Ah, Monday morning. The kettle was boiling away and I studied my reflection in it, raking my fingers through my curls. I felt Nikki brush past me as the toast popped out of the toaster. Before I could reach for it, she'd put both pieces on a plate and was skittering away. Little bugger. I put that on. I dug in the bread bag and found there was only an end slice left. Irritated, I slammed it into the toaster with way more force than was necessary. Precisely two seconds later the knob popped off the toaster and my bread flew across the kitchen, clearly joyous. I turned and ran after it in slow motion.

The dramatic moment ended in what was quite an anti-climax. My bread fell into the washing-up bowl and I watched, distressed and disturbed as it dissolved among the bubbles. I sighed and sank to the floor, mourning my uneaten breakfast. Then I heard a jar being unscrewed and Nikki mumbling away to herself.

I looked up, wondering perhaps if she was trying to comfort me. Nope. She was opening one of her infamous jars of Nutella, clearly not bothered by the events that had just taken place. "Nom. Nomnomnom." Nikki kept whispering deviously as she spread (far too much) Nutella on her toast. I stood up, watching jealously as her pearly teeth bit into her breakfast with a satisfying crunch. That should have been me. But with strawberry jam. Not Nutella. I hate that stuff.

Nikki's eyes fluttered closed and she moaned, savouring the chocolaty taste. My mouth fell open in shock. She never made those noises in the bedroom! I backed into the cupboard, tripping slightly over empty pots of Nutella on the floor. I counted each of them in time with Nikki's chewing. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

My eyes blurred with tears and I had to stop counting. Shit. That fucking Nutella is affecting even my basic maths. Fuckity fuck fuck. This ends now. I turned and stormed out the kitchen, tripping over the stairs in my haste to start my revenge plan.

WRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWR WR

*Nikki POV*

I swallowed the last bit of my toast and smiled happily. Damn. That had been a good breakfast. I can always count on my little Nutella babies to wake me up. Nothing's better than them. Until I got with Lorraine I used to sleep beside a massive Nutella shrine. It took up most of the space in my room and I had to sleep in a baby's cot but I didn't care. It might've collapsed under me a few times and it stank of piss - but at least my sunshine was watching over me.

I stretched as I stood up. I still can't get used to sleeping in an adult bed – I think it might be damaging my neck. Even in the army I had a special little cradle. It was camouflage painted and rocked side to side. Hehehe. That was fun times. I began to make my way upstairs, wondering where Lorraine had got to. She'd been in the kitchen when I got up, looking at the kettle and fussing with her hair. Jesus Christ, the woman is so vain. She's thirty-two, you'd have thought she'd let her face go bare once in a while by now…sometimes I think she could rival Dynasty Barry with her favourite mascara…

I continued to ponder as I went into the bathroom, putting my towel on my head absentmindedly. It really is quite strange how some women can be obsessed with make-up and being healthy and then there's me watching porn with my Nutella. Shit, did I just say that out loud?! In my confusion, the towel fell forward over my eyes and I ran smack into the bathroom wall. The towel went bye-bye down the toilet.

After showering and dumping some aloe vera on my forehead, I went into mine and Lorraine's room and threw on some random clothes. I found my marking and sat down before I realised I was wearing Lorraine's tartan pencil skirt and three bras round my waist. Nooooooo Nikki. Go and get changed. That is not appropriate role model attire. You are not even drunk. Or high. I ran back upstairs screaming in horror and paid more attention to the clothing in the closet. Once I had on a suitable shirt, blazer and trousers I began to feel depressed. I made my way to the secret trapdoor under the sink.

I used my phone as a torch and stumbled down the narrow stairs. There were cobwebs and it smelled like cabbage farts. I held my breath in an attempt to not die. I succeeded and reached the little wooden door, relived. I was just about to unlock it with the pink plastic key I keep round my neck at all times when I noticed the note that was nailed there.

A/N: I am hyper. Please don't ask. I shall update tomorrow – my father wants me too sleep now as I am becoming unmanageable. Tara.

A/N2: OMFG RICHARD MYLAN WHO PLAYS SIMON LOWESLY TWEETED ME AS I WAS UPDATING AAAAAGH! OUR CONVERSTAION WENT AS FOLLOWS:

RM: *picture* Mutant jelly been grape! …I need to get out more…..

ME: One time I grew a mutated carrot with three legs. I named her Phillip and made her do the splits. She died then.

RM: Ha! Oh dear.

ME: ASDFGHJKL