My Brother's Band

chapter four: my cookies!

"Swear."

"No."

"Just once."

"No."

Come on, who doesn't swear?"

"Obviously, me."

"Just say fuck."

"No."

"Shit?"

"No."

"Uh, hell."

"You have a wide expanse of swear word vocabulary," I deadpanned. 

"For God's sakes, just say, say... crap."

"Poop."

"That doesn't count!" Grey whined, slamming his head down onto the marble counter tops of their kitchen.

"It's all you're going to get," I muttered, spinning around once again on one of the shiny silver kitchen stools.  My blonde hair flew out around me, the faster that I went.  This would be so much fun if I didn't puke afterwards.

Grey groaned, wincing as he rubbed the spot that had previously met the rock solid slab before him.

I had made the mistake of letting it slip to him that I didn't swear.  I'm not exactly certain how it came out; I had been in my room, waking up from the first uncomfortable sleep in awhile, and then a blur had sped into my room.

It was Grey.  Acting like a superhero at five forty three am. 

He was a wannabe superman, judging by the dive he took onto my bed.

I screamed, I threatened to kill him, and used every word in my none swearing vocabulary to tell him off.

The only thing he heard -or didn't hear, rather- was the swear words.

It was now nine fifteen in the morning, and he had been pestering me to swear for the past three hours, thirty two minutes, and twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen seconds.

No, I was not a math genius.

I really had been staring at the kitchen clock that long.

The numbers were beginning to blend into a face.

I wanted sleep.

"Leave her alone Grey," a new voice persisted.  I turned just in time to see a cropped brown head of hair poking into the stainless steel fridge. Come to think of it, everything was stainless steel; the fridge, the sink, the dishwasher, the toaster, the oven, the microwave, the pots and pans... Boys. 

Paul turned, and kicked the door shut a few moments later; his arms brimming with a large assortment of extremely unhealthy looking foods that dangled dangerously a few painful feet from the cool oak floor.

"I just want her to swear. Just once! It isn't a big deal!"

"I think it's cool that she doesn't swear Grey," Paul stated, dropping everything onto the island in front of us.  I stared in horror.

"Is that processed cheese?" I screeched, jumping off my stool in horror.

"Um, yes?" Paul questioned, picking it up and holding it out towards me.

"No!" I shouted, but I grabbed it anyways, and dropped it right into the garbage can.  Hey, what do you know, that was stainless steel as well.

"Hey!  What'd you do that for?!  I can't very well have my omelet without the cheese!"

"Are those frozen chunks of bacon?" I asked, staring horrified at the assortment before him.  "And," I sniffed the air, "That, is not real spice.  Powdered eggs?  Powdered milk? Do you guys LIVE off powders?" I cried, throwing each individual piece of 'food' into the garbage can at my side.  "Who puts doritos in an omelet? And you are NOT have Pepsi at-" I glanced at the clock, "-Nine thirty am."