Chapter 3: 1 – My cold breakfast, my colder big sister

How would you rate your mornings?

Up until that day when everything changed, I would rate every one of mine with a big F. A failure through and through.

Much of it is because, actually, I live with my sister, and given I’m in my last year of high school (I mean, I am nineteen so I suppose I could get a job…) and she’s been working her ass off since she was sixteen, she bosses me around.

Ever since our parent’s death she’s been the one to take care of me. I’m grateful, but that has done a number on her temperament.

“Bro!” She shouts from below. “Wake the fuck up! I’m not cooking your damn eggs another time!”

“Ah, dammit.”

I walk downstairs, scratching my butt, still covered in my pyjama.

My sister is waiting for me in the kitchen, already dressed in her working herbalist trainee suite. She’s learning to make all sort of concoctions and she has a dream to sell them online.!

Still, she could sell something else online… my sister is gorgeous, even if she bosses me around a lot, but she could make loads of money if she opened a SoleSimps account, or something like that.

Even if her working clothes do nothing to enhance her figure, it’s clear she’s gorgeous, with her long, proportionate legs, slender arms and thin waist. She doesn’t exercise much, but she still has a nice rounded butt and a pair of perky breasts that even though they are just a C-cup, they still suit her well.

Together with her gorgeous face (though I’d have to admit that Claire from school has her beaten, if only by very little), and especially her beautiful deep emerald eyes, she’s a knock-out.

I might have rubbed it off to her once or twice while drunk… but I am not really proud of it.

“Quick! What’s taking you so long!” She raps her manicured fingers against the table.

“Sorry. Just woke up, that’s all.”

“What am I ever going to do with you if you don’t grow up a little.”

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“Sorry…” At least the egg is tasty, if a little cold. “It’s good,” I say, finishing it.

“Of course,” she nods sharply. “Also, there’s a package from you from Grandpa Hermes, I left it on the restroom’s table.”

“Thanks.”

What could it be? Grandpa is not one to send presents outside of Christmas and our birthdays.

 I stand up to go upstairs and change.

I put on a pair of trousers and a shirt, and I’m more or less good for school.

I can’t wait for this travesty of high school to be over, even if some of the people there look really good, like Claire or my childhood friend Tina.

From below I hear the door open and close as big sis leaves for work. Without even saying goodbye. I sigh as I pick up my stuff.

Feeling liked would be nice. Is it asking too much?

I walk outside without even opening up Grandpa’s present. What could it matter anyway?

Now I wonder how different things would have been if I did.

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