Daughter Of Morality

I Don't Know Ur Name (I)

[Sorry for the changes already. I wanted to make it clear of the updated chapter so it continues in I Don't Know Ur Name part 2. Thank you guys!!]  

[Sometimes when we least expect it, we find that one person who dares us to be more... Electric Intercourse is one of my favorite songs and thought this would be the perfect story to explore that undeniable instant connection we can find with certain people. LOVE COMES IN MANY FORMS.]

A young girl, barely 23 was found today trapped in a storage closet at the Prom Center in St. Paul Minnesota. Her final words before she took a last shaking breath... "Get me the fuck outta here." She died in route. Possible cause of death, mania brought on by extreme boredom. She is survived by her roommate and typewriter, ... I give a low huff of disapproval at the idea of my epitaph. Too dramatic... musing to myself a slight smirk begins to grow at the ridiculousness. Shaking my head slightly watching as the gray carpet beneath me blurs as the chair whirls in circles. I came to the realization somewhere along the way, either through the twirling, blood rushing to my head or the constant taunting lull of the music downstairs just beyond my reach, I think I might be losing it. Pausing for a second to reevaluate thoughts on my tombstone I continue... "She was here, now she ain't"... Perfect.

The chair beneath me makes a sudden screech reminding me instantly of my boss's harpy like tone. "Don't fuck this up, Liv." At the time I rolled my eyes, internally called her a bitch, but deep down I knew the unthinkable would happen, it always seemed to. She tauntingly recited a few rules before I left her office. "This is your one shot, don't give anyone your name, don't take off your mask, and for the love of God don't be yourself." I hadn't told anyone my name or taken off my mask, but unfortunately I had let curiosity get the best of me. What I thought was an unlocked door with the words marked personnel only was too tempting to ignore. I've been stuck in here for what; has it been an hour, was it four... I had no clue. I lost count by the 1,481st turn of the chair. This was not what I was expecting to be my "big break.", covering the Olympics, detailing the events leading up to the death of the Beauty Queen Killer, the assassination of India's first female Prime Minister, those were big breaks. Crashing some purple rock star's birthday party like a secret agent seemed more like pop culture nonsense. Where I really wanted to be on this Saturday evening was shoulder deep in a warm bubble bath as the silken tenor of Sam Cooke washed troubles away. And yet here I spun...

They said I was the perfect cover, no one would recognize me because I'm just some random girl from the Life and Style section. I can make comments on the exotic foods and expensive champagne, the hedonistic wonderland of a carnival theme, the brass beds... who uses beds as decor anyway? What kind of statement was he trying to make, would they be used later on during his performance? Or were they a constant reminder to party goers of how virile he was? Maybe he was just really sleepy, I had no damn clue. They did however look really sexy, the polished metal glinting under the lights of the dance floor. Perhaps that was what he was going for, atmosphere. Of all the things I could talk about, the only thing I couldn't comment on would be him, the man of the hour, birthday boy, the sole reason they sent me here to begin with. I didn't know anything about him. They hadn't even given me enough time to do proper research before shoving me out the door with a brightly colored invitation and barely enough money to cover the cost of the cab it took to get here. If I got the chance to bump into him, what would I even say....

"Don't you fucking move!!!!!" I scream suddenly as the dim light of the room is pierced by a fluorescent glow from the outside hall. Casting a glow over the discarded supplies and old broken furniture. Still in mid-rotation I tried and failed miserably to make it to my feet. Tumbling out of the chair, my knees slid across the rough industrial weave of the gray carpet I was so dismissive of a few moments before. The force of the fall led me right to a pair of red shoes covered in an intricate floral pattern standing in the doorway. Arms spread out in front of me to take the brunt of the fall, my index finger accidently etches the crimson fabric.

"Looks like we'd fit together well." A deep voice coaxed above me, a slight chuckle catches the end of his sentence.

"Noooooo, you moved," I whined in desperation. He gave a huff at my response. I couldn't care less at his half ass attempt at a pick up line. The only thing I cared about was hearing that soft click of the door latch behind him. That small insignificant sound thundered through me, freedom again lost.

"Paisley's a nice color on you," he tried again. Then it hit me exactly what he was referring to. Through the blur of the fall, the pain, and seething frustration, I hadn't noticed that I found myself ass up in front of someone I've never met before. Finally pulling down the lace of my skirt, I looked up to greet the man who had gotten a whole lot more welcome than I am sure he was expecting.

First impressions... this one would be lasting...