"In Which Reality is a Literal Climb of Shame"

(Pt. 2)

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September 14

11:53 AM (Apparently)Some Guy's Apartment, (Averill?) Earth

"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck." 

Clumsily patting on my jeans, I feel the slight bump of my phone and pull it out, ignoring the call

20 missed calls. 22 voice messages.

Shit!

I try to remember what else happened last night before I got separated from my friends, but it was like a mental barrier was blocking me.

The whole place was minimal in furniture and only contained the bare necessities, every fixture and object are organized neatly in stacks and shelves. If anything, it resembled more of a showroom* than an actual living space.

Oh great, did I just fuck someone in an open house?*

The only things that held any personal touch were a guitar leaning on a guitar stand, a vinyl record player, and a cardboard rack containing vinyl albums on a small table next to a bay window.

Reaching the French window adjacent to the foot of the bed, I open the door with little to no sound.

Okay, well a small sound. The door let out a small 'CREAK', followed by the soft click of the metallic latch.

I hold my breath and hope my (what do you even call a one-night stand? Lover? Fuck-buddy? Dick-Slut? Dick-Rental? whatever let's just call him) well-hung acquaintance was too busy snoring off into la-la-land* to hear me.

I check in behind my shoulder. Apparently, he was.

With a last lingering look, tracing his unconscious chiseled form from those steel-hard pecs and illegal packs of washboard abs, down to his massive friend (yeah, I liked the way his body looks — sue me!)I hid behind one of the brick walls.

I tap the number from my latest missed call and wait for her to pick up.

"You better have a good explanation as to why you suddenly disappeared in the middle of the night," Tia answers on the first ring, always so direct.

I wince. What? No, hi or hello, I missed you, babe?

"Hey, Tea," I whisper.

"'Hey, Tea'?" she repeats with an incredulous tone in her voice. 

"Sh-h, Tea. Please, inside-voice."

"You're lucky your aunts didn't call about you last night. Papa was about to call them if we hadn't managed to hold him off," she drops her voice an octave lower, though the level of scolding remains the same.

"Oh-h," she snorts. "You're coming over? From where, exactly?"

I open my mouth to answer, but she goes on with her tirade.

"You didn't even call us or text us where you were going last night. And now, nobody knows where you bloody are! Tilly and Will had been looking for you the entire night. Heinrich closed The Garage and has been sending the boys all over town in every street and alley, hoping they won't find your beaten body in a dumpster site. And if that wasn't worse, I couldn't sleep a wink because some oversexed neighbors next door were too busy screaming their heads off!"

Oka-a-y, and I thought I was the one with the big imagination. I absently stroke the beautiful lattice-work on the balustrade beside me. The cool marble texture sends a sort of comfort to my nerves.

"I swear, if you're not calling from the afterlife, I'll make sure you are!"

I groan, resting the back of my head against the wall. "Babe"— I rub my eyes, running my hand down my face — "it's okay to call it hell. I'm probably in it now."

"Do you even know where you are?" she inquires. A flash of memory burns through my mind.

A warm breath of air blows on the top of my head. A hand cradles my neck as another hand wraps around my waist.

I blinked my eyes for the last time as the world was turned upside-down. The scents of burnt aspen, coffee, spices, and leather burn at the back of my mind as Morpheus wins this battle.

I flinch and stroke my sore temples. "Uhm, I think I just time-traveled and lost my contacts in the Delorean.* I honestly don't know how the fuck I came from the bistro and... here."

I trail off, noting the recognizable slope of the landscape in front of me as it shallowly dips its graveled path into the buried heart of the town. I squint my eyes and pad closer to the rail, pressing my front to the coolness of the metal.

Tiny single and two-bedroom houses with mansard* roofs contour both sides of these close-knit residences with a handful of townhouses thrown randomly into the mix. 

Mailboxes of every shape and size, dot each gate and fence, reminiscent of a classic design adapted by archetypal pocket neighborhoods. 

I trail my gaze lower and lower, glimpsing an indistinct image of the ground underneath.

I draw in a harsh breath. Fuck, this is high.

"Ave!" Tia cries, a bit too loud.

Ugh, I clearly have underestimated the speaker on my phone.

I hold out my finger to my mouth. "Sh-h-h, let me think."

I blink hard. Twice.

Letting my eyes get used to the steady stream of sunlight, I scour for any clearer form of clues as to where I am.

I peer down to my right, where a trellis of honeysuckles leads to a wrought-iron balcony built one story up.

Standing in the middle of it was a hazy figure of a brown-haired girl, her long straight mane braided and left to hang on one side of her smooth tan décolletage. In her left hand, she's clutching a phone to her ear and waiting pensively for the person on the other line.

Normally, I would've moved along until I caught sight of that particular stance I have been all-too-familiar with. With her other hand propped on her waist and her weight centered on both feet like a born-and-bred European, her slim build sticks out from her lengthy flowing robe.

But that would be crazy. From what I remember, Ozz doesn't have any neighbors. He owns a building in between two empty lots. However, the building was a bit bigger for a family of four so he decided to convert it into townhouses which he rents out to...

"Tea, you wouldn't happen to be standing outside your balcony in your lavender silk robe? You know, the one that really compliments your undertone?"

I would've added an even more accurate reference about the robe if the person didn't, for a moment, freeze and sigh.

As if to cement my theory, Tia does the same on the phone. "Of course, I am. I always step outside for some fresh air in the morning"—she stops — "How did you know that?"

Being the only confirmation I needed, I took a deep breath. "Tea, don't scream and slowly turn to your lower-left."

The person does so, open-mouthed with eyes wide in shock. She struggles to produce a coherent string of words, but when she does, it turns into a breathy declaration."You have some explaining to do."

I nod. "I think I slept with one of your tenants."

Tia scoffs. "Well, you definitely hit the nail on that, Captain Obvious."

Fiddling with my choker, I release a half-suppressed laugh and double back from the dull pain in my vulva. "Trust me, it was the other way around. What are the chances that your newest tenant's mute or a hermit?"

Tia raises her shoulders. "Beats me. I just found out we rented out the house next door."

"Tea-a-a," I whine, bending over the rail in an exaggerated attempt to reach her, my upper body dangling three stories from the ground.

Tia rolls her eyes. "Save that drama for later, and get out of there. We are going on a trip to jail."

My ears perk up at that magical word. However, shock and alarm lead me to shake my head in rebuff.

I hold up my arms. "Whoa! I know your heart is in the right place. But, even I think filing an abduction charge against your neighbor without evidence, doesn't exactly constitute a warm neighborhood welcome from the landlord."

She makes an impatient sound. "I was referring to Kiana and the judies."

"Oh—wait—what?!" I send her an incredulous look. "Kiana and the judies? The judies, including Joule?"

She nods.

I cover my smile. "No way."

Tia stares at me, unamused. "Wipe that grin off your face. They've been in custody since last night."

"Fine"— I sling my leg over the railing and hoist myself up — "I'm climbing over."

Tia sputters. "Have you lost the plot?!* You must be mad, you don't even have your glasses on!"

"Does it even matter? Quick, toss me a ladder"— I hold my hand out, gesturing to the makeshift ladder she secretly keeps for emergency sleepovers and sneak-outs.

"I don't have a ladder."

I flash her with an 'Oh, Come-on' look. "Babe. Of course, you do." 

"Not anymore, I don't"— she crosses her arms over her chest — "Papa threw it out."

I search around her balcony, zeroing in on something thick and interwoven, and point at it. "Uh-huh, what about that?"

She twirls her head in the direction I'm directing. She looks at me, agape."That's a rope."

"Great! A rope is just another form of a ladder," I justify, my hand still extended and waiting for her to toss it at me. "My hand is getting sore, just saying!"

She palm-slaps her forehead, firing me with a skeptical glare. "You are absolutely blind and daft!"*

I tilt my head. "Do you want me to get out of here, or what?"

"Use the front door!" She sweeps her hand to the door behind me.

My mind goes back to the guy inside, happily snoring his way after last night's successful conquest, without a lick of sense or worry that his short, momentary squeeze* would go to extreme lengths to honor their one-night stand.

If I knew any better, he would still be doing cuddlelingus* with the pillow I left in my place.

I vehemently shake my head "I don't want to go back in there! It's like crossing on a landmine!" 

The floor might be covered in carpets worth a thousand- thread-count for all I care, but the wooden floor had some squeaky floorboards.

"And," I cut in before she can say anything, "as much as I enjoy getting a boner from your Penance Stare,* we still need to swing by the donut shop if we want to get there on time before one of the pigs* make them break and confess to some crime they didn't actually commit."

I don't really think the others would be easily duped into a confession. But it doesn't stop one of the dirty pigs from trying to pin something on them. Most of 'em aren't exactly into feeling the rainbow*- or a choco-caramel combo.* 

And, hey, if it means redirecting Tia's aggressively impassioned concern for me, I'm not above manipulation.

"Furthermore, Chief Calder likes his chocolate with a pistachio filling, and they sell out fast."

And that, my friends, is how you appeal to Tia's strong compulsion for punctuality.

Exhaling deeply, she makes a tight humorless smile and tips her head to the side. "I don't know whether to be amazed by your strange familiarity with the bobbies* or cheesed off* that you still keep getting thrown in jail!"

I stare at her. "I'm climbing over."

With a last dirty look cast in my direction, she ties one end of the rope to her balustrade, securing it, and throws the other end of the rope to me.

She covers her face with her hands. "I can't watch this."

Giving the rope a quick tug, I glance down at the ground again. Feelings of dread and nausea build within my stomach.

I try to convince myself it was only a 2 ft. drop and not a — give or take — 20 ft. death drop. 

"Here goes," I warn, my voice shaky as I take a leap of faith.

And fall down.

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Was it a dick move for Ave to leave the guy without a note?

Tell me what you think in the comment section down below. Also, don't forget to click that 'vote' button and share this story with your friends!

Your feedback would really mean a lot to me.

Until, next time!

P.S. Scroll down below for a short sneak-peek of my next chapter: "In Which Reality Is a Delectable Case of Kismet Bullsh*t".

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*[F/N]*

Showroom — a room used to display goods for sales, such as appliances, cars, or furniture.

Open House— a scheduled period of time in which a home is available for viewing by potential buyers.

Lala-land— the mental state of someone who is not aware of what is really happening.

Delorean — the time machine featured in the Back to the Future series, which was a DeLorean DMC-12 car.

Mansard — a roof that has four sloping sides, each of which becomes steeper halfway down.

Have you lost the plot?! — an informal British idiom meaning "to lose one's ability to understand or cope with what is happening."

Daft — a British slang meaning silly or foolish. 

Momentary Squeeze — an American slang that literally translates to "temporary lover".

Cuddlelingus— an American slang for a huggy kind of oral sex. However, in Ave's context, it refers to how he hugs the pillow and how he might as well have sex with it.

Penance Stare — a supernatural ability that incapacitates victims as punishment for their sins. It is one of the most powerful abilities of a Ghost Rider in the Marvel comics. 

Pigs — an American slang for police.

Feeling the rainbow — refers to how some cops and the laws are biased against people from the LGBTQ+ community.

Choco-Caramel Combo — refers to how some cops and the laws are biased against people of color.

Bobbies — a British slang for police.

Cheesed-off  — a British slang meaning angry or irritated. 

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SNEAK PEEK

"The point is" — she breathes through her pert nose — "men are as equally attracted to long-legged women as they are with petite girls."

"Ri-i-ight," I drawl mockingly. "Maybe for a quick fuck. Or, someone to hold their umbrella for them. Or, to prove that they're not as insecure about their height. Or, tuck them in bed at night and read them a bedtime story."

I flash her a triumphant smile. I can seriously do this all day.

Lucky for her, I didn't bring my briefcase or be in the mood for an earnest declaration of hopeless inferiority.

Tia rolls her eyes.

"Well, maybe you should drop the cow act* and stop looking at each guy who passes by like you're going to murder him. Then, maybe, you would actually meet someone worthwhile," she retorts in a quid-pro-quo fashion.

Leave it to Tia to level with me conversation—wise.

"Maybe I would if he's at least 6'4"," I blink at her.

Tia clicks his tongue. "You and your outrageous standards."

Something behind me catches her eye, producing her luscious lips to quirk into a cryptic smile.

"Lucky for you, there's one even better."

I narrow my eyes at her. I don't like that look. Pretty, but still, I don't like it.

"And that would be?"

"195 cm. Studmuffin with a divine arse. Two o'clock," she nods.

I stare at her blankly.

"Six-foot-six inches," she dumbs it down with a sigh. "Americans."

Images of the giant guy with his equally gigantic dick from earlier flood throughout my mind. My vagina throbs in pain at the thought.

I bite my lip. "Hard pass. I'd rather take eleven hours of sleep over any guy."

"What you need is a good eleven inches inside you," Emile smartly points out, obviously losing interest in the couple necking each other.

My vaginal muscles clench in response to the sexual innuendo. I shrug it off and adjust my glasses up my nose. "What I need is soup." And a couple of vaginal dilators.

I whirl around and make a motion for Sly at the bar when my eyes meet his — and the breath stolen from my lungs. 

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