TORPEDO ✓

the frying pan before the fire

THE SKY IS RAINING SHINY laffy taffy, the birds are delighted and chorusing pleasant sounds, the vehicles squeal against the asphalt with no regrets; it is the picture perfect cosmopolitan Barbie scene but Dorian Ayuba isn't smiling.

Apart from the headache hammering his head into his sweaty Abercrombie beanie, his mouth feels dry--and smelly-- all the summer heat and he regrets not taking a bottle of water, at least from home.

Summer has always been his least favorite season. There's the heat which he doesn't find as aesthetic as instagram girls.

For a weird reason, electricity bills go higher and he has to work extra shifts in that god-forsaken supermart. Carrying carts and cleaning compartments is not the problem. Smiling to the customers is.

Which brings Dorian to the worst part of summer; everyone always seem so happy and well, if there's a tree that townfolk but him knows about, a tree that grows happiness in any shape or form, he would get a taste of just one merry berry.

Technically, it's pre-summer; if that's even a thing and it's raining like England paid this town a visit.

The taxi skid into a halt and from the looks of it, into a puddle. Dorian digs his hand into his pocket for loose change he's busted out of his piggy bank this morning. No notes, just coins.

The uber driver grunts in return.

"You want it or not?" Dorian sucks his teeth loudly; a habit he's picked from his mom over the years, before slamming the door shut.

Speaking of mom, that woman high out of her mind drove into a no-parking spot and now her car has been towed to God-knows-where. That's worry for another day.

He had to dodge his boss [there's no begging that man] and leave work just to be here. His mom is barely worth it but what can he do? She's the only family he's got.

Mercy Ayuba is with the shrink in her home office and Dorian is outside the drizzle, knocking the wooden door and hoping this is the right house; he's never been here before.

For a while, it is just him and the pitter-patter of water against plastic flamingoes and an overly shaved lawn. Then the door opens to reveal--

"Dorian?"

"Ehmm..." Now it all makes sense. There's only one Dr. Meyers in town and that's the devil's mother.

"What are you doing here?" says Khalid with the toothbrush shifted to one cheek.

Immediately, Dorian goes on defensive. "What does it look like? Here to pick up my neighbor of course."

Khalid cocks his head to the side, ellipsis floating on it. "You mean Mrs. Mercy. Very nice woman."

"Hmm." The rain is still flogging Dorian. "Can I come in?" He deadpans.

"Oh right," Khalid obliges. "Sorry."

Dorian walks to the hanger few meters adjacent to the door. The warmth of this house embraces him, pets his head with the strong scent of ginseng and cardamom. Which he'll pick over his house anytime, anyday.

Khalid speaks first, "And you don't have to lie about anything." Dorian's cringes, flushing in embarrassment. "The session is yet to be over and while you're waiting for your mom, make yourself at home."