Cinderfella

I'm dreaming about him again. I don't always remember the details of the dream when I wake up, but I can always tell when I have. I wake up sweaty and with a slight semi. That morning, though, I was having one of those awesome dreams where you're partially aware that you're dreaming and can then control what happens in the dream.

So, of course, since I had some control over what my dream self did and I was dreaming about him, I had dream-Fynn making out with him. Hardcore. I mean with tongue and ripping open shirts, the whole nine freaking yards. God I am such a horny virgin; I use these intense dreams to relieve all that sexual tension that's been building up inside me. And from what I've heard, that isn't a strictly gay thing: horny virgin heterosexuals do it too.

Oh man I was getting my freak on with this literal dream-boat. Fack he was like some sort of mish mash of my favorite actors (I mean, "favorite" as in the ones I think are the most attractive... I have a different list of favorite actors based strictly on acting ability. You can guess which lists Channing Tatum versus Humphrey Bogart go on). But dream-guy wasn't just some two dimensional wet dream of pin up male models. He's also figments straight from my imagination. He's got certain traits about him that, in my dream, I feel completely connected to, like I've known him my whole dream and waking life. It's hard to explain, but then I guess dreams aren't always so explainable.

I was getting to this part that involved me, dream-guy, and a hot tub I have never seen before in my life but made perfect sense in my sleep, when I was awakened by my step-mother, Breanne:

"FYNN! FYNN! Get DOWN here, I need you to make the boys' breakfast!" Breanne's got a voice that could start a fucking avalanche.

My eyes snapped open and I sat up. I immediately rubbed my forearm against my head, wiping away the sweat. When I rubbed my eyes, I could still picture the "boy of my dreams" and the last, erm, situation we had been in before I'd been disturbed. I pushed my comforter off my legs and swiftly scratched my sweaty nuts- what an alliteration. And, ah yes, I'd been right- the dream had turned me on something fierce.

I stood up thoughtlessly, most of my brain still thinking about me and dream-dude, and consequently clocked my head against a beam in the roof.

"Fuck!" I grunted, keeling backwards. My ass sat back down on the bed, waiting for the world to stop spinning and my watering eyes to clear again. I used to sleep in a regular sized bedroom, but have been forcefully relocated to the attic. It's not as awful as it sounds: it's no Harry Potter, closet under the stairs kind of situation, but it's definitely not ideal. The only way to fit my bed and desk in the half-room is to cram the bed along the lowest part of the slanted roof. So, every morning I'm not paying attention, I practically give myself a fucking concussion if I stand up straight right away.

"FYNN!" Breanne screamed from the kitchen downstairs.

"I'M COMING!" I shouted back. I snatched some clothes from the back of desk chair (I'm a loser- I lay out the next day's outfit the night before) and stood on the attic trap door. It slowly opened on the hinge under my weight and I kicked the ladder out so I could climb down into the actual living area of my house.

The twins, twelve-year-old, pricks-in-training Jeremiah and Josiah (yes those are their names, no Breanne is not remotely religious, and I don't know if she was high when she named them... it's a definite possibility though) came hurtling out of their individual bedrooms and immediately began fighting for the bathroom. Since they were preoccupied with trying to strangle each other, I snaked the bathroom first.

"HEY!" Jeremiah shouted when he clued in to what had happened. I allowed myself a moment of immature pleasure and stuck my tongue out at him before closing the door.

"MOOOMMMM!" Jeremiah hollered at the top of his stupid little lungs. I took a quick shower and dressed in the bathroom. I wiped the steam from the mirror to indulge in a little vanity while I had a private moment.

I don't mean to be a stereotype, and I by no means enforce that all gays obsess about their appearance... but, yes, I try to make myself look good and I care about the way I look. My thick brown hair has grown out quite a bit and I've been able to style to do not a not half bad swoopy kind of look lately. While I combed my hair, I stuck out my jaw to determine if I should bother shaving, but I had virtually no stubble. I brushed my teeth and stared myself in the eye.

I used to really like my hazel eyes. I liked that they could either be green or brown and every nice shade in between the two. I got my eyes from my mother, Clara. She died when I was nine in a car accident and even after she was gone, I still liked my eyes. People always say "oh when a person dies they aren't really dead because they live inside of you" blah blah blah the same old Lion King speech. The truth is, though, that if I didn't have the physical proof of having my mother's eyes, I would have felt like my mother was lost forever.

My dad, Donovan, got remarried to Breanne when I was fourteen. Back then, Jeremiah and Josiah were these harmless little boogers that just wanted to play on their xbox all the time and Breanne was sweet as pie to me and dad and thrilled as punch to be living in our large, sprawling farmhouse. See, Breanne's an out-and-out gold digger: she married my dad for his money.

Boy, was that a black day in the Altesse household when she discovered that dad wasn't actually rich.

When I was fifteen, dad died. He had a heart attack at the office. I can talk about it so matter-of-factly now because I grieved for a solid year over it. I'd had a trial run with mom, learned not to hold things in, and so when dad died I was a pro at grieving over the loss of a parent. With both deaths, I'm not ashamed to say I cried like a fucking baby for months.

After dad died, changes started to seep into the house. The changes were slow at first, but then gradually more and more happened faster and faster. The relocating of me from my old room to the attic, for one, as well as my becoming the unspoken driver, tutor, and cook for the twins; and then housekeeper, gardener, and auto mechanic for Breanne was my final evolved state. It's not like Breanne beats me or starves me or anything but... it's still not easy being treated like a bug or third world servant in your own house. I can't wait until I'm eighteen and can get the hell out of dodge.

"FYNNNNNN!!!" Breanne screamed. I blinked, realizing that I'd been dawdling the bathroom. I hurried out to the hall and jogged down the staircase. I walked into the kitchen, pushing my sweater sleeves up my forearms.

I immediately went to the fridge and pulled the package of bacon and carton of eggs out. I kicked the refrigerator door shut behind me and put a frying pan on the stove top. I started cooking breakfast for the tumor twins. I only had a minute of peace before Breanne, Jeremiah and Josiah came into the kitchen. Breanne had one of their wrists in each of her hands and was dragging them along- they were in trouble for something.

"... not animals! Mommy's little rascals won't ever do that again, will they? Or else you'll be sleeping in the attic with Fynn," she was threatening. I glanced at the three of them. Breanne was dressed in one of her ice queen, faux-designer suits and the boys were dressed in identical private school uniforms. There are only two people besides themselves who can always tell them apart, and those people would be their mother and me.

Right now, the twins were also wearing identical expressions of disgust and mild horror at the thought of sharing the attic with me. When Breanne had them settled at the kitchen island and was preoccupied with combing Jeremiah's hair, I curled my lip to snarl soundlessly at Josiah. He narrowed his flat, beady little blue eyes at me, looking like a midget sociopath.

"Mommy, I'm hungry and Fynn is burning the bacon," he complained, putting on a repulsive baby voice. Breanne turned to cup his face and kiss his temple.

"Oh honey, is your tummy growling? It's alright..." she coddled. "Fynn!" She snapped at me, her voice completely changing gears. I rolled my eyes and doled out the bacon and eggs onto two plates. I shoved them in front of the twins.

"Here. And I didn't burn anything," I said snottily at Josiah. Breanne moved from combing Jeremiah's hair to combing Josiah's.

"Cut the attitude, Fynn," she sighed without looking at me. I popped some bread into the toaster and decided to watch the bread turn brown instead of watching Breanne preen her devil offspring.

"Listen, before you take the boys to school, I need you to clean the bathroom," Breanne said in passing. I spun around.

"What?? Come on, I don't have time to do that," I said, slapping my hands against my thighs.

"Not a full clean, Fynnigan," Breanne rolled her eyes. She is convinced my real name is Fynnigan and calls me that when she is exasperated with me. My name? Yeah, it's just Fynn, not freakin' Fynnigan.

"Just wipe down the walls super quick. The boys got a little rowdy in the bathroom," she pinched Jeremiah and Josiah's cheeks. They both made disgruntled faces.

The toaster dinged and I slapped some butter on the toast and dropped it on Jeremiah and Josiah's plates. I grabbed an apple for myself from the fruit bowl. I made to take a bite, but Breanne leaned over and snatched the apple from me.

"Clean the bathroom first. You'll have plenty of time to eat on the way to school," She said and smiled a tiny, icy smile at me. I just nodded, staring at her.

"Uh huh," I grunted as I walked out of the kitchen. I heard her start fussing over the boys again behind me.

I walked into the upstairs bathroom and stopped in my tracks. Fuck, I'd been expecting the mirror to have a few swirls of toothpaste; instead, it appeared those nasty little brats downstairs had gotten into some sort of pissing contest- there was pee all over the wall behind the toilet!

"Oh God," I scrunched up my face. I turned around and grabbed my bucket of cleaning supplies from the nearby linen closet. I quickly scrubbed down the walls, scowling as I did it. This one wasn't going to slide, those little fuckers would pay for this...

When I finished with the bathroom, I grabbed my backpack and car keys from my attic-bedroom and went downstairs. Breanne was fussing over the twins appearances in the foyer. When I approached them, she stood up straight and shoved the twins backpacks in my hands.

"You took long enough," she complained, rolling her eyes, and then opened the front door. "Don't take a million years at the mall after school, you need to help the boys with their science project," she went on. Jeremiah and Josiah scuttled out the door onto the front porch.

"Fine, whatever," I grumbled as I walked by her.

"Oh Fynn," Breanne said sweetly. I turned around and she was holding my apple. She looked over my body trying to find somewhere to put it and then her eyes lit up. She leaned over and stuck the apple in my mouth like I was a suckling pig.

"A healthy breakfast is the key start to a good day," she smiled at me and then waved at her kids.

"Bye Jeremiah, Josiah! Have a great day, honey bunnies," she called after them. They ignored her as they climbed into the back of my beat up VW bug. I bought it when I was sixteen and still had control over the money I earned at my job at Orange Julius. Now all of my money goes into the bank; most towards a college fund and some towards Breanne to pay off my "living expenses". Yeah, she's a bit of mega fucking cow.

I walked down the driveway and slid into the front seat of my car. I chucked Jeremiah and Josiah's backpacks into the backseat.

"Be careful!" Jeremiah complained. "Or we'll tell mom on you," Josiah added, wrinkling his nose.

I turned on the car and put it in reverse.

"Go right ahead. I'm already in hell," I grunted while I backed out of the driveway, looking in the rear view mirror.

On the way to the twins' school, the boys bickered with each other, wrestling over games for their PSPs. They both wanted Assassin's Creed. I let them fight and snap at each other, even though Josiah frequently kicked the back of my chair and their high pitched squeals of indignation with each other contributed directly to the small headache that I already had. But I was quiet, I was patient, I was plotting my revenge for having to clean up their pee.

I got into the line of cars (mostly Lexuses and BMWs) in front of St. Joseph's Middle School; the occupants all dropping their kids off at school. I waited until I was right in front of the school, in front of a courtyard full of students, before kicking Josiah and Jeremiah out of my car.

"Go on," I said, smiling kindly at them. The boys scrambled out of the car, without so much as a thank you. I waited until they were closer to other students than me before leaning over to roll down the passenger window.

"JEREMIAH! JOSIAH! DON'T FORGET, IF YOU HAVE TO GO TO THE POTTY, JUST TELL YOUR TEACHER! WE DON'T WANT TO HAVE ANY MORE 'ACCIDENTS' LIKE THIS MORNING!" I hollered after them, ever so concerned about their well-being.

The expressions on their faces (coupled with most of the students in the courtyard snickering at them) definitely made me feel better. I waved at them cheerfully as I started to drive away. When their faces finally came out of the shocked and mortified expression and turned murderously, I flipped them the bird and cackled like I was deranged.

I'd probably pay for that later, but in the moment, it felt pretty damn good.