My older brother is a cop. Naturally, he has a protective instinct over me, his minuscule, only, sister. The cop factor does not avail. I was always cosseted by my family, but me and Greg, my brother, always had a more proximate bond. Whenever one of my other brothers picked on me, he would get super mad at them. When I was about 12 years old, he met his fiancé and got solemn with her. I was so worried she would glom my brother away, and I would never optically discern him anymore. He expeditiously reassured me, and I anon commenced to cerebrate of his fiancé as the sister I never had.
Anyway, as I verbally expressed, he is a cop. He worked crazy hours, customarily peregrinating home around 3-4 in the morning. Every night, upon advent, he would shine his too effulgent flashlight into my room. My bed is against the same wall as my door, so I never optically discerned him, but I always kenned it was him. He did it just to check up on me, I was sure. I didn’t mind being woken up, and appreciated the comfort it gave me. Eccentrically enough, I don’t cerebrate any of my other family members being woken with beams of light at outlandish hours. I chalked it up to the fact that I was the only one who left my door open at night. For a while, I relished the nightly ritual.
However, towards mid January of my senior year I was stressed. College was a looming monolith that I could not handle, my ascendant figure had me working 6 days a week, requiring me to arouse at 7 am even on the days I didn’t have school, and I needed the slumber I could get. What was once a minute, virtually hysterical comfort to me was now one of the most immensely colossal nuisances of my life. When I was awoken by the minute beam of light, I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, and my frustration only grew as I brooded into the early hours of morning. One night, I snapped at my brother to stop as