Treehouse

To my surprise the door was unlocked, though it was impossible for my mother to be home so soon. It wasn't my mother. It was my older brother: it was Drake. Oh no.

"Where have you been Carrot? I've been waiting an hour for you to come home," he said, sounding mischievous.

"What do you want?" I questioned, although I knew the answer.

"Well, if you don't want me mam to find out about your lateness, you better get cooking. I'm starving Soph, you shouldn't have left me this long. Oh, and while I've got you wrapped round me little finger, I would like you to wash me kit this weekend too, I've got a game next Wednesday."

"Yeah, and you have practise on Monday. God, Drake, don't you have a brain? Anyway me and some friends are going camping in the woods this weekend, you know that, I told you two weeks ago. So I'm sorry, I am not washing your kit. But, I will get you something to eat after I've got changed."

"I always knew you loved me little sis." he smirked.

"Don't push your luck." I hissed.

I've always let him wrap me around his little finger, I know I shouldn't, but I do. I guess it's because I was brought up with him bossing me around.

So I trailed up to my favourite place in the house - my bedroom. It's only small, but it's mine. Not Mam's, not Drake's, mine. Sky blue paint still covers the walls as it has done for the previous fourteen years and an old, tattered, beige carpet remains spread over the floorboards. I could change that if I wanted, but to be honest I didn't really want to. I have so many memories of this small, quaint room, some good, some bad. If this room changed it would be like a small part of me would be missing.

But as much as those memories were on my mind, there were much stronger memories that dominated my thoughts. Memories of today. Memories of him. Memories of Steffan. I remembered hiss actions. I remembered how I saved his life. Everything was so clear. Then I remembered how I promised him to come out afterwards.

That made me hurry. I quickly tore of my uniform and threw on a pair of jeans and a cute t-shirt without thinking and raced back downstairs to put something on to cook for my brother.

"Wow, Soph, your quick." He commented when he saw what a hurry I was in.

I didn't answer him.

"What's so important?" he asked me.

Once again, I didn't answer. Instead I just picked up some pasta and put it on to boil.

"Pasta?" He didn't like the sound of that.

"Yes Drake, pasta."

He pulled a face.

"Look Drake, it's either you eat this, make something your self, or starve."

"Okay, okay. God, don't bite my head off. I'll have your stupid pasta."

I liked it when he did what I wanted, it gave me a sense of power and authority. He knows that most of the time I'm right anyways, I don't know why he bothers.

I took the pasta out of the pan and poured cheese sauce onto it.

"Here," I said, "bye, Drake, I've got to go, and I'm sure you will too when you've finished."

"Aren't you grabbing owt to eat?"

"I'll get something out"

"okay, sis, see you"

I walked out of the house, slamming the door behind me and half-runned towards the bench, praying to God that he'd still be there. He would be, wouldn't he?