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𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟓
It was 5:30 a.m. when the sound of heels clicking on bathroom marble woke me from my dreams. Dreams I was allowed to sleep in.
Who the hell gets up at that ungodly hour? Surgeons, obviously. And their unfortunate daughters.
"Melissa, get up. Now!" my mother commanded sternly. She stood in the doorway, freshly showered, dressed and made up, the living embodiment of efficiency.
Meanwhile, I was still in the hotel bed, nestled in the false security of feather pillows. It was summer break. In a just universe, I should be coming home at this hour, not getting up.
I mumbled something unintelligible, a sound somewhere between a growl and the hiss of a retreating snake.
"It's 5:30 in the morning, Mom. Even the sun has more respect for my need to sleep than you do."
"Missy, I'm dead serious. Get up now or we'll be late," she repeated, her patience clearly running out.
"I don't want to go," I protested, the words muffled by the blanket. "I don't want to be stuck in the hospital all day and be bored."
My mother, unimpressed by my attempt to garner empathy, let out a dry laugh.
"You don't have to be bored, Missy. Use the time to study for school. The new school year will start soon, and it would be a shame for you to fail."
Oh, the irony.
There she was again, my mother, always ready to 'brighten' my day with a combination of sarcasm and motherly concern.
The discussion went back and forth, a tired ping-pong game of maternal authority and adolescent resistance.
"Missy, I mean it. Get up now, or I'll have the receptionist cut off Internet access in this room."
"You wouldn't dare," I growled, but deep down, I knew she would. Addison Montgomery did not play when it came to my upbringing.
"Try me," she replied with a challenging glint in her eyes.
That was a declaration of war. And she knew she had just activated the nuclear code.
I covered my face with the pillow and let out an angry scream before struggling out of bed with a drama worthy of an Academy Award nomination.
As I walked past her, armed with a towel and a toothbrush, I fixed her with a glare that could burn holes in concrete.
She just smiled, a winner's grin that made me even more furious. "All right, Missy! See you in ten," she called after me before I stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.
Maybe a little too forcefully, but at that moment it felt like the only victory I could achieve.
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