Our Lives as Monsters

I walked into my bathroom, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and grabbing for my hairbrush to tame the mess upon my head. As I placed my pale, slender fingers around the handle, I noticed something was out of place.

Tightly I gripped the brush and flung it at the wall, "How many times do I have to tell you?! Don't use my damn brush!" This all happened before I could take time to think things through; I was always rather temperamental in the mornings.

At the sudden noise, my best friend walked to the bathroom door of our apartment, her appearance calm, as if she were used to this type of behavior; which she was. "What are you fussing about now?" she asked quietly, leaning on the door-frame.

"I wouldn't be fussing if you hadn't used my damned hairbrush! You know how much that bothers me!" her calmness towards my mood wasn't helping ease my temper, it only caused it to become worse with every second that passed where she showed no emotion towards what she had done,

"Why would you do it, after I've only told you a million times not to!" I continued ranting, my cheeks becoming flushed and my fists clenching.

"Would you calm down, please?" she asked, her expression still showing no signs of caring, "Where's the hairbrush?" I pointed to the wall with a shaky finger, where there were numerous patches among a freshly made hole.

Calmly, she cantered over to the hole and extracted the hairbrush and set it back on the sink, sighing and looking at me, "Where did you get it?" she asked, the tone of her voice sounding a bit annoyed.

"On the sink, where else do I p--..." I stopped near the end of my sentence and looked at the brush, my face turning pale, then flushed again with embarrassment as I realized how stupid I must sound, "That's not my brush..."

"Exactly. Yours laying in the drawer, untouched, as it always is," my best friend slash therapist explained to me, a slight smirk curling her lips. I grabbed my brush from the drawer, diverting my eyes from hers and onto the sink faucet as I slowly brushed the tangles from my long auburn 'locks. "Viv, I thought you had been working on your temper problems," she said, her voice scolding me lightly.

"Shut up..." I spat back, then apologized. "I have... sort of... not really..." I grumbled, the feeling of being caught red-handed was definitely not one of my favourite feelings I'd ever experienced. Still not letting my eyes meet hers, I pushed past her as I continued getting ready for the day ahead.

Gracefully I picked up the clothes I had set aside for today; a simple black and white prisoner-striped V-neck to accentuate my 'features', and a pair of dark denim jeans that made my lower body appear much more slim than it actually was.

As I was fastening the laces on my boots, I looked up at my best friend, who seemed to be drifting off to a parallel universe in her mind, "Mucra," I said, and her eyes quickly darted to mine as she gave me a questioning look as to why I dare interrupt her day-dreaming, "what are we doing today?"

A smirk curled the ends of my best friend's lips, "You know, the usual," an evil giggle came from behind her closed lips as she ran a finger down her side, as I could imagine she was raring to get going.

Mucra, though I despise her name, is my best friend slash therapist slash partner in crime slash sister. Together, we are an unstoppable force. Sexier than Batman and Robin, smarter than Pinky and the Brain, cooler than Spongebob and Patrick. We are Mucra and Vivette; not as catchy, but dare to say so and we'll wipe that smirk right off your face, as well as everything else you stand for.

We are Succubi, and we fear nothing.