Dealing with more #wattys2019

9. Lesson 3- publicity

^Sandra Bullock as Mrs. West

You know how every stereotypical family wakes up with the smell of sizzling, mouthwatering bacon or the first ring of an alarm clock. But no, not in the West house, it's always some clamorous crash from downstairs! Today was different though, this time it was coming from across the hall.

Brett woke up beside me as well and wearily wiped his eyes before murmuring, "It's probably nothing." Rolling over toward me, he trapped me under his arms.

"Brett!" I huffed wide awake now. "What if Michael's hurt?!"

"Well, if Michael's hurt, he should have screamed louder." Brett's arms trapped me to the spot, making it seemingly impossible for me to move. Ugh. What an inconsiderate jerk! I squirmed under his arms relentlessly. Seeing that their was no winning chance with me flailing my arms, I began to plead. Brett huffed before releasing me. "Better be hurt."

I started to get up just to realize that I was in my uncomfortable clothes that clung to my legs and crop top that showed my stomach. The sudden thought of getting up from the warmth of the bed seemed unbearable all of a sudden. Also, if Michael saw me leaving Brett's room with my bare stomach out... That wouldn't be good.

It was when Brett pulled the covers off of me.

"Come on you inconsiderate witch." He grumbled.

"Inconsiderate!?" My outraged voice pierced the silence. "How!?"

"You didn't let me sleep!" Brett groaned pulling his shirt off and grabbing a blue T-shirt from the closet and pulling it over his head. Rolling my eyes, I crawled out of bed and retrieved a hoodie he had hung across the door handle of his door.

"You could just go back to sleep grumpy." I growled as I shrugged into his black fleece hoodie.

Brett turned the door handle and I followed close behind to peak out the thin crack. The guest bedroom was ajar just enough for us to catch a glimpse of Michael inside sprawled out on the bed with his eyes closed. Another crash sounded and before I knew it, Mrs. West burst through the door of her office. Creaking of Brett's door caused her to swivel her head towards Brett and me.

"Hey, Angelina! Can't talk right now!" Mrs. West was a mom that was always busy and a workaholic which might have been better than an alcoholic mom, except for the fact that the last thing she wanted to do was talk. She rushed right past us and into Michael's room where she slammed the door hard enough that the house seemed to shake. She was only in her 50's, but she still had her beauty. Every time I had seen her, she always wore red lipstick and had mascara applied around her warm brown eyes. She had the same luscious dark brown hair that Brett had. Anytime I called her by her last name, she insisted to call her by her first name,

Despite not having a clue what was going on, my heart ached for Michael.

"You think everything's alright?" I asked knowing full well that something was up. Not wanting to eavesdrop, Brett grabbed my hand and brought me downstairs where he poured a glass of orange juice. Muffled screams sounded from upstairs, but they were incoherent. When the door slammed, Mrs. West strode downstairs and out the front door without a word. What exactly had Michael done that got her that worked up?

No sound came from upstairs and I waited a good long moment before turning to Brett. "So, how was your morning." He just glared at me. "Should we go check on Michael?" My heart was pounding after hearing Mrs. West screaming.

With the shake of his head, he said, "If Michael wants to talk, he'll come down here and talk." I nodded and opened the fridge before pulling out an orange. Peeling it, we were quiet for a while just pondering as to what exactly made Mrs. West so worked up.