The sound of dishes clattering in unsteady hands forces me awake, and a quick glance towards the nightstand confirms my suspicion; who the hell is moving shit around at 3 in the morning? If someone broke in, they're terrible at their job.

That's when I notice that someone has been in the house, my very room even! My wardrobe is flung open, and it looks like some of my clothes have been scattered onto the floor, though it's hard to tell in the middle of the night. My door room is slightly ajar, the sound of clattering dishes still steady in the distance.

I shake myself awake before reaching between the mattress and the bedframe, rooting around for the small pistol hidden there. Its cold, metallic surface gives me a little solace as I start making my way towards the kitchen.

The rattling sound stops just before I make it to the doorway, and this close, I can smell the scent of... coffee? What the hell is going on?

Not wanting to waste any more time, I peer through the doorway, only to give a small sigh of defeat. Even from behind, I can clearly recognize the tall and imposing form of Donna leaning over my coffee maker, humming softly as she pours herself a drink. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" I ask.

Donna doesn't even bother to act shocked or sorry when she replies, "What? Oh, clearly I'm getting some coffee. You didn't have any ready for when I got here, and I didn't want to want you up for it, so here I am."

Another quick sigh escapes my lips, an inevitability when it comes to her. "No, I mean, what are you doing in my house? I almost shot you thinking it was that asshole neighbor again," I say, turning the pistol's safety back on and pocketing it.

"Don't you ever read my texts, girl? I got kicked out the house for failing math again. Well, that and just about everything else," Donna says, shrugging her shoulders and raising the steaming cup of coffee to her lips. She leans against my cabinet, ripped jeans and white tanktop doing nothing to hide her toned body. She's still got that damnably irresistible grin on her face, marred only slightly by a old scar on the left side of her face, tracing upwards from her chin to just below her single, starkly black eye. The right socket, empty for a little over a year now, is covered with a garish pink eyepatch more painful to look at than her scar.

I scratch at my head, trying to think if anyone's texted me recently, but I could swear that no one has, at least in my currently jumbled-by-house-intruder mentality. Though I'm willing to bet she just forgot to text me, as usual. "Whatever, it's too early to complain. So, what, you need somwhere to crash for a couple days until the new semester comes around?" I ask, motioning for the coffee pot.

Donna slides it my way before saying, "Eh, not really. I'm not heading back to college, too much work."

Good thing I hadn't drunk anything or this would be the perfect time for a comical spit-take. "What are you talking about? Isn't that the reason you came back home after everything? Not a lot of people get a free ride these days, Donna."

"Yeah, but it's not really my thing, ya know? I don't exactly got any smarts, and having to be around all those people in stuffy room? No thanks, I'll just find some work somewhere, or maybe bum out for a while. Nothing new there, at least," she says quietly, a distant look in her remaining eye.

"Don't give me that shit. You can stay here till you decide what you want, so stop trying to be cool."

Donna laughs, then downs the rest of her coffee. "Yo, thanks, ${character name}. You still got my old shirts here by chance? This tanktop ain't gonna fight much longer."

I can only concur. Donna is more than a little top-heavy, and that thin cotton is about to let those heaving beasts free any second now. Tipping my head towards the room at the back of the hall, I say, "Bathroom's been moved right next to it, so go ahead and take a shower too. You smell like a wet dog."

She gives another heart laugh before heading off towards the shower. She's always had a bit of screw loose, but she's a decent person at heart, and God knows she needs a break for once. So long as her hands stay off me, I don't think it'll be a problem for her to stick around a bit.

Then comes the predictable sound of everything on my bathroom shelves falling to the ground. You think someone would be less clumsy after a year of living with only one eye, but Donna breaks the mold in a lot of ways, I suppose. "Shit, sorry, ${character name}! Think you can come give me a hand real quick?"