Howdy! Glad you somehow found me here. This is a novel I’m writing. Until it’s edited you’ll be able to read it for FREE! I’m not advertising, or sending it to my readership, but if you want to share with someone you think will enjoy it, I won’t try to stop you.
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The morning break woke Sharif to a familiar feeling, an inertial anesthesia kept her body still, but her mind free. She mentally scanned her limbs for discomfort, only able to see puffy pillowed bumps past her nose. The night had gifted her freedom from thought and movement. Stillness lulled her back to sleep. Airy dreams began to form under her over-fluffed duvet.
Miles suddenly became aware of multiple buzzings. One settled, the other continued. His eyes felt like rusted castle gates: they opened to pain, closed to pain. No waking state was worth living. He squinted at his alarm sun-clock.
0938
He sighed. The typical heart race of a late morning was missing. He struggled to remember who he was. The contract still haunted from a distance. The buzzing continued.
Miles shuffled into the bathroom, taking care of his typical morning routine. Standing in front of the toilet, instead of wondering if he could alleviate the burden of bodily functions, Miles felt into his morning piss, tranced into a state of relaxation. His eyes still felt heavy, but now a comfortable heavy, like they were ready for a mild day off. He brewed his coffee in an even more relaxed state. A cool sunny afternoon on a hillside played behind resting eyes. A thought approached, his chin rising to meet it, then it departed. He opened his eyes to a mimicked expression, blinking up at elegant cabinetry. He studied the curves and edges, protrusions and cavities, tracing the design with his attention.
The coffee sputtered, drips still collecting into broken chocolate streams. The brew wafted strength, energy, and renewal. He sifted quietly for an old mug, intent. A bright navy mug stared at back with googly eyes. Little rounded blue arms hugged from the center to the bottom of the mug, a pile of cookies bulged from the base.
“Om Nom Nom Nom.”
Miles maneuvered the cup to the front of his cabinet, holding it with a close mouthed grin and lazy eyelids. The hypnosis continued into his pouring. A blanket followed him to the couch, rejoining the intoxicating sloth of a late morning give no fucks.
If he tried, Miles could still discern a buzzing amidst the tranquility. It had no effect.
"We are going to see your aunt."
"Whaaayyyy?" Syd pouted as if she was five years younger.
"She's ill, this is what families do."
"I know, I'm not stupid."
"Then quit ackn like it."
"Which aunt, Jolie?"
"No, Pat."
"Ucckkkk. She in the city?"
"Yes."
"Ahhhhhhh! Why do you hate me?"
"The speed that you transition from intellectual to snotty brat is impressive."
Syd grinned secretly, proudly. She still cherished her childish nature. She wouldn't show it, or tell you, but those who got close enough could see that part of her still enjoyed youth. "Wus wrong with her?"
"Her donor passed."
"I forgot she was a symbiote." Syd's childlike protest faded. "Is she gonna be ok?"
"They don't know. They never know."
"Why can't the family help, I don't get it. We have the same genetics."
"The compatibility of symbiotes comes from pairing different genetics."
"Are they missing stuff? Like they need someone else to make them whole?"
"No, no. Sweetie, no... it's a mutation. Our Pat wasn't born with it, she got it later on."
"Could I get it? Is it a problem with the family? Is that what—” Syd trailed. Memories flooded from a dammed reservoir deep in Syd’s gut.
Tingles showered Papa’s head, trickling down his neck to his shoulders. He let his eyes wander low. Then, a piercing jab of an inhale penetrated, bringing new life to his weary eyes. He hastened a pirouette, predicting the spiral.
“Did mom—" Papa pulled Syd briskly in, breaking the spell. A light sob burped from Syd as her Grandfather warmed her back.
"Shh shh shh, it's ok.”
Syd buried another convulsion.
“Nothing is going to happen to you, I'm here." Papa continued.
Mild aftershocks trembled between them.
Sean peeked over tussled waves, princess style waves, in a way only a few get to see. The blondes and brunettes splayed artfully wide and chaotic, still holding to each other without entanglement. A bright morning leaked through his bedside window, curtains lazily attempting to keep out the day. It was already late morning, life had begun for most everyone else. He flicked at Kat's hair and traced little doodles on her back. Her head lifted and turned, one eye creeping open.
"You're up."
"Same to you." He kissed her forehead. "Surprised you're still here."
"You owe me coffee."
"Owe?"
"I won mini-golf."
"Bah, winning is subjective."
"Not when you bet on it."
Sean tossed the covers excessively, storming out of the bedroom. He called from the only other room in his single bedroom flat, "Wanna make another bet?"'
"Noooo!"
"I bet that building was empty."
A muffled groan filtered out of a pillow heap.
Sean smelt the coffee maker suspiciously. "Hmmmm." He wasn't in the mood to clean, so he added an extra filter, filling inaccurately and flipping on the machine.
Sean's heavy flop made Kat squeak.
"That was cute." He snuggled.
"You think it was empty?"
"The sex, ya, but we can be friends." Sean's laugh deepened as he was assaulted by open fisted slaps.
"You're such a loser." Kat stifled a giggle.
"Ya... that side of town, nobody lives in those places. It's like a status symbol for expats. I don't get it."
"Like, they buy the most expensive suites in town and just don't live there?"
"Maybe they visit? I don't know."
Kat's brows gathered, "Huh." She bounced, turning to Sean. His caramel freckles underlined placid eyes. "What do you want to bet?"
"Arcade. All you can play."
"Woww... spendy. I don't know if I can afford you."
"Then you better win."
"Define empty."
"Nobody was living there."
"Nobody was inside, or nobody lived there full time?"
"The second one."
They had to create space for the transaction, shaking hands with official nods.
"Coffee!"
"Coffee."
Sean popped out of bed, fetching two mugs. He returned, drawing the curtains, sitting lightly on the edge of Kat's bedside, poking his head around as he surveyed the neighborhood. Kat smushed against him, grabbing her mug, she stared upward at Sean's meandering eyes.
"Yoooohooooo!" A long stemmed, pear shaped man lightly index-poked open the front door. His eyes darted slyly, making sure he was in the right place. Quiet feet led him deeper into the house, maintaining burglar-like awareness. In his left hand was a four place cardboard cup-holder with two sharpie marked paper cups. "Hey, Sharif, I—" he happened upon the living room, bringing a curious silence.
His feet backpedaled in a tiptoe.
i should go...
He turned. Paused.
Dramatic desires took hold, and he was soon rifling through the web of documents.
Thump
Thump Thump
Thump
Miles rotated, stiff necked, like a high college kid, eyes still drooping.
The thumping repeated
Miles rotated back, peering into an empty mug. He took in a breath, letting the blanket pile to the floor as he rose. He passed a causeway, pausing and tracking the shadows behind his front door. Beams coated the hallway, bouncing off the tile. The rays danced with the shadows. Miles continued to the kitchen. He poked at an amber lit button, a tick responded. Refilling his mug, Miles returned to the causeway. The shadows were gone, the rays remained. He continued.
"Mr. McCall"
Miles blinked hard, a dog nod followed. He blinked several more times. A figure was draped over his couch, turned away from Miles.
"I don't do house calls" A deep, comforting voice filled the room.
Miles looked around, not avoiding contact, but trying to decide if he was still in his house.
"You were due at oh eight hundred"
"My previous position ended upon signing the new contract. This is trespassing."
"Then make the call." The figure rose from his couch. A textured-smooth suede trench coat hung down, cutting above the knee. Casual, but obviously expensive silver slacks dangled high ankle to expose polished mid-high lace boots. Miles looked down at his neck ripped hoodie and shorts. He was suddenly self conscious of his cookie-monster mug, but took a confident slurp anyways, shrugging.
"Can't find my phone."
The trench coat bounced a chuckle, turning, "I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting this from you. Your dossier must have been lazily prepared."
Miles let his eyebrows drift apart accompanied by a reassuring frown. He rubbed his eye. "Coffee?"
A surprised smile replied, "We're gonna have fun together, Mr. McCall. Coffee sounds great."