Spin the Bottle (To Be Deleted)

*4 ~ Remember The Rules*

|JAMIE|

The smell of meat juices and the sizzle-pop of the pan has my mouth watering and I'm not even halfway down the staircase, yet. I'm already envisioning a plate with either scrambled eggs and bacon, or a bacon and cheese omelet.

From behind me, the fumbling of many feet running down towards me has me rolling my eyes. These kids always gotta be the first to get a plate, I swear.

One by one, Poppy, Dominick, and Celia rush past me; they make sure to shove me against the wall as they do it. I steady myself before I have the chance to tumble the remaining two flights. The staircase is nice and I like how it circles around in a square-like shape. That's the only good quality about them. Somebody is going to knock me down one day and Double A doesn't have the money to pay for the hospital bills. That's if the fall doesn't kill me first.

I lean against the doorframe and inhale the greasy goodness that the thick-cut Applewood bacon is teasing me with. Double A seems to be trying a new music style; Reggaetón is a nice surprise. With the spatula in her hand, she scrambles those eggs to the pulsating rhythm and sways her hips and head as she hums the melody of the song.

The woman is beautiful. Inside and out.

In fact, I always have this recurring thought that keeps coming back into my mind no matter how much I try to push it away. If said aloud, it would sound some-what pretentious, if not a bit narcissistic.

Sometimes I feel like I love Double A more than everyone else and as a result, she loves me more, too.

When my siblings talk about her, there is this distance that I can't relate to. How can they separate her from being our mom? I know that any of us could be adopted any day, but that rarely happens. She raised us. Even the ones no longer living here. She breathes in our pain and exhales nothing but love and support.

I'll never forget the day when --

"Oh, no. She's dancing again. Why must she torture us like this?" Chris leans on the other side of the doorframe.

"Geez, what doesn't bother you these days?"

"My paycheck. Nothing bothersome about that."

Mickey walks up to me with two full plates. "Chris is just being a hater. He can't dance to save his life."

Chris ignores her and walks into the kitchen to get his serving. Mickey smiles then hands me one of the plates. We walk through the kitchen and into the dining room where a wooden round table is in the center.

The two of us decide to sit opposite from the younger ones. Dominick is lactose-intolerant, which is why he drinks almond milk instead. That being said, Poppy and Celia are not allowed to drink his milk. I'm no dairy queen or anything, but I'm pretty sure the milk in those cups are a few shades darker than regular milk. I'm rarely a snitch, so I won't say anything. I'll let things play out how they are meant to.

Alen walks up to us and sets his plate down. His hair is definitely blow dried to get fluffy and is brushed to the side. He only does his hair when he wants to impress someone. A girl, perhaps? I would love to see him with a cute girl who can dance alongside him.

"Yo, what's with the hair?" Mickey doesn't bother to finish chewing.

He happily sweeps his hair with his fingers. "I gotta make sure I look cool. The Kritterz got invited to this underground dance competition called Move The Melody. We've been chosen to participate after being rejected last year. They must have seen the video we uploaded."

"With twenty thousand views and four thousand likes, they probably figured you guys are ready this time," I say, stabbing my fork into the fluffy eggs.