26 Apr Quarantine and Chill: Chapter Four.

This is a Science-Fiction Story and a complete work of fiction, meant entirely for entertainment. I write these stories as writing practice.

We re-entered the house like we were some sorts of marauders, carefully examining any hints of an intrusion.  You would think that her and I were in the movie Fantasia, tiptoeing around in almost a comical way. However, the disturbance was clearly not a joke.

Her breathing was heavy and I could tell that she was on the verge of a panic attack, so I acted abruptly; I took a knee in front of her and charmingly spoke, like a hero that you’d see in a Disney movie, “So do you want to get married, or what?”

She forced a smile, but I could tell that it temporarily relieved her sudden rush of anxiety. We made our way to the living room, where we caught our first glimpse of disorderly conduct, an obvious trespass of our boundary. All of the post-it notes were removed from the board and there was a door lying on the floor, one that’s never been used before and it certainly was not from our house. The door had no knob and no lock.

I looked at her and said, “Stay here.” I then walked over to the front door of the house and noticed that there were no obvious signs of a forced entry.

When I walked back into the living room she was sitting on the couch, reading through one of my notebooks, she warmly said, “You never share your poems with me anymore…”

I ignored her statement, sat down next to her and said, “I’m surprised that the thieves didn’t take those.”

She was clever in her response, “That’s probably because they’d overdose if they took these.”

I laughed over her sudden, spirited wit and then suavely said, “So what do you think about all of this? Should we call the police, the detectives? Or should we take this matter of righteous justice into our own hands?”

She grabbed both of my hands, held them up and sexily whispered, “Lethal.” She then stood up and continued, “We should continue this conversation at the bar, over a drink, considering our date was so rudely interrupted.”

I quickly gripped her thigh from behind her hamstring, which for some reason she has always really liked when I do that. After about fifteen seconds, I stood up and whispered in her ear, “I’ll meet you over there.” Her face started blushing in ways that I hadn’t seen in a long time.

I watched her as she walked out of the room; she was shaking her ass theatrically sexy, popping her cheeks with each step that she took, there’s nothing better than that view, I thought to myself.

I picked up the deadbolt lock from the table and realized that it was the exact dimensions to fit as the lock on the door. I placed the lock in the crevice of the door and unsurprisingly, it clicked right into place. I tried to avoid thinking about how unusual of a scenario this was; either getting robbed or harassed or who knows, maybe even something paranormal, but there was a door, lying in our living room that now had a lock.

I walked to the back porch and saw her sitting there at the antique bar that I built with my own hands. She looked over at me and it startled me. I concernedly said, “Are you feeling alright?”

She appeared to be just as startled by my question, “Other than what’s happening? Yeah I’m fine… why?”

I briskly walked closer to her and stared into her eyes, “Uh… your eyes are red.”

She laughed off the observation, “Maybe from some allergies or lack of sleep or stress from the fact that someone wants to potentially harm us, kill us, rob us or all of the above?”

I smiled with a worrisome magnitude, “No. I mean your eyes are red, literally red.”

She took a pocket mirror out from her purse and saw that her pupils were a crimson red. She immediately started hyperventilating in panic, “You’re right. Fuck, I’ve got the fucking virus.”

I walked to the bar, started to make her a drink and calming said, “I don’t think you have the virus… take a seat, let me make you a drink.”

Despite my elaborate skills at writing, my bartending and mixology skills were primitive at best. I poured a bunch of vodka into a glass and then watered it down with cranberry juice. She took a seat at the bar and I slid the drink towards her as cinematically smooth as possible.

She relaxed, cheered up a bit and looked at the drink menu with a joking assessment, “So which drink was this?”

I caught the condescending expression in her tone of voice and beastly replied, “Unfortunately the bartender called in sick so I had to stick with the basics.”

She rolled her eyes at me with as much sass as I think that she could possibly have affronted, “You know… before I met you my life was really normal.”

I whispered under my breath, “How many times have I told her not to roll her eyes at me.”

She must have slightly heard me, “What’d you say?”

I replied back with as much macho stupidity as possible, “Woman, you’re the one sitting over there with eyes so red that it looks like you might be possessed by some sort of demon or some shit. Like this is one of those movies where I’M the one that should be concerned. And besides, you’re only my mistress anyways, so you’re free to leave and go back to normality any time that you want. Fuck if I care.”

She angrily stood up and yelled, “You’re a dick!” Then she threw her drink at me, with the glass and all. I pretended to whine, “Look now I’m bleeding. There’s blood.”

She gave me the most unremorseful dirty look, “Good!” And then proceeded to flagrantly stomp back inside of the house.

I yelled to her, loud enough so that she could hear me inside of the house, “You better clean this up!”

After about a minute had passed her I heard her open the bedroom window. She threw down a band aide and a paper towel roll while she screamed, “Go fuck your self! You good for nothing son of a –“ The sound muted as she closed the window.

*To Be Continued In Chapter Five.*