Had you asked me if I'd thought I'd end up in a pocket dimension after slipping on Luke Mezaretti's bathroom floor, I would have insisted you see a doctor, ASAP. Such things didn't occur - they're impossible.

Except now that I've become a portal victim, it's not all that impossible. So, get the egg carton and start decorating my face because here I am. In what appears to be a pocket dimension, outside the space/time continuum, bathed in an eerie, sci-fi genre appropriate blue glow.

I'm standing, though on what or in what time period I don't have a clue. Maybe I have my footing in the 1700s and I'm about to trip one of the founding fathers and forever destroy United States history. You know, butterfly effect and all that. There aren't any walls, or none of the tangible drywall variety I'm used to.

It's all blue, dark and dank, like a cave, but riddled with enough glow to veer slightly radioactive, which makes me wonder if lingering in such a place is good for my health. Maybe I'll develop super powers. Perhaps telepathy's in my future? If so, I'd be able to read the thoughts from the two in front of me and figure out just what is going on.

Or I could just ask them, but where's the fun in that?

But before I speak up and make my presence known, I really want to soak in my surroundings. It's not every day a girl walks into Luke Mezaretti's bedroom, without the promise of a good time, and stumbles into a time portal, or at least I hope it's not an everyday occurrence. Since I don't spy any corpses donning frownie faces, I'm guessing it isn't. In place of the disheartened girl skeletons I'd envisioned, there're bookshelves, like row after row, filled to the brim with books in Latin, German, French. A real who's who of nerdy icons.

To my right, sits a computer, one so clean you could eat off it. Stacks of video games sit next to the impressively glowing — in keeping with the portal theme—computer tower, all in perfect alphabetical order which again, is giving me those 'mucho nerd vibes.'

At the center of this room that isn't a room, towers Luke, yep, the tattoos confirm it's him. His back's faced away from me as he converses with some hooded creep reminiscent of the "end is nigh" type of biblical loon found in all those apocalyptic movies.

I freeze and instead of asserting my presence like I was planning on doing, I duck behind Luke's computer like a coward and hope my arrival goes unnoticed.

But it doesn't work, because the first words out of Luke's mouth are, "She's here?"

Me, the obvious she in question.

His hooded companion nods. "I told you she would be."

Oh, great. His crazy looks weren't just for show.

"Might as well come out from hiding, Addie Bean." The first time Luke addresses me and he uses that embarrassing nickname. Wonderful.

I get to my feet, brushing some specks of blue off my pants. Don't ask how they got there - I have no clue how this space-science stuff works.

Luke turns around, and his gaze meets mine. My heart stops as his brown eyes wander over my body. Something hard and hot settles in my belly. He sighs, like he can sense what I'm thinking—oh, god I hope not—and what I'm feeling—equal cringe—and his mouth twists into a frown."You shouldn't have come here."

His hooded friend places a large, scarred hand on Luke's shoulder. "It was fate that brought her here. To share your burden. It's her destiny."

At such times, if you find yourself in a portal, with no clue what's going on, one has every right to freak the fuck out.

Internally, I do. Trust me, if my organs could pee themselves, they would be. Outwardly though, I'm trying to project calm, though I'm arching my brows and my breathing is heavy. My skin's pimpled and slick with perspiration. You know, all the traditional body language that screams of someone freaking out. Much like on my most recent report card, I'm failing.

Without trying to give too much of my fear away, and continuing to fail, I ask, "What do you mean, 'my destiny'?"

Luke and his companion ignore me, and continue their conversation as though I'm not here.

"I know you'd mentioned it, but I thought it might be avoidable," Luke says.

"You can't change what's already happened."

"Okay!" I yell, stomping my feet while simultaneously clapping my hands, thus making me the lone psycho inside this portal. "Hey!" Luke and his companion turn to face me, finally. "Hi," I say, waving at them both. "What, um, what the hell exactly are you talking about...because," my lower lip quivers, "because it looks like I've fallen into a portal in your bathroom, Luke, and all you've done is ignore me, and," my voice reaches a pitch only dogs can hear but it doesn't stop my verbal tirade, "what the hell is going on?!"

My gaze darts around to where I had come from, and stupid me half expects the portal to still be there. You know, so I could yeet right out of bizarro world and try to salvage my day of gaming and junk food consumption. The way I arrived no longer exists. No surprise there. It's just a blue void behind me with a matching blue void at my front. I'm stuck here with two people unwilling to dish out the truth.

Great, maybe I'm trapped here for all eternity. Or maybe I'd died when I'd slipped on Luke's bathroom floor. Maybe, hopefully, this was all a terrible dream I'd wake up from and then get back to beating Brax's butt at that racing game.

It's when Luke's fingers wrap around my wrist, and I feel his warmth as he pulls me into him I realize it's not a dream. He's real. This place is real. And I'm part of it. "I'm so sorry, Addie," he says, his baritone voice low and gravelly, husky and full of wanting despite eyes that show not a single sign of interest in me. Though my heart's racing—for obvious reasons—I'm frowning—for reasons unknown.

"Why?" I ask, biting down on my lip. "Why do you look so sad?"

The hooded figure takes a few measured steps toward us. "The moment you stepped inside the portal—"

"—tripped," I interject.

He grimaces. "The moment you tripped and fell inside this portal, you became irrevocably entangled in the town's curse. You share in Luke's burden."

"Whoa," I step away from Luke and place both arms out as if to shield myself. Who was I kidding? Luke could snap my arms like twigs. "That's a lot of crazy you're spewing. And you expect me to accept it?" I shake my head. "No. There's no way—"

Before I can finish, Luke's companion reaches up and lowers his hood. Dark brown curls fall in front of his eyes, and though his skin is rough and blotchy, it's the same golden tan I'd recognize anywhere. The hooded companion is Luke. And Luke is Luke. There are, count them, not one, but two Lukes. Two gorgeous Greek statues made flesh standing before me.

And my first thought is, threesome? I know, I know. It's ridiculous. Then again, I always aim high.

After I chase the lewder thoughts away, I try to wrap my head around two Lukes. I just can't fathom their existence.

I sway as my brain works overtime coming up with answers. Evil twins? Clones? One's a cyborg? But if it's that last option, which is the cyborg?

I reach out, fingers searching for something sturdy to steady myself on and it's Luke, my version of Luke, who grabs my hand and pulls me into him. His chest is hard and warm, and he smells like cigarettes and freshly fallen rain.

"Adds," he says, his voice seeping into my brain like syrup, the sexy, dark molasses kind, "Will you hear us out?" He reaches up, and with those fingers I'd heard described by the girls of our grade as god's gift, he brushes aside my bangs and looks me dead in the eyes.

My brain malfunctions instantaneously. My knees feel like mush, my heart forgets a beat, and I'm sure there's enough sweat pooling under my armpits to fill a lake.

Luke sighs again while tightening his hold on me. I nod somehow, and it's all the confirmation Luke needs. Of course I'll listen to him explain. I've got no immediate escape plan, so for the foreseeable future, I'm all ears. He flashes me a smile, one that's there and gone like a bolt of lightning, brightening the world before returning it to darkness. Then he's moving us across the room toward a couch I hadn't noticed existed.

The other Luke, the robed, speaks in vague occultist lingo takes a seat opposite us, his eyes never leaving me. Having one Luke stare is enough to make my body hot. Having two Lukes looking at me? I'm about to combust.

Once we're settled on the couch, with a whole cushion of space between us, we slip into silence. There's so much tension and anticipation in the air, I can almost taste it. It's thick, like tar, and equally suffocating. I want to dispel the stifled nature that's come over us, but I can't get my tongue to work. Luckily, Luke ends the awkwardness.

"There's an ancient demon slumbering beneath the town."

Let it never be said that Luke Mezaretti didn't come in hot. But seriously? There's so much wrong with that sentence, it leaves me breathless. Even if it is grammatically sound, it's nonsense. Ancient demon? Slumbering? Beneath our town? Were Lovecraftian nightmares coming true? I blink as my brain plays catch-up, trying to understand the mountain of bonkers tossed my way.

And at such times like these, when my brain can't put two and two together without coming up with five, I do what I'm prone to do. I laugh, which causes both Lukes' faces to shrivel up and harden, like stony prunes.

"That's certainly one way to start," I say. Ancient demon. Slumbering. Beneath town. It can't be, yet it is. Or is it?

My mind feels like it's coming undone.

The other Luke smirks. "It's best to cut straight to the point. The longer Luke's absent from the town, the angrier the beast gets."

Both Lukes' brows furrow. "And the angrier it gets, the more unstable the curse that binds it becomes," Luke whispers, his words directed at his hands and not at me, though I needed to hear them, "if the curse becomes to unstable, the demon will summon the armies of hell, and the undead will swarm the land and devour all living things, until existence ceases to be."

I snort. "You paint such a grim picture."

The Luke beside me clenches his hands so hard his knuckles turn white. "This isn't some joke, Adds."

"It isn't," I say, shaking my head. "I know it isn't. Besides, if it was? It'd be pretty crap."

Luke cocks an eyebrow. "So, you believe me?"

I shrug. "When faced with two Lukes inside a portal dimension, it's kind of hard to doubt you, much as I'm trying to so, yeah, for now, I believe you."

Luke reaches out and clasps my hands. He smiles. "Adds, I'm so glad you believe me." He pulls me into a hug, and I'm immediately at his mercy, his biceps flexing as he wraps his arms around me, his fingers caressing the small of my back.

Do with me what you will, oh, mighty inferno of erect penises!

"I've been so alone for so long," he says, immediately cooling my libido enough so I can focus on his words, and not just the perfect mouth they're coming out of, "shouldering this stupid curse and—"

Other Luke clears his throat. Luke and I pull apart as the other Luke mimes looking at a watch, though his wrist is bare save for the hints of his tattoo sleeve, identical to Luke's. "We don't have much time," he says, sternly.

Luke nods and then turns back toward me. "We can only keep the demon," his gaze flits to the myriad of bookshelves, "at bay by," he takes a deep breath and exhales before continuing, "literary tropes."

"Excuse me?" I sputter. I'm probably raising my eyebrows high enough for them to disappear into my hairline. "L-l-literary tropes?

Both Lukes nod. "Yes. When the townspeople captured the demon, they used ritual sacrifice to keep it sated back then. Criminals, virginal maidens. Things like that."

I nod. Sure. Things like that. As if this was an everyday thing people talked about. Grab a coffee at the local cafe while out running errands and have a brief chat about the human sacrifice of bygone days. Things like that. Totally normal.

Luke continues, "But as the centuries came and went, and sacrifice grew obscured in the modern day, the people of town looked for another way to sate the demon's appetites. And so they turned to books. Stories, passed down through the ages with tried-and-true cliches that everyone, from demon to human, enjoyed." His jaw clenches. "Turns out, our demon prefers the bad boy trope. And as long as one lives among the town, the curse will hold and the world will continue to exist."

"So you're the chosen bad boy?" I ask.

Luke's brow furrows and seeing his features squished like that does him a disservice. I wish I could say something to soothe his worry wrinkles but, as evidenced by how I handle my mother, I'm only good at causing them.

He nods. "I inherited the curse from the previous town bad boy when he outgrew the trope. Happens every ten years." His shoulders slump as he cups his head in his hands. "It's so hard, Adds. So, so hard."

The other Luke reaches out and touches Luke's shoulder.

Abruptly, Luke stands and grabs a picture off his computer desk. He waves it in front of my face, his eyes sad and downtrodden. The picture was of the Mezaretti family. Mr. and Mrs. M stood with tan, square faces, jet black hair and lopsided grins, with a kid sandwiched between them - some scraggly, lanky boy with glasses, acne, and an awkward expression. Luke points at the boy, then at himself. "That was me, at thirteen."

They look like different people.

Luke sighs. "After that, the curse took root. I woke up one morning," he looks down, and runs a hand over his chest, his fingers catching on each of his well-defined six pack. "and looked like this."

"I remember," I say. Luke's head snaps up to look at me when I speak, causing me to blush. "You look like you do now, though your muscles didn't glisten as much."

He chuckles. "It's not real." He plops back onto the couch. "None of it. This hair," he tugs a lock hanging in front of his eyes, "rich, silky brown hair, always immaculately disheveled? I've never used an ounce of conditioner in my life. I don't style it either. I just wake up and it's like this. I tried to chop it off once, and it grew back the next day." He huffs and lifts his shirt to show off his chest again. "And these?" He points to his muscles, all of which bulge without his consent, "Haven't set foot in a gym. Ever. I tried to starve to get them to go away and ended up even more cut!" His hands ball into fists and he grits his teeth. "God, I hate it. Everything about being a bad boy sucks ass. I have to drink, though I hate it and it takes so much to get me buzzed. Most of the time, I'm just faking it to keep up appearances. And the girls? You know, no matter how cruel I am to them, they keep coming back. Like moths to a flame who don't mind getting burned."

"Like girls willing to get burned on an inferno of erect penises," I mutter, mostly to myself, though Luke cocks his head.

"What was that?"

I'm pretty sure I'm fire engine red as I stare at my hands. "Nothing," I say. "Please continue."

He slams his fists into his thighs, head hung low. "I go through so many condoms and my body's always sore. And no matter what, I can't wipe this smug, stupid smirk off my face. I constantly smell of smoke because there's always a cigarette in my mouth somehow." He looks at me. "Seriously, I never buy cigarettes, yet they're always there. I hate smoking. It gives you cancer."

I shake my head. I'd never thought being a bad boy would be so terrible. Luke seemed to have everything handed to him for the low, low price of batting a few eyelashes and flashing a crooked smirk, but this? What he's describing right now? Seems like hell.

"My clothes are always too tight. No matter how big I buy my jeans and t-shirts, they just shrink to best accentuate my body."

I nod. "I've seen."

He cocks his head. "You've seen?"

Oh shit. He doesn't know about my pre-dawn excursions to catch glimpses of him in different boxer briefs. Better keep the lid on that secret for as long as possible. "Yeah, I've seen you in school plenty. And when I'm hanging out with Brax. Clothes, always very...snug."

His eyes alight at something I've said. "And Braxton! I've never had a brother. Until this happened and then poof! There he was. My parents' golden boy, perfect at everything. God, he's annoying!" He flops back on the couch, staring at the nonexistent ceiling. "I want to read Nietzsche and Chabon and Thoreau. I want to write my poetry and play video games. I want to be bad at sports and excel at academics, but I have to smirk, swagger, strut around and get laid because that's what a bad boy does. And if I don't—" He sinks into the couch, entire body trembling.

"The world ends," I whisper.

"The world fucking ends."