Are you cereal? [rempykins]

Samantha closes the stainless steel refrigerator in Conner's kitchen with her elbow, bringing out a half-full jug of milk at two in the morning. She still calls this house Conner's. It doesn't seem right for her to be here. Almost "out-of-place," per se. She pulls out a ceramic bowl from the counter with a Winnie-the-Pooh design decorating it. The Cheerios overflow in her bowl as she pours the two-percent milk in. Sam feels her way through the kitchen and into the living room, almost spilling milk over the wooden floors. She sets her bowl down on the coffee table, feeling around for the remote. She finds it underneath a pair of boxers, which she pinches the cloth, throwing in the opposite direction.

Sam kicks her bare feet up on the arm of the leather couch, aiming the remote at the television set. She grabs her bowl and slurps the now-sweetened milk, courtesy of the Honey Cheerios. The movie on showed somebody's naked ass on the screen, which made her want to puke. Damn, she could see the cellulite dappling the actor's butt. She changes the channel, relieved, to find Nick@Nite airing some old Fresh Prince of Bel-Air episode. Reminiscing in the '90's. She spoons the rest of the final Cheerios into her mouth, as her eyes stay glued to the screen.

Samantha shudders at the sound of a person upstairs, practically tipping her over. Thank God, she finished her cereal. She grasps for the remote in one swift motion, switching off the television before anyone sees or hears her. Sam tears the blanket off the top of the couch and wraps herself in it, pretending to sleep in the pitch blackness.

Sam grips the thin blanket more tightly around her, trying to gain warmth. She tries to stay absolutely still, except for the rise and fall of her breathing. She can't help that she needs a decent supply of oxygen to live, so, sorry. Her eyes creep out of covers, seeing Conner in the now brightly lit room. Her eyes squint, attempting to adjust quickly to the sudden light. She eyes Conner, scanning him as he sits by her, unbeknownst that he had plopped his skinny-ass down on her foot. Sam purposely jabs him with one fierce kick. She fakes a yawn, mumbling, "That fucking hurt." Sam glares at him, not angry at all--only because she can.

Samantha glares at him, menacingly (of course she means no harm), before snatching the blanket out from underneath her friend's scrawny, little ass. She snuggles into the warm cloth, smelling the fresh scent of cleanliness. His mom sure knows how to make Sam feel at home. She curls her feet under her, sitting upright, with her back against the couch. "I was bored and I wanted food." she responds without straying her brown eyes from the blaring television set. Unlike Conner, food is Sam's soulmate. She'll die without it. Well, anyone will, but her, more so. "What about you, Kenzie?" she tilts her head to her right, glancing at him for a moment, almost repeating his question in mockery, but not quite. Although, one may say she's using his god-awful nickname against him, but she's Sam, so all is well because she's Sam.

Sam smiles widely at him, quite the fake smile. She, with her fingers still beneath the blanket, prods him in the side, keeping her eyes locked on the television screen. The volume blares throughout the living room, echoing and bouncing against the walls, even if it's pretty low. Everything seems louder when late. She pats his head, teasingly, ruffling his hair, "Kenziekenziekenzie," she purposely repeats his dreadful nickname for emphasis, "of course you have insomnia. You always think you have something problematic with you." Sam's soft voice rings heavily with sarcasm. She scoots herself off the couch, yanks Conner's left arm and hurries to the front door, swinging it open, before slamming it shut behind her. "Now, Conner." she begins, her gaze flickering up at him, smiling devilishly. "I dare you to scream something obscene right now. Right this second." Sam doesn't care how difficult it may be for him, but all she wants is a happy Conner to accept the dare. She stands with her arms folded across her chest, challenging him, forcefully, on the porch with her bare feet glued to the floor.