The Tower

Eight: Rowyn

Eight: RowynThe eardrum-shattering sound of a resigned sigh caused me to crack one eye open, ready to skewer whomever it was waking me up. Too much beer and not enough water equaled sandpaper eyelids and an acrid taste in my mouth. My mother stood at the edge of my bed, looking in a hurry.

“Sleepover?” she questioned, though it was not new for her to trip over Reed on any given morning. We were all near-permanent fixtures at each other's houses as soon as we were old enough to ride our bikes down the road; our parents had given up long ago.

“Clearly. What's up?” I responded in my new gravelly voice.

“I have to leave, the Watson baby apparently wants to come early. I'm setting the monitor in here; you'll have to get up with Tristen. I'm sorry.” I gave a slight groan, but reached up for the monitor anyway. I used to complain a lot more about her rushing out at night and being gone for hours, but she reminded me that I generally liked food, clothing, and shelter, so she had to answer the mama-in-labor calls when they came. It was a little ironic that most people gave us a wide berth in the street if they passed by, lest they get too close and we curse them or something, but they were happy to hire my mother as a midwife to literally bring their child into the world. People have weird hang-ups about stuff.

“Oh, and if you happen to feel like finishing the order of St. John's Wort salve I've started, you just feel free,” she added hastily as she stepped over Reed to get out of the room. For this I actually sat up.

“Mom, I am crap at making that stuff, and you know it, I-”

“Thank you!” And then she was gone.

I stuffed the pillow over my face and groaned, really wishing I had a gallon of water, four Advil, and a breakfast burrito to soften the blow that my whole morning had gone to s**t before it had even begun. I almost had an aneurysm when a human being spoke next to me.

“It's fine, I'll work on the St. John's Wort,” Rose's voice promised quietly. She didn't sound even remotely hungover. Probably because she didn't drink anything, i***t.

“When did you get here? Or get back here? Were you always here?”

“I came back to make sure you didn't crush Reed into oblivion in your drunken state. You're welcome.” She rolled over, clearly intending to go back to sleep.

“Into oblivion? You're starting to sound as dramatic as me.”

“Mhm.” That was the only response I got. That was anti-climactic. I did sort of snuggle with him, but that's just how we were. Well, how we were when I needed someone to snuggle with. He knew how I felt about him; it wasn't like I was leading him on or anything. She sighed next to me. “Can you please calm down? You're keeping me awake with whatever it is you're thinking about.”

“Whatever. I'm not thinking about anything.”

“Mhm.” If she says 'mhm' one more time, my pillow is going to find its way over her head. “Something you wanna say?” Rose had annoying habit of always sounding cheerful. Even when she was being annoying.

“Nope.”

“Don't get mad just because I called you on your crap. I already said I'd work on the herbs. That has to earn me one honest remark, right?” Rose argued, still seeming to be settling back into bed.

“I have no idea why everyone thinks you're the nice one.” She just laughed, and I turned over with a huff and wandered back to sleep with Tristen's monitor in my hand.