Instinct

WARNING: Includes mentions of the need to heed nature's call.
             Bathroom. Though the thought hadn't reached the level of coherency towards the actual word itself, it was nonetheless this thought that stirred the girl from her deep slumber. She fumbled for her phone to access the flashlight app, squinting at the sudden attack of light on her pupils, and staggered sleepily to her door. The wood creaked in typical protest, but the girl was still half-unconscious and paid it no mind, crossing the ten-some-odd hallway tiles to the loo...
           ...Only to suddenly feel herself wide awake the moment she'd flipped the lights on. There, stark as daylight against the freshly laundered white rug, sat a cockroach. It twitched its antennae at the girl. The girl stared at it.
          She wondered briefly if she should just turn around and go back to bed, and had even turned the light off and turned around before realizing that she could never sleep knowing it was there. Bodily urges aside, the dooming knowledge that it could easily scuttle under her door and onto her bed mid-slumber was enough for the girl to set about finding a way to end the thing's life.
         The little quest didn't last long--she found a promisingly full spray bottle labeled 'BUG DEATH' in red sharpie under the kitchen sink and silently returned to the bathroom. The girl fleetingly hoped that it had just been her imagination--but, alas, the roach still sat exactly where it had been, antennae twitching.
        Toes curling, she began the frontal attack. The girl had successfully cornered the thing and was ready to squirt till it died when the handle to the bottle popped.
       It ceased to function entirely. The girl sat on the sink and kept her feet off the ground and glared at the insect. The insect cowered in the crevice between bathtub and wall, one antennae stuck to itself from the previously relentless spray of Bug Death. The bathroom floor was sticky and made the whole room smell like sweaty feet and old sponges.
        With a nod of resolve the girl set the Bug Death on the counter behind her and slowly backed from the room, eyes glued to the insect to make sure it wouldn't spring at her. It remained in the corner, still cornered, so she returned to the kitchen and carefully browsed through the cleaners. Her paranoia screamed caution--what if there were more? What if it was like the Indiana Jones ride in Disneyland, and they were just waiting to ambush? What if there were more creepy crawlies?
       The faded purple can of RAID reassured the girl slightly, though she doubted its promise of instant death to cockroaches. After all, they were said to be the most durable insects--hadn't there been one in Wall-E?
        Refocusing her sleep-deprived mind to the task at hand she shook the can, deemed it full enough to get the job done, and returned to her safe position off the ground. As she'd hoped, the cockroach still hadn't moved. With a determined glare she sprayed again, now confidant that her weapon of choice would, at the very least, kill the thing.
          Panic. The insect scurried away from the corner and towards the girl. The girl withheld a shriek for her sleeping family's sake and sprayed closer, determined to kill the roach. It floundered somewhere in between the rug and the corner before ceasing movement. The girl continued spraying for a good thirty seconds or so, fleetingly noting that the RAID at least smelt better than the Bug Death had.
       And then it was in a puddle of foamy white, and the girl deemed it safe to stop wasting their only functioning bug spray. The sight of the roach dead, somehow, repulsed the girl even further, toes curling once more on the toilet lid. She felt like crying and flipping the dead insect off at the same time. 'Beware the fury of a woman with RAID,' she thought idly, retreating once more.
      The girl spotted the lid to a plastic tub in the hall and snatched it, carefully hiding the carcass behind the lid so she could, at last, heed nature's call. So grateful was she that the battle had been won that it wasn't until she'd reached for toilet paper when she realized she'd left the bathroom door wide. In most cases this wouldn't have been that big of a deal, if it weren't for her parents' bedroom door directly to the right of the bathroom, nor her sister's door visible but slightly farther away to the left.
        Blushing and hoping beyond hope that her little adventure hadn't woken any of the other occupants of the house, the girl quickly finished and retreated into her room, thankful that neither door had opened in her embarrassing situation.
       The moment her door closed behind her--once more creaking in protest--she dove for her sock drawer and extracted the first two she could see, in desperate need of something over her toes to quell her paranoia. The battle won, bodily urges quelled, paranoia stoppered, the girl sat down at her desk and eased her adrenalline-high mind the only way she knew how--by opening her neglected blog from the previous year's Creative Writing class and writing about it.

Haha, yeah, that really did just happen to me. Yes, we really have a bottle labeled 'BUG DEATH' and yes, it broke when I tried to use it. Seriously. :/ Not fun, but I'm tired and it's technically 'tomorrow' already so I'm going to go back to bed. Night.
This has been a certified drabble courtesy of the sleep-deprived mind of Sincerely Doubtful Productions. Wall-E (c) Pixar; Disneyland (c) Disney; Indiana Jones (c) Lucasfilm; Indiana Jones ride (c) Disney and Lucasfilm; RAID (c) whoever made it. No, I don't feel sorry for the thing. No, I'm not scared of bugs. Yes, I hate them with all the firey passion of hell, and yes, I really did just write a drabble that can be summed into the following sentence; "I had to pee, but I saw a cockroach in the bathroom, so I killed it, but left the door open on accident when I actually used the loo." And then Cola dragged herself off the laptop and went back to sleep. The end.