FlyGirl 2.0

Chapter 2 - Jason

MORNING CAME WITH the subtlety of a jackhammer. Jason Donnelly rolled over, covered his head with a pillow, and groaned. The blinds. He forgot to close the blinds before he went to bed and the sunrise off the lake was brighter than a military grade laser.

That's what you get for moving into an apartment with a nearly 360° view.

He reached around futilely for the remote control. The blinds were remote-controlled... where was it? His fingers brushed against something plastic. Thank God. He pressed a button.

The 65-inch flat screen came to life. "It's a beautiful day here in Chicago land. Not a cloud in the sky, and we're looking a a low humidity day... I know! What are chances of that happening in August? Get out there and enjoy! Traffic cam's already over Oak Street and the beaches are showing signs of life..."

Donnelly cursed and turned off the television. Clearly, the universe wanted him out of bed. F'ing universe, he thought, but sat up anyway and rubbed his head.

Whelp.  No one broke in overnight and cleaned it up his apartment for him. Boxes were scattered everywhere, some half open, most still taped shut. Two empty pizza boxes sat on the kitchen counter a stone's throw from where he lay.

He lived in 390 square feet of squalor.

He could hear his hippy mother in his head, snipping at him like she was standing there. Oh, Jason, don't be so negative.

His flipflops-in-winter wearing, kombucha-drinking, coop-shopping mom, with her eternal positiveness and relentless smile... okay, mom. Here are some positives. The kitchen was nice size. The view was amazing. The living room area, on the other hand, barely fit his king sized bed, his flat screen television, his Peloton bike, and an IKEA nightstand. And the boxes. Maybe there'd be more space, if he would unpack.

Eh, why bother? It's not like he needed more space, since it was only him, anyway.

His mind flashed back to his ex-fiancé, Ainsley. She'd have loved this place for its address and view, and how she could use it to make all her followers think her life was better than theirs. That was the worst part about her, the constant pretense. It had gotten to a point he couldn't even take her anymore.

The last time they saw each other... it had been bad.

"Get out! Jason!" she screamed, throwing a t-shirt at him. "Just take your shit, and get out."

"Well if that's how you really feel—" he picked up the t-shirt "—hey, this isn't mine."

"It's not?" She pulled it out of his hands, frowned, then tossed in with her stuff. "Oh. Sorry."

"No, now wait a minute." He picked up the shirt and read the tag. A. B. Andrew "Andy" Boyd. Andy was one of his closest friends. "Why do you have Andy's shirt?"

She suddenly got all tight lipped. "I don't know. Maybe you borrowed it."

"Nope. Andy's fun-sized." He held up the shirt. "This would fit my arm."

"Don't make fun of him!" She ripped the shirt out of his hand. "Andy's wonderful..."

"And you're sleeping with him, aren't you?" He started laughing. "Ainsley and Andy, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G..."

The memory made him rub his jaw. Ainsley was 98-pounds soaking wet, but she could pack a punch. Note to self. Never taunt an enraged woman.

Ainsley, he didn't miss, but Andy had been a good buddy.