Troubles

I try to sleep, but the bed is too comfortable. Usually an aching back takes my mind off an empty stomach, but when the bed is too comfortable, said rumbling stomach won't shut up, calm down and stop hurting.

I ate all the chocolate buttons after I'd won them, but they didn't do much. In fact, they made me slightly nauseous. Luckily, I got to brush my teeth. With toothpaste. And a toothbrush. For the first time in almost five months. It was so wonderful. As a kid, I used to hate getting my teeth brushed by my-

My stomach rumbles. It hurts. My teeth and breath feel clean. I don't wanna ruin that by eating anything.

It's actually quite incredible that I can't sleep. I feel incredibly tired, probably from not eating. I can't keep my eyes open and the room is slightly spinning. I know my blood sugar is low. The chocolate button probably made it skyrocket, but when it then fell again, it probably went below rock bottom.

Turn out, you do learn something from Biology.

My stomach rumbles and I turn over, my back now towards Mikey. I'm afraid my stomach might wake him up.

I open my eyes when my stomach rumbles again. Suddenly, it's a lot brighter.

I turn over and look at the curtains where the sun is shining through slightly.

I must've fallen asleep. Wow. I don't even remember dreaming anything.

I sit up and stretch my neck while I rub some sleep out of my eyes. I hear Mikey snore beside me and I grunt a lazy laugh. I feel my bladder complain about the sudden activity and I make a quick visit to the bathroom before I walk down the hall to the kitchen. I hear the distinct sound of a newspaper being shaken and when I enter the kitchen I see- When I enter the kitchen I don't see Donald, but a newspaper.

“Morning,” I mumble before I yawn. Donald hums something back, moving his index finger in a waving-sort-of-way.

“Morning, Frank,” Donna says from behind me and overtakes me on the way to the coffee pot. She grabs a mug, fills it, hands it to me and then fills up another for herself. She looks rushed.

“Thanks.”

“I have to go in early. Oh, you're welcome,” she says quickly over her shoulder to me, before she continues to talk to the newspaper.
“I'll be home late, so if you can't find anything to cook for the boys, then maybe you can take them to that restaurant you liked so much last month.”

I silently walk across the room and sit by the table across from Donal- the newspaper.

“Alright. I think I've got everything. Say hi to the boys for me? Alright. Bye, Frank. Bye, honey,” she says rushed, kisses Donald behind the newspaper and runs out the kitchen. I hear the front door slam.

Everything falls silent.

I have no idea what time it is, but I assume I'm not late for school yet, since Mikey is still asleep. He's always tired and grumpy in the morning when he arrives at school, but he's never late.

I drink my coffee quietly as I read the front and back page of the newspaper in front of me. The stock market is fucked and Paris Hilton was a bitch last night. It must be a history paper.

My stomach slowly starts waking up and hurting. I drink more coffee to shut it up. It quickly seems to be a bad idea, because the coffee only makes it more hungry.

“Hi,” Gerard grunts behind me and I jump on the inside. My body seems to be too tired and weakened to react. I hear Gerard take a mug and fill it up.

I suddenly realize I haven't seen him for two days and that he turned me away last night when I came over to see him.
I turn around.

He looks just fine as he sips his coffee. His skin is pale and his hair is messed up. His lips are blood-red and so are his eyes. He looks normal.

“Where's mom?” he asks mumbling into his mug. He sips his coffee loudly and closes his eyes as he enjoys it. He smile lightly.
Donald doesn't answer, so when Gerard looks up at me, I answer.

“She had to leave for work early.”
Gerard only raises his eyebrows and then returns to sipping his coffee.

As if sipping loudly was some kind of primate call, Mikey comes trudging into the kitchen, heading directly for the coffee pot. Even with Gerard blocking it, he still manages to pour a cup behind his brother's back and bring the mug to the table. He drops down on the chair next to me and practically dips his entire face into the mug in order to sip up the black content.

The sound is deafening and incredibly annoying, and yet Donald doesn't complain at all. It's as if he's used to it. Or maybe he's wearing ear protection back there behind the history paper wall.

Even though both brothers are sipping away loudly, my rumbling stomach is louder.

“You hungry?” Gerard asks quickly, suddenly a lot more alert and alive. I look over at him and smile vaguely, to which he jumps up, puts down his already empty mug and starts running back and forth.

I'm about to tell him to stop and just say I'm not that hungry, but before I know it he's prepared a big bowl of cereal.

“Here,” he says. I look shocked down at the huge portion.
“You look so skinny. Eat up,” he encourages happily, before he turns around and goes back to get his second mug of coffee.

I'm not one to disobey orders, so I quickly grab the spoon and start eating up.