The room was completely quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic hum of the central air conditioning.
After my brief, surprisingly conversation with my genius little sister, a comfortable silence had fallen over the "Luke Cave". Alex was leaning against the foot of my bed, her legs crossed as she completely immersed herself in her book. True to her word, she was acting like a silent observer.
Feeling again bore, I reached over to my nightstand and grabbed a random comic book from the messy pile. I cracked it open, intending to just read a few pages of colorful superhero action to wind my brain down before officially going to sleep.
My eyes scanned the vibrant panels, tracing the speech bubbles, but my mind was already drifting. The adrenaline of the day had completely flatlined. Time passed without me even noticing.
One minute I was reading about a guy shooting lasers from his eyes, and the next, my eyelids became impossibly heavy. The comic book slipped from my fingers, landing softly on my chest, and I unknowingly fell into a deep, heavy slumber.
When you live a life as chaotic as a reincarnated Webnovel protagonist trapped in a cheesy suburban sitcom, your subconscious mind tends to process the stress in very weird ways.
I was standing in the middle of a massive, ancient Roman Colosseum. The stands were packed with tens of thousands of screaming fans. Up in the Emperor's box, Phil was wearing a toga and a golden laurel wreath, doing endless disappearing thumb magic tricks for an unamused crowd. Claire was standing next to him, holding a giant megaphone, yelling at me to make sure I had packed my backpack for the gladiator fight.
Suddenly, the heavy iron gates of the arena groaned open. I braced myself, expecting a lion or a fierce warrior. Instead, a massive, ten-foot-tall anthropomorphic American football rolled out onto the sand. It had Coach Miller's face stretched across the leather.
"DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY LAPS, DUNPHY! YOU'RE TOO SOFT!" the giant football roared, bouncing toward me with terrifying speed.
I tried to run, but my legs were made of actual gelatin. I was moving in slow motion. I looked to the sidelines for help, and there was Alex, sitting at a little wooden desk, wearing a powdered judge's wig, frantically writing down my failures in a notebook while Haley took selfies in the background.
I groaned loudly in my sleep, my face scrunching up in profound discomfort.
I was originally lying flat on my stomach, but the sheer stress of the giant Coach Miller football chasing me in my dream made me toss and turn. I slowly rolled over onto my back, throwing my right arm out to the side in a heavy, sluggish motion.
As my hand flopped down near the edge of the mattress, my fingers brushed against something.
It wasn't the smooth cotton of my bedsheets. It was something incredibly soft. Like a warm, fuzzy blanket... and something else. My hand, acting purely on half-asleep instinct, moved a few inches further to investigate. My fingertips brushed against a mop of soft, messy hair, and then lightly poked a warm, squishy cheek.
My brain slowly, agonizingly booted up. Wait a minute, I thought, my groggy mind struggling to process the tactile information. I don't own a dog. Or a cat. And my pillow definitely doesn't breathe.
I forced my heavy, half-asleep eyes to peel open. The room was mostly dark, the reading lamp having been switched off at some point during the night. The only illumination came from the moonlight filtering through the blinds.
I turned my head to the right and squinted.
Lying right on the edge of my mattress, curled up into a tiny ball with her heavy textbook still loosely clutched in her arms, was Alex. She had apparently gotten too tired to walk all the way back to her own room and had simply passed out right where she was sitting.
I let out a long, silent groan, rubbing my hand down my face. Seriously? Why didn't she just go to her own bed? I sat up slowly, wincing as a sharp ache shot through my sore abdominal muscles. I reached over and gently shook her shoulder.
"Alex," I whispered, my voice thick with sleep. "Hey. Alex, wake up."
She didn't move. She just let out a soft, sleepy mumble and buried her face deeper into her arms.
I shook her a little harder. "Alex, seriously. Wake up. You can't sleep here."
After a full minute of persistent shaking, she finally let out a loud groan. She rustled from her sleep, her brow furrowing in deep annoyance. She slowly blinked her eyes open, squinting through her glasses at my shadowy figure sitting above her.
It took her a second to remember where she was. When she realized she was still in my room, she let out a quiet "Oh."
"Yeah, 'oh'," I whispered tiredly, scratching my messy blond hair. "Uh... it's the middle of the night. Go to your own bed, little sister."
Alex just lazily hummed, completely unresponsive to logic. She shifted her weight, clearly still in a state of heavy, comfortable sleep, and looked like she had absolutely no intention of moving her body anytime soon. "Mmph... too far. 'M sleeping."
I sighed, shaking my head. "Alex, look. If Mom or Dad walk in here tomorrow morning and see you sleeping at the foot of my bed, it is going to weird our parents out. You know Mom. She will instantly assume we formed some kind of secret underground cult, or that Haley kicked you out of your room. There will be shouting. There will be drama. I am too tired for morning drama."
The absolute terror of Claire Dunphy's morning interrogations was a universal truth in this household.
The moment I mentioned our parents getting 'weirded out', Alex's eyes shot wide open. Her genius brain instantly processed the social variables and came to the same horrifying conclusion. If Haley woke up and found her missing, Haley would mock her for a month.
Alex let out a highly annoyed, dramatic sigh. She begrudgingly pushed herself up into a sitting position, her hair sticking out in wild directions.
"Okay, okay, I'm going," she grumbled, rubbing her eyes beneath her glasses.
She picked up her heavy book, let out a massive, jaw-cracking yawn, and slowly shuffled toward the bedroom door. She grabbed the brass handle, pulling it open just a crack.
Before stepping out, she paused and looked back at me over her shoulder. Even half-asleep, she couldn't resist getting the last word in.
"Since it's a special case, and I technically fell asleep in your territory," she whispered, her voice dripping with sleepy snark, "I won't blame you for breaking a term of the treaty by physically poking my cheek to wake me up. You're forgiven... this time."
My mouth gave a violent twitch. Even at 4 AM, she is impossible.
"Just go to sleep, Alex," I deadpanned.
She offered a tiny, victorious smirk, slipped through the doorway, and closed the door with a soft click.
I was finally alone again. I fell back against my pillows, pulling the blanket up to my chin, ready to dive right back into the 'Dao of Sleep'. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and waited for the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.
One minute passed. Then five minutes. Then ten.