty products she had just bought gone missing—cough, Marilyn, cough cough.

Yayyy for fun Sundays! As if. Fuck Sundays. And fuck every day that came after it too from now on.

That asshole Jim, from two houses down, had his lovely alarm clock of a lawn mower going since thirty minutes ago. Thirty minutes longer and Lauren would be going outside to do some serious damage. Oh! And Mrs. Bernstein was awake quite early today as well—that bitch figured the whole street should know her good-for-nothing son-in-law couldn't locate what the problem was with her car, as it wouldn't start and she had to run and get groceries for company coming over later. She tore into him SO LOUDLY, it provided that stupid fucking lawn mower with some solid competition. And don't even get Lauren started on that Satanic dog from hell across the street, to the left of Mrs. Bernstein's property. The birds sang in a choir from tree to tree and the Rottweiler wasn't having ANY of it from his window view in the dining room. That motherfucker barked all morning long. Was there some sort of arranged contest on who could awaken with so much disruption to what should've been a peaceful day that Lauren wasn't aware about??

Swinging her legs beneath the table, kicking the legs of the chair across from her, repeatedly scooping through the bowl of milk now scarce of Lucky Charms, Lauren sulked while reading the back of the cereal box, trying to solve a puzzle she's been stuck on for seven minutes. One glance down at her bowl and the discovery of no charms left floating around created a splash as she dropped the spoon and lost her damn mind. Grunting and ripping the box open, she haphazardly widened the hole of the bag and accidentally dumped more cereal than she could stomach into the bowl with all the good charms free falling onto the floor, scattered just like her brain. Ok, fuck the cereal. Fuck it! That's enough!

"You gonna clean that up?" Chris watched her from the serving hatch, sporting the stupidest slimiest smirk on the most weirdly prepubescent face Lauren had ever seen. Then he carried his scrawny little ass into the kitchen where the dining table was, briefly stared at his sister then climbed up onto the counters searching for food like an intrusive Raccoon. He took his sister's silence as the green light to provoke her. "If you don't, I'm telling mom."

"And if you tell mom, I'll sock you in the face," Lauren shoved the bag back into the box and took her bowl to the trash, dumping the cereal.

"Mom says if you hit me you'll have to do my chores for a week as punishment."

"As if."

"As if nothing."

"Will you shut up?"

"No you."