16.Wreaking Havoc

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Of course life is a bitch. It would be a slut of it were easy.

In the middle of the night, my eyes crack open one at a time with great reluctance having been ripped from peaceful slumber by a rapping at my front door. I fight to turn over o my side so I can view the face of my glow in the dark digital clock and nearly drive my fist through it when I catch sight of the hour. The clocks display is just plain offensive, a complete outrage and surely a bold face lie because belong woken up at this hour just doesn't click with my mind.

4:00 AM

What the hell crawled from the bowels of its pair to harass!e at such an ungodly hour? It is too early to even be alive, let alone awake and yet I've got somebody attempting to beat my door down. They're pretty persistent too, having the nerve to just keep on knocking and knocking and knocking to the point where we nearly jump out of bed. But no, I shut my eyes back right with the resolve to go right back to sleep and pay my midnight visitor no mind. I want to return to the land of the dead for ever . . . Or at least until 3PM. All I have to do is just shut. . . My tired . . . Eyes.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

At that sound my eyes pop back open and I wonder if it's possible to have little flames in them, if it is then I probably have some in my eyes right now. I roll out of bed and grab my reaquired bat off the floor before I stomp down the hall. Somebody dies tonight and I promise you it will be slow. My bat makes a scraping noise as I drag it along the hard wood floors all the way to the front door. Who ever is on the other side of that door is apparently oblivious to just how close they are to death just by knocking on my door. I open my mouth, about to use the sophisticated vocabulary of a well educated sailor but those words catch in my throat as a familiar voice scolds me from behind the door.

"Wake the hell up, Ember!"

Hearing that voice makes me freeze right where I stand, cocking my head at the door and play back that moment in my mind. I know what I heard but I find it difficult to believe, nearly impossible actually because I thought that trouble was on vacation. . . I guess not. It's when that voice speaks again, heavy with impatience and anxiety that reality sinks in, for what ever reason this is really happening. Jonny Frost is banging on my door at four in the morning and that can only mean one thing: trouble.

"Jonny?"

" No, " comes his annoyed and sarcastic response, " it's the Batman, who else stupid?! "

normally, a snarky comment like that is sure to get his ass ignored at the very least and maybe even bitch slapped but Jonny Frost at my door is not normal. It's terrifying and at first all I can do is stare at my door, mouth a gap.

"Helloooo?!" Jonny calls on the other side of my door, mocking my haste . " You still there? "

I shake myself from my daze and prop my bat against the wall as I rush over to the door, fumbling with the locks like I'd never seen them before in my life. There is barely an inch between the frame and door when Jonny slips through like a stray seeking shelter from the cold. I can barely register the motion, he's already walking down my hall and I'm over here still trying to let the rude Bastard in.

"What do you have against answering your phone." He gripes as he turns the corner into my kitchenette.

I blink slamming my door and lock it up tight, then trace the steps Jonny took into my kitchen. He works fast, already helping himself to the half full bottle of whisky I keep stashed in the back of my fridge and that sight is what brings me back to earth. Walking into the kitchen, I snatch it back from him and receive a withering gaze in return that I couldn't care less about. So bite me, Frosty.

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