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Chapter 2: I Tripped and Fell on His Penis
“Maybe she had a brain aneurysm. Wait, no. Don’t people die from those?”
“Ruptured brain aneurysms are only fatal in forty percent of cases. But I don’t think it was an aneurysm. Her breathing is fine, and her heartbeat is regular.”
The muffled sound of voices I don’t recognize penetrates my ears and I realize I must have left the television on when I went to bed. I try to shut the noise out and go back to sleep, but it’s no use. They just won’t quiet down.
“You’re like a walking encyclopedia. Tell me another random fact.”
“The average woman uses her height in lipstick every five years.”
“Oh-em-gee! I just want to shove you in my pocket and bring you out at parties!”
Realizing I’m not going to get any sleep anytime soon, I slowly open my eyes, blinking them into focus as I stare up at the bulbs in the chandelier above my head.
Why am I on the ground staring up at the chandelier in the sitting room?
A head suddenly moves over me and into my line of sight, blocking the light. Curtains of long, wavy red hair fall down around my face, and a face that is unfortunately recognizable smiles down at me.
“She’s alive!”
My eyes widen, and I quickly scrambled my arms and legs against the carpet to move out from under her until I can get up on my knees.
“What in tarnation are you doing in my home?!” I ask Ariel angrily as she casually sits with her legs crossed in the middle of my sitting room. Then I notice there’s someone sitting next to her.
A petrified-looking brunette with her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them brings a hand up to her face and uses her index finger to push her black-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of her nose.
“And who are you?! Why are you people in my home?!” I screech, realizing I sound like an insane person, but unable to help it. I just woke up on the floor of my sitting room with the street hussy and a stranger staring at me.
“Calm down, crazy. Isabelle was walking by when you passed out on the lawn, and with the help of a gorgeous knight in shining armor who was standing out in the street, we carted your ass into the house. You should be thanking us,” Ariel explains.
“That man who was standing out on the street was in my house?! You let some strange man touch me?!” I shout, not even caring about decorum right now.
“You act like I roofied you and let him have his way with you,” Ariel complains with a roll of her eyes. “He saw you going down like a ton of bricks and holy shit, I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. He vaulted over a shrub and caught you before you could face plant into the grass. What was I supposed to do? Pull a knife on him and tell him to drop you? He was a perfect gentleman. One who smelled delicious, I might add. He kept insisting we call nine-one-one, but I told him you were fine, just probably knocked up, and we’d take good care of you.”
She laughs at her own joke while I’m busy trying not to panic that the first encounter I had with a handsome, albeit nosey, man in months happened while I was unconscious.
“You told him I was pregnant? Why would you do something like that?!”
And why do I care if he thinks I’m pregnant? He’s a stranger. Someone I’ll never see again.
“Would you rather I told him you passed out because I just told you your piece of shit ex-husband gave me herpes, which would then lead him to believe you have the herp? Seriously, all of these favors I’m doing for you today, and I don’t even get a thank you,” Ariel grumbles, holding up one of the unfrosted cupcakes from the kitchen, which has a huge bite taken out of it. “Also, these cupcakes taste like horseshit. I think you forgot to add sugar. And flour. And butter. And pretty much everything that goes in a cupcake that brings people joy. You should really think about providing better snacks for guests.”
Leaning forward, I snatch the cupcake out of her hand.
“These are NOT snacks and you are NOT a guest! I did not give you permission to enter my home OR go traipsing around looking for sustenance. And for your information, these are gluten-free cupcakes and they bring plenty of joy to people’s lives,” I argue.
“The fuck you say?” Ariel mutters in confusion.
“Gluten free means it excludes a mixture of proteins found in wheat and related grains, including barley, rye and oat,” the brunette states, pushing her glasses, which slid down her nose again, back up where they belong.
