A shitty morning

I woke up the next morning to a harsh sunbeam shining directly on my face.

Ughh,

Rolling over on my side, I turned to face the opposite direction, but nothing changed. Trying to ignore the brightness made things worse as it **** my mind to acknowledge the discomfort. Eventually, I gave in lifting my head slightly and squinting groggily at the rest of my bedroom.

Fuck.

My.

Life.

The rest of my room was dark.

Not pitch-black dark, mind you. But comfortable dark. The type of dark I was used to waking up in on most days.

Grumbling, I rolled over and pulled my bedsheets over my eyes, trying to shield myself from the glaring light. This had to be some sort of cosmic prank. Maybe some karmic entity had decided to fuck up my day by angling the sun through my windows perfectly to make my life as uncomfortable as possible.

Even worse, I felt bad. Like I was going through some kind of hangover.

To be fair, I had never actually had a hangover so there was nothing that I could compare it to. I didn't drink much at parties and rarely hung out with the kids that did. But this is what I always thought a hangover would feel like: A throbbing headache. Every sound was annoying. My morning wood pushing uncomfortably against my pajamas.

This was not pleasant at all.

Then, it hit me, and I remembered exactly why I felt like shit.

The marker's heat from last night. I had let it build up too much.

I began to reflect on the eventful day I had had yesterday. First, there was the whole situation with Veronica and Elizabeth. Veronica's suggestion to give me a blowjob was something straight out of a fantasy and I overexerted the marker's power trying to confuse and guilt-trip the cheerleaders into giving me more. To be fair, it had worked, but I should have learned my lesson.

Instead, just a couple of hours later, I made the stupid decision to use it again on Karen and Lily at dinner. Karen was trying so hard to be the good housekeeper and failing spectacularly. Lily was getting all defensive. Something about these girls just drove me crazy.

Last night, I had felt proud of my small victory. But today, that sense of triumph seemed like a distant memory as I struggled out of bed, my feelings overshadowed by a nauseating discomfort. It wasn't just a metaphorical unease about what I'd done; it was a physical sensation, growing stronger by the second. The realization hit me hard and fast—I needed to get to a bathroom, now.

Ignoring the pounding in my head and the protest of every muscle in my body, I stumbled towards the upstairs bathroom. The ban on Lily using it suddenly seemed like a blessing, ensuring it was free and close by. I made it just in time, leaning over the toilet to throw up unceremoniously.

I immediately felt relief, but stayed kneeling on the ground in case I needed to vomit again.

What a great way to start my morning.

After my stomach settled, I took a moment to clean up, washing my face with cold water in an attempt to erase the remnants of discomfort. The coolness against my skin was refreshing, a small but welcome relief. I then brushed my teeth meticulously, eager to rid my mouth of the acrid taste left behind.

Feeling somewhat more human, I noticed my stomach grumbling—a clear sign that, despite everything, my body was ready to move past the morning's events and refuel. With that in mind, I made my way downstairs, to grab some food before getting ready for school.

The kitchen was empty when I arrived, but it looks like Karen had already laid out some breakfast for us, an array of dishes neatly arranged on the counter. There was a plate of scrambled eggs, fluffy and lightly seasoned with herbs, next to a stack of toast, some coated in butter and others lathered with strawberry jam. A bowl of fresh fruit—sliced strawberries, blueberries, and banana—added a pop of color to the spread.

I served myself a generous portion of everything, taking a moment to appreciate the quiet of the morning. I was definitely influenced by my hunger, but all of the food was good.

Nice job, Karen.

Slowly, I finished everything on my plate and left my dish out on the dining table for Karen to deal with it. Even though my stomach was starting to feel better, the rest of my senses were still not ready to be assaulted by the loud commotions of high school.

Heading upstairs after breakfast, my hand brushed against the marker in my pocket, a constant reminder of the previous night's events. To my surprise, it felt ... totally fine. There was a no trace of the magical heat that had caused so much discomfort.

That was unexpected. I guess it made sense, thinking back on it. The marker had cooled down somewhat over the three hours between my exertions yesterday, and considering I had probably gotten around nine hours of sleep—more than double that time—it stood to reason that it would cool down a lot.

This realization brought a mix of relief and frustration. If I had known the cooldown was this short, maybe I wouldn't have used it so recklessly last night. I would have known to use the pen strategically by planning my actions with a bit more foresight.

With a sigh, I shook off the lingering surprise and frustration and continued back to my room, the thoughts about the marker momentarily pushed to the back of my mind. As I entered my room, my gaze immediately fell on my phone, which I had left charging on my bedside table overnight. Reaching for it, expecting perhaps a text or some mundane notification, I found myself facing another surprise, one that brought a whole new wave of frustration.

It wasn't a text or a notification that caught my attention. It was something far more immediate, something that couldn't be ignored or brushed aside.

It was the time.

The bright digits on my phone's screen read 9:47 AM. School had started almost two hours ago. I had woken up late.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I would have to call into the school office to explain my absence and, hopefully, they wouldn't accuse me of truancy. The day was shaping up to be a mess, and it had barely even started.

But then, as I stood there, a new thought began to take shape.

Maybe this wasn't just a setback. Maybe, just maybe, this could be an opportunity.

If I called in sick, I would get to spend the whole day relaxing at home.

Alone. With Karen.

Fueled by a sudden impulse, I found myself rushing over to Karen's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and without hesitating, I pushed it open and stepped inside.

Karen was there, caught completely off guard by my sudden intrusion. She was in the midst of getting dressed, having just finished her morning routine, it seemed. Her hair was still damp from a shower, loosely draped over her shoulders, adding a layer of casual intimacy to tho scene. She wore a simple, white robe, which appeared to be fully open and exposed. Unfortunately, her body was turned away from me, or else I might have finally gotten an eyeful of those big, creamy jugs she kept hiding.

Karen's expression was one of pure surprise, her eyes wide as she looked up to see me standing there. Quickly, she tied up the robe, removing any chance I had of seeing past her cleavage.

"Marcus! What are you doing here? You should be at school already," she stammered, clearly flustered by my unexpected presence.

I didn't beat around the bush. "I need you to call in sick for me," I said directly, my tone leaving no room for debate.

"Sick?" Karen responded, her confusion evident in her voice and on her face. She adjusted her robe slightly, a subconscious gesture of modesty in my unexpected presence.

"Yeah, I threw up earlier, and I'm still not feeling great now," I half-lied smoothly, knowing full well the power of a convincing excuse. "I think it's best if I stay home today. You need to call the school and let them know."

Karen paused for a moment, considering my request. The surprise had not fully faded from her expression, but she seemed to be weighing her options. "Alright, I can do that," she finally agreed, though still a bit hesitant. "But you need to make sure you're actually resting if you're staying home sick."

"Of course," I replied, a hint of a smile playing on my lips, appreciating the irony of her concern.