The Image World, September 20, 2040, 9:24 PM
"Come in," Flynn's words halt the knocks on the opposite side of the door.
The door opens, and a small arm wiggles its way through the small opening. Judging by the all-too-colorful clothes, I bet Malak's the culprit. Her closet had the biggest color range I've ever seen.
That ugly ass neon green color? She has a tank top in the same color.
Blue so deep that it causes one to hallucinate? No worries, there's a shirt in the same color.
Neutral brown? Of course, here are four pairs of leggings.
And the list goes on and on.
Said arm waves at us before another arm that I'm sure belongs to Ruby joins the waving fest. We let them have at it before Flynn gestures for me to stay quiet. I nod, trying to keep my laugh quiet.
With the stealth of a cat, he raises himself from his bed. The bed I had the honorable joy of sleeping in. This reminds me, every piece of furniture in this home objectifies the word comfortable for the body. My back has never felt this comfortable while sitting, and that says something. I have to either steal this chair, buy one from home, or stay here 24/7, so I never leave this chair alone. Oh, and seeing Flynn would also be a bonus for that last one. My pulse raises the slightest bit when thoughts of him return. I'm dramatic, now that I think of it.
It's not like they left, but the girls distracted me from my romantic predicament. Stop thinking about him for one second, Azail. No, I won't. It's not every day that the experience of a handsome guy who sounds like a woman was his author confesses to me. And I sure as hell will take advantage of this. A happy scenario isn't in my script often, so I'm grasping this opportunity like fucking glue.
Thoughts of a promising future aside, I return myself to the present. The silent lightness in Flynn's steps impresses me a dramatic amount. In no time, he comes to a stand behind the door. Making sure to stay hidden from the small openings on both ends.
In quick motions, his arms lunge forward, grabbing both of their wrists and tickling them. Once their initial startled screams settle down, childish laughter decorates the home because of its sheer volume.
"Stop attacking us!" Malak shrieked, still screaming somehow.
"What's the code word?" he says, not pausing his brutal tickle attacks.
"I-I don't know, Azail help!" Ah yes, the Azail card, real smooth Malak.
Flynn makes this better by saying what he does next, "sorry Malak, she's kind of tied up here. I attacked her first before you got here. You'll have to save the three of you." He makes his voice sound threatening. If I didn't see the joking glint in his eyes, his act would have convinced me of ill intentions.
I look at him before mouthing, huh, with my face scrunched to show him my utter befuddlement at his words. He takes his words to the next level by grabbing a spare shirt I saw hanging behind the door and throwing it at me. I control my loud urge to scream-laugh when this man deadass motions for me to tie the shirt around my wrists. When he sees my urge to laugh increase, he takes it upon himself to show me how to tie the shirt around my wrists. How he knows how to do that is unknown to me. However, I am too dirty to prevent my mind from making up a kinky explanation. So, I will choose to hush.
"Yeah, and if you don't get me out of here, then we'll all be in trouble because of your brother." The way I hear the desperation in my voice makes me let out an uncontrollable laugh. But I'm not joking, rare feelings of sentiment danced around my being a few moments ago, and now I'm thinking of kinky shit. I'll let myself have a confused laugh.
This always happens. Me vibing with my day, and then out of nowhere, the universe throws a dirty joke at me. Glad there's a teen in nineteen because my mind will never grow out of that.
"Don't worry Azail, we'll help you. As soon as we get rid of this evil man, we will," Ruby's determined voice makes another laugh follow my previous one.
It is with humiliation that I say that they failed, and quickly so. To build on the joke, I tied the shirt around my wrists and have been losing circulation for five minutes. Ruby and Malak are quite the slow pair, both of their strength combined did not help them defeat Flynn. Speaking of Flynn, he's having a field day tickling them. He pulled them inside, impressively used each arm to carry each girl, and dropped them on his bed. Which is where the tickle attack continued viciously.
At some point, khalto must've had her motherly instincts go into overdrive. A knock on the door has me untie the shirt around my wrists so fucking fast one couldn't even blink before it happened. Throwing the shirt at Flynn, I lean back in the chair as if I wasn't a hostage seconds ago. When the door opens, khalto suggests that the girls go downstairs since she prepared a snack for them. Like the food-driven people they are, one kick into Flynn's arm makes him let them go. Seeing the opportunity, they ran out of the room with khalto.
Damn, I wish I could run as soon as food became a topic. The number of times I would run to the kitchen whenever I smelled food back in the distant days. Images of what my family used to flash before me, diminishing my smile with them as they went.
How we had meals together as a three.
How my parents exchanged words with me, even if communication didn't happen as a common habit,
How they would ask me about my day at school and await my answers with genuine curiosity.
How we were a fucking family before, although not your normal one, communication, and care happened in silence. Even if hiding in my room away from their arguing became a nightly event, even if their arguments would sometimes aim at me, I would still choose that over what we have now.
The dysfunctional ass excuse of a family that we are. I could fucking scoff just thinking about it.
What they classify as a family right now involves ignoring your daughter and forgetting her wellbeing, because why the fuck would you care?
Anger has become the dominant emotion I feel toward my parents. It used to be chagrin and self-pity at how they dismissed me. But now, rage coats my every thought, and I don't care if it makes me disrespectful. Where was my respect? No, where is it? Present tense, not past. Younger Azail would've cared less about respect, older Azail cherishes it like a treasure.
Anyway, I shake my head out of my thoughts. One day I'll perfect the practice of not souring my sweet mood by remembering my parents and home situation. When my mind remembers its physical location, my eyes blink about four times to get out of my depressing bubble.
And wow, am I glad to have returned when I did, because the sight before me is one to behold.
In the time my parents grasped my thoughts and overtook them by storm, Flynn took off his jacket, revealing his glorious tattoos. Don't drool, bitch, don't drool. You're a grown woman, so don't drool. I'll allow myself to at least ogle at his arms and at how he's sitting atop a stool he must've grabbed from who knows where. I follow the trail of his arms and reach the sight of a computer screen that appears to be showing a plethora of surveillance camera angles.
"What is this?" I ask, curious to know what has gotten him to look this concentrated.
"I'm checking to see if anyone's in the surveillance room at work," he responded without removing his eyes from the screen.
"Why?"
What's entertaining about looking at multiple-angle views of an empty room with more screens than some people have brain cells?
"I want to make sure that no one's in the room, so no one can suspect what I'm doing next."
"And what are you going to do next?" I twist my body to face his side, looking at him in perplexed concern.
"Have a brief look at what our friends in Maryanland are doing," he smirks.
I narrow my eyes at him, and he replies by sending me a wink.
"You're looking a bit too sly for my liking, what's this for?"
"I did some work yesterday to see if I can hack into anything in Maryanland. Dumbasses have both security systems connected, I think I told you this before. It's making it pathetically easy to hack into the cameras inside the Official Home of Maryanland."
My eyes widen at that, "there's no way it's that easy. I wouldn't underestimate Maryanland like that if I were you."
"Don't worry, I didn't, and never will. But I did this for fun, just to see what will come out of it. This has become my new definition of a fun activity these days."
Nodding in understanding, I look at the screen, all to still see a shit ton of more screens. I do my eyes and brain a favor and look away. Sighing, I draw imaginary shapes on my thighs to occupy myself, "all power to you, have fun as long as you don't get yourself in jail." The only advice I'll store and say to who needs it.
Flynn removes his eyes from the captivating screen to deliver his next words, staring at me. "I won't, can't do that when I have a promising future ahead, now can I?" He shakes his head as if he was physically shaking off undesired thoughts.
Future, as in the shocking scenario of us dating or a future with his family? I don't know.
Either way, they both produce the same firm response from me, "no, you can't."
Curiosity makes me shift my gaze away from his intense one back to the bright computer screen. Bright screens are a common theme for this month. From the Hijo de puta to this computer. My poor eyes already don't have a lot going for them with their low score. This reminds me, again, I might book an appointment to get my eyes checked once I get home. Exposure to screens this often should have caused some damage by now.
"What's the weirdest thing you've seen when you do your patrolling?"
Points for creating entertainment, Azail.
If he witnessed a coworker tripping and falling, that would be hilarious.
"A grown man admiring a picture of Theodore Silver," by the no-bullshit tone in his voice, questions proving my doubt disappear.
"Uh, I don't know how to react to this," but I sure will furrow my eyebrows and judge that man in my head.
I'll keep my judgment at bay because I've caught myself admiring someone through a picture one too many times. So, judging him will make me a hypocrite.
You already are one, no further points made.
I don't appreciate this treatment.
"Apart from that strange moment, everyone else in the Image World behaves as your average samaritan would."
Sounds boring, but I won't tell him that. I'd rather have a boring crowd than a chaotic one that makes matters take a dangerous turn. Peace, something many represent in their signs and life mottos but do not show. The world possesses a type of humor that nothing else can compete with. They say there's beauty in chaos or some shit, but why don't we focus on beauty in peace? No wonder every world humans step into has no choice but to fall in shambles within time.
The same ideology applies to every place I've been to.
Earth, Maryanland, the Image World, they're all the same. There may exist a sizeable chunk of average samaritans, but let's not use that to conceal those who don't act like humans. Not that being human is the utmost standard one should fall into, but I'll give humanistic psychology credit where it's due.
"Let's hope that percentage overrules those who don't," I wish, praying in my head.
Flynn chuckles at that, "let's do that."
After sharing a sudden conversation about bread, he returns his attention to the computer.
"I hope I'm not intruding, but what is this?" I ask when the screen previously showing surveillance cameras changes into one displaying a shit ton of numbers and letters.
Why am I curious about this? Statistics and pre-calculus were not my courses. I know they weren't because I failed the finals for both courses, but still found the courage to retake the courses because I needed the credit. It's unlike me to let mathematicians interest me.
"Coding," he responds, oh, bye.
My face turned sour, "consider me uninterested." I must sound hilarious because a second chuckle reverberates minutes after the previous one.
Humor has no place in seriousness, but sure.
"Why? I can teach you," he turns around and grasps the back of my- or his chair, and pulls me closer. I now sit way too close to him and face my new nightmare.
"Thanks, but no thanks. Psychology already has me plenty busy," blame Freud for that. I cannot wait for the day to meet someone who also has a habit of blaming him for their problems, for no reason other than just because.
"Please," even though his face remains rather stoic, I hear the pleading in his voice. I become tone-deaf and attempt to stand up. "I'll go downstairs and leave you alone with your devices. My presence will distract you while you're having the fun of your life."
Stealthy baby, if I've ever seen one.
My great escape comes to a halt when Flynn rests his arm across my damn body, grasping onto the left arm of the chair. Funny how his arm acts as a seatbelt. A terrible one at that, because he forgot to consider being gentle. I know I have strength, but not the strength to keep a whole human steady in the chair using my arm. I appreciate the chivalry because his arm sits a reasonable 6 inches from my stomach, so thanks for that, Flynn. Crazy how we appreciate the small things when they should be normal.
"Uh-oh, the Flynn belt has caught you," he says in a singsong voice.
"Shit," I join the questionable singing with my own.
"I'll show you the basics, and you tell me if you enjoy it."
My brain...
"Sure," maybe talking to focus on my voice will help cleanse my brain. Ignorance is bliss or the bleach of synonyms.
An hour later, it's safe to say I didn't learn shit. If I thought confusion grasped me an hour ago, I might as well consider myself a personified version now. But Flynn looks content with teaching me and showing me whatever he had in mind, so I stayed quiet and faked bliss. By content, I mean pretty as fuck. Something about someone explaining their interests in whatever way makes them look damn near perfect.
"I'll leave the coding to you, my brain fries itself when seeing stuff like this," I tried to look natural by crossing my arms but didn't do the correct math on my angles.
When I brought my arms down to rest on what I thought would be my growling stomach, bitches rested atop Flynn's arm, because why not?
"Oh sorry," my arms move away from his at the speed of light. I would argue they went faster.
"Why are you apologizing?" the genuine wonder in his words translated to his surprised expression.
"My arms rested on yours by accident," and my chest is freaking out about it. Nothing of concern is happening here.
Touching people without their consent freaks me out, even if we both know each other.
"And?" he sasses, raising an eyebrow.
"Apologizing for the lack of manners, I guess," and my hypertension.
Flynn thought for a moment before speaking, "you can touch me whenever you want, Azail."
I see why he paused. He was waiting to see which combinations of words would make me freak out the most. Nice.
It was my turn to sass, "don't say that, we both have brains made of straight-up filth."
"True."
"Jokes aside, don't apologize for stuff like this. I happen to not mind it at all," his arm stays steady in its place. If I were a seatbelt, I'd feel jobless because this man stole my job.
"Okay, but I'll still have basic manners. You know, since some people lack it? So I'll take the job for two." He nods in what I assume to be agreement, "in that case, count me in." And I take that as my turn to nod back.
A sudden ding comes from the screen in front of us, grabbing Flynn's attention. I take the opportunity from him facing away from me to study his tattoos. One arm has ink spaced out at random distances, all drawn with a thin black line making up each intricate design. There were names, letters, numbers, objects, sceneries, you name it, it's on his arm. The other arm had a tattoo of a foggy forest overtaking the space from his wrist to above his elbow.
My observation got cut short when a gruff voice so rudely interrupted it. "Like them?" no, I'm in love with them.
"Yes, they're pretty," I mutter, still in my trance. Throw what I said about having manners out the window. Staring at someone's arm sounds like the exact opposite of what manners include.
"Just pretty?" he pretends to wipe a tear away.
"Sorry, you won't find extraordinary description words from me. Once I learn some, I'll say them to you."
"I hope you live up to that. But do you want me to explain my tattoos like every other person who gets them does?" He's hilarious.
"If your voice box has the energy to speak for that long, yeah, sure."
"Promise you won't laugh when you hear my explanations," shit, he sounds serious. Regardless, I nodded in reassurance. I don't know about the integrity of my words because I laugh at everything under and over the sun, so let's hope my humor won't come through this time.
"Any numbered tattoos are numbers that my father loved or had importance to him. He loved the number 24, and that's why this one's here," he points at a small tattoo above his wrist. "He would always say that the two signified him and mom, and the four signified the four of us as a family," his finger caresses the tattoo as he speaks.
"And all the other ones are birth years of all four of us, my parent's wedding day, numbers that signified something important to him, like his siblings and my grandparents. Any tattoos that say words or sentences are those of my mom's liking. So names and stuff like that were all catered to my mom values."
"And what about those," I hover my finger over the tattoos sharing a similar fashion to the other ones on his arm.
Flynn smiles, caressing the drawings. "I bought Malak a camera, and whichever picture of whatever scenery she chose as her favorite, I got tattooed on me."
I can't help but smile at each tattoo, they were all approximately an inch long on each side, but the scenery of the sky blesses our eyes with a burst of variant colors. One square presented a grey and gloomy sky, while the other showed a purple sunset. My favorite was the Aegean blue night sky.
"These are fucking adorable, what the fuck?" that is as wholesome as my reaction will get.
"Thank you, I take pride in them," he removes his seatbelt for an arm to observe his tattoos with a closer eye. A wash of sadness lines me, don't know if I'm sad about him removing his arm or whatever random doom granted upon me. I enjoyed it while it lasted.
"You should, they're gorgeous."
"Thank you, will you ever get some yourself?"
I take a moment to think of my response, "in short, yes, in long, not now because I don't have enough meaningful or random shit to ink on my body yet."
"Understandable, but here's the biggest reason you should get one. You'll be a force to be reckoned with once you show up with tattoos."
I smirk, "oh I know, why do you think I want them in the first place?"
"Fair enough," he humors.
Excitement makes me look forward to meeting the person I will become once I look in the mirror for the first time and notice tattoos on every which part of my body.