Crossed

Chapter 2, Part 3

She had a kind of addiction. Always had to take the opportunity to initiate sex. Always following through eagerly and energetically. And he was a lot older, something that she was always looking forward to doing, being the least experienced of the two, which was quite hard to come by around her campus. Not that she frequented sexual action more than everyone else or anything, just very adaptive and knew exactly what to do to get what she wanted, whenever she wanted... as quickly as possible.

It was too easy this time around. Easy in two ways. Usually it was difficult to convince herself that sex was the most moral thing to do for herself at the very moment of the initiative decision. Sometimes the arbitrary comparisons of quality over quantity became far too consuming and so she resisted. This time however, she was alone in her apartment, had her cute underdress worn underneath her baggy t-shirt and her old and ridiculously short and tight volleyball spandex.

She escaped to her bedroom before informing the man of the location of the stupid router. I wonder if it breaks again (like it usually does), would he be the one to come back? Would he request domain over our apartment complex? He'll at least try.

She felt the doom resounding with each footstep of his tough boots on the carpet coming closer to the bedroom door. He knew that he was risking his job by walking to the door rather than calling out to her. He knew by the beating of his heart that there was a slim, very slim, but still there, chance that she could be doing exactly what he's always dreamt of. She could feel the tension rising with each step as her own heartbeat started to jackhammer. Ripping ripples throughout his nervous system, the waking waves send humming arousal throughout their bodies, a curving, inkling of cell-like fusion. They were getting ready for the climax of their ordinary lives, the promise of a lifetime, the engagement of a recreation that only lives in the daydream of somber souls.

The melancholy was evaporating with each millisecond. A kind of shift of color, from bluish gray to orangish red. A fading into light. Sexual suffusion.

She felt him right around the corner of the door. She reached up, stretching out her shirt to reveal not just the silhouette of the violet bra through the shirt but baring it out in the open. She stuck it up and kept the pose. She was glaring through the fine fabric of the shirt to make sure she knew when to start acting naturally, when his eyes had the full scene flash through his mind. She wanted the image to inflame his mind to the point of no return, scarring his memory with something so arousing that he would have no choice than to burn half of his childhood to make room for the vividity needed to keep this event prevalent, rechargeable, and easily extractable.

The front door opened. The power of the workboots of the man made a slam against the corner, tripping him. He was so disillusioned by the hope of some kind of physical connection with the attractive young woman he was working for that he didn't have time to pull his hands up to stop his fall. His chin banged into the door of the bathroom that was right outside the bedroom as his elbows crashed into the floor. Before the voice from the front door could react, her shirt was already back covering the silky skin that had brushed the outside air for those split seconds of pure potential, heaven unreachable.

What a shame, she chuckled to herself as she went to help up the dismal klutz.

There were dog tags around his neck. His partner was a very short middle-aged man with a black bowl-cut on his head. There was laughter of various volumes coming from all three of them. A short cut of eye contact reached the woman and the man's work partner. He was confused, like the truth of the matter was behind a wall and he wasn't tall enough to see over it.

He was blushing with frustration and anger. He took it out on his assistant as she directed them both toward the router. She then walked back into her bedroom and pondered the probability of all of them intertwined. It quickly escaped as a frolicking butterfly might fly into the clouds, but the drive for something scandalous still tore at her waking heart.

That reminds her, adderall. She ate while the men worked and then left with them, locking the doors tight, and hopped into her car. It was a Hyundai Sonata that was a couple years old but still accelerated fast enough for her to have fun in it. She looked at the dried up coffee in the cupholder and used her fingers to drag the gook around and off onto the seat. She encrusted it onto the thick fabric. The smell radiated like the sun's rays. She rolled down the window and twisted the key into the ignition.