Chapter One
-some sexual content, explicitly and whatnot-
-no proofreading as usual-
-italics aren't working so anything that uses personal pronouns are thoughts-
Question two.... where did the Black Death come from and from what?
The Black Death came from... Uh.... The Spanish that dropped by? No, no...
The girl lay her head on the desk and drummed her fingers on her head, in hopes that maybe this way her memory could come back to her and so she could finish this history assignment due tomorrow.
She looked up from the desk and out the window in front of her. The cream colored curtains were dancing lightly above the ledge, as the trees rustled from a gentle breeze running by. The sun had long since set and a few stars shimmered, scintillating as if winking, against endless darkness. The streets below were clear of anything and anybody. A few cars could be heard, a loud crash and hooting from a distance. Or was that just my haunting imagination?
The lights from nearby buildings were slowly flickering off as the hours get later, or rather earlier. You could just make out the the small silhouettes, conversing with one another before parting ways and turning the lights out.
The tall street lights that rose above my apartment floor shone a yellowy light on the tar road, where the pavement was littered with empty Starbucks to-go cups, crumpled sheets of car fines and your usual, uninteresting dirt. The yellow spotlight had a few few dots flying across it now and again from the bugs swarming around the glowing bulb.
The girl returned her attention to the history assignment. She felt exhausted but knew that she needed to finish her work. It wouldn't to her any good to try to sleep anyways. It wasn't like she could.
Flipping open the thick, hardcover book, red and lined with gold. Bold words stood out in the middle, 'History of Medicine'.
Black Death... Black Death... Page one twenty nine.
The Black Death originated from fleas that travelled with animals on trade ships from Asia to around Europe. The common animal....
***
...not only was Penicillin an incredible and unexpected discovery, but it also shaped the medicine world to how advanced it is today, basing more theories and ideas with the help of it.
Essay complete.
The girl's phone flashed, indicating her alarm. It was already 3:30 in the morning. How time flies when you're rushing to finish something due the next day or in her case... In a few hours.
She let out a silent yawn, stretching her arm above her head while the other covered her mouth. So courteous even in the company of silence and herself.
She dragged herself out of the wooden chair, still from sitting hours on end in the chair, finishing assignments that were thrown off until now from procrastination at earlier stages. She always told herself that the next time, to prevent this from happening again, she'll do it on the day... But as anyone could probably tell, that didn't stick.
She opened the cupboard to the small bathroom, barely enough space to even stand. She stripped her body of the pajamas that clung on her boney frame and fidgeted the with shower faucet before feeling comfortable with it. The girl pulled the stringy elastic from greasy brown hair out of the bun. She relaxed her shoulders as the high pressured droplets of warm water sprayed her body and slowly, but surely, dampened her thick birds nest. She could feel the dirt and grime as she pushed the hair back, as if gelling it with water and her own oil. She lathered her hair with shampoo that had a minty freshness kind of scent. It was relaxing and makes one feel clean and... Well fresh. She scrubbed her body with a loofa.
Showers are a place to relax and for thoughts that have been troubling you. The girl doesn't think so. It just makes her relax and feel clean. She doesn't think about anything, just if she had put conditioner on yet... Wait had she?
After applying conditioner on and rinsing it out, she stepped out the shower and into the small, steam-filled room. The mirror was fogged and clouded, where not a thing could be seen. She grabbed a towel from the hanger next to the shower and wrapped the fluffy cloth around her body dripping body.
She climbed out of the extremely compact bathroom and into her room again. The bathroom was always the nicest part of her miniature apartment. Loft is a better term. It was an average bathroom, nothing fancy like those modern homes. Just a plain white everywhere and a glass shower door that slides. The room outside always dampens her good mood from the shower. It was just so plain and boring - besides the fact that it needs some work. The off colored white walls were peeling - revealing the horrible grey concrete behind - the light was just a light bulb dangling on cord from the ceiling, the types where you pull it and the light goes on or off. A few posters that hung on the wall, of the Beatles and Led Zeppelin, were peeling off at the top corners. The floors were old, creaky floorboards; every step makes you wonder if the next one will be the one where you'll fall to the floor below. The bed was a size between a queen and a single, a basic lumpy mattress that sat on wooden bed platform - holding it up off from the floor a few inches. The duvet was strewn across it in muddled disarray with the pillow on top of the sheets, as if it would hide the mess. The wooden table, splintering and dented, sat in front of the lone window, the only source of light during the day. Old, metal blinds sat above them - pulled up at an odd angle. An old record player with an old, rusted, gold speaker and wooden base was placed in the middle on the room. Underneath was an old Persian rug that she found at a bargain store for $20. A good buy considering it was worth hundreds more. Cluttered around it were different types of records of old rock bands from 50s to 70s. Opposite the bed was a doorway to the kitchen. It was more or less the same size of the bathroom, if not smaller. Everything was just lined up against the wall; sink, fridge, stove, bottom cupboards and top cupboards. A microwave and a manual coffee maker sat on the counter beside the fridge.
The loft was terrible. She knew that, but it wasn't like she had the money to fix it. It took forever to save up and buy a laptop and a phone for college, let alone fix up somewhere she hardly ever was. Though she had money in the bank, she refused to use it unless at case of extremities. The boney 5'3 girl had much more pride than anyone would have expected.
She jerked the old wooden draw on the wall with great force until it gave in and she tugged it open. The girl randomly grabbed whatever she found. She came up with a brown cardigan, a simple white short sleeves with a breast pocket and comfortable, black skinny jeans. The type that fit but were still a little loose, so they allowed circulation unlike the super skinny types.
She grabbed her black bag and slung it over her shoulder, stuffing the homework in a plastic sleeve and in the bag. She pulled her from from the charger and grabbed a grey, woolen scarf from the cupboard before heading out into the early morning of autumn. After slipping on a pair of combat boots, she turned to leave.
She tried closing the old, splintered door ever so gently without having wake the rest of the hall up, but to no avail as the door creaked like a horror movie. She locked the chipped door with an old, antique key. The ones with a pattern at the hold.
The floorboards were strangely better outside than inside the tiny room.
She trotted down stairs from her apartment on the seventh floor. At first, this was always a tiring feat, but as time got by, she got used to it as well as the fact it saves her 10 dollars a month from going to the gym.
Brooklyn was eerily quiet in the early hours of morning. Not a person in sight, not even mice. Only homeless people sleeping by the gutters and shops. Although it's a dangerous area, if you look past it all and just think about it, the place is quite nice, a bit rough, but nice. But once the people file in, it changes.
The clock by the underground subway directory told that it was four thirty (4:30). The station was near deserted, where only a small handful of people were milling around - including the station patrollers. A few men and women stood by the train, waiting to board and go either from a late night or going to work already, like myself. Some rebellious teenagers sat by one of the pillars, silent, just quietly speaking amongst themselves. The last few were people dressed quite sleazy and slept in, like per say the woman by the far end; she wore a black overcoat - a trench you'd call it - that covered just over her sparkly red dress that showed every time a breeze rushed by from the subway tunnel. Her head was disheveled and mess - sex hair - possibly be even worse than the girl's earlier that morning. She wore sneakers and held a pair of stilettos in her other hand, while clutching her coat tightly with her free hand. The man just had wild sex hair, an barely buttoned white shirt that creased and crinkled and a five o' clock shadow paired with an egotistical smirk. He slung his black blazer jacket over his shoulder as he just looked around with a drunken half smirk half smile. His eyes landed on her, who was openly staring and scrutinizing him
"Hey, sweet cheeks. You look cute," he slurred, his eyes half closed and tipping over.
She rolled her eyes and looked elsewhere.
"Aww why you ignoring me, baby cakes?" he said, a hiccup erupting from him afterwards.
Geez, how many more stupid pet names does this guy have?
The girl simply ignored him and looked forward at the tunnel wall. Her heart was beating faster, but not from attractions of course. Who'd be attracted to a sleazebag like himself?
"C'mere, baby, don't ignore me," he said, slowing dragging his feet towards her. But the girl was stubborn. She refused to move.
"You're pretty," he breathed out as he twirled a piece of her black hair in his grubby hands. God knows where they've been. His breath reeked of alcohol, tequila to be exact, mixed with a disgusting scent of morning breath and vomit. She nearly vomited herself from just inhaling.
"Why don't we take the next train back to my place, hey?" he whispered in her ear, where she could feel his breath. She shuddered but not the way where one would do so with a lover, enjoying themselves. The girl merely shuddered in disgust. In one quick swift movement she moved to the left. Him, being half drunk and half hungover, dropped on the floor from his slow reflexes.
She stalked off to the other side, just a subway doors length from the woman who'd had a 'late' night.
The woman glanced at the girl, her blue eyes darting around and messy blonde hair flying around. Her knuckles were white from clutching the jacket tightly closed. She couldn't have been older than mid twenties.
"Jackass came onto me earlier. He's annoying, in't he?" she said, not looking particularly at the girl.
The girl didn't reply. Simple a small nod of the head and a light smirk at the corner of her lips.
The blonde glanced at the brunette and raised an eyebrow. "Not much a talker, mmn?"
The girl didn't know how to reply. She ended up just nodding. It wasn't like there was anything she could say.
"You live around here?"
She nodded. The girl glanced at the woman beside her, as if asking the same question.
"No. I was at a friend," she replied smiling a little, a small flush creeping across the apples of her cheeks.
The girl gave a knowing look, somewhat suspicious. One where you raised you eyebrows, smirking a little but pretending as if you know nothing, when you really do.
The two fell into silence. The train arrived shortly after. The brunette climbed in after the blonde. The carriage was empty, clean and clear of graffiti. Seats
we're lined against the walls, and a directory was hung above the sliding doors.
The brunette took a seat next to the door and the blonde followed in suit, sitting a seat away for space.
"Where you headed, so early in the morning?" Blondie asked.
The girl shrugged.
"Private?" she egged on.
The girl shook her head. She just chewed in the inside of lip, not sure how to answer. She held out her pinky and thumb while she closed the remaining three fingers and pretended to drink.
"Bar?"
The girl nodded her head side to side, something like that. She pretended to clean a cup.
"Oh you work there."
The girl nodded. Glad that finally someone understands her without having to text them.
"Do you always, like I mean everyday and around this time?"
The girl shook her head and rubbed her thumb against her fingers.
"Money? Are you broke or something?" Blondie probed.
The girl shook her head. Before she could motion that she meant she worked for extra, the woman grabbed her belongings and scratched around in her bag. She came out with a pen and a card, and scribbled something on it before handing it the brunette girl.
"This is my stop and that's my number. Call me, you're interesting."
And with that she hopped off the train, and sauntered away with her blonde hair cascading behind her on her back, her long legs taking long powerful strides as she quickly took off her sneakers and slipped the heels back on. She matted and ran her hand through her hair before turning to look back at the train.
The train pulled as she looked back. The brunette turned her attention back to the card.
Penelope Clearwater.
Her number scrawled underneath her name. Who'd have known? She didn't even know it was a celebrity till now.
Maybe that's why she took such interest in me, because I didn't recognize her.
----
The girl fumbled around the front pocket of her bag for the store's back door keys. She could hear the jingling, but she could find it. Her hands groped around clumsily, constantly only finding paper notes and paper receipts.
The gust of wind hit her as the door opened, and a pair of soft lips pressed against hers. Hands flew to the side of her face, holding it in place, as the person kissing pressed harder. The girl was confused as to what was going as, her eyes wide but lips still pursed - unmoving - while she took in the shock. She soon relaxed, though her heart carried on beating rapidly, as she recognized the soft it forceful lips. She soon moved their hands to her waist and then placed her own behind his head, pulling them even closer together. His soft lips sucked onto hers, and then he swept his tongue over her cold, but warming, lips. She silently moaned, opening her mouth, and allowing him entrance. He grunted as his tongue thrust in, exploring the insides of her mouth. Their tongues tangled and danced, both fighting for dominance until they both pulled apart, gasping for air.
Damon's light brown hair was tousled and messy, like he'd just gotten out of bed. He was wearing a plain black, button down long sleeves and dark jeans. A light shadow scattered around his jaw, making his tan look slightly darker. He looked down at the girl from his height of 6'.
Still gasping from breath, Damon smirked at her. "That's quite some good morning, Laure."
Laurette, nicknamed Laure, regained her breath again and stared down at the floor, rather embarrassed, before nodding at Damon and walking inside from the blowing wind.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him, her front flush against his. He pinched her chin and lifted it up so he could stare at her coffee colored eyes with his hazel eyes, leaning more towards the green than chestnut.
"Hey, are you ok?" he asked, concern coating his voice.
She nodded in reply and looked down, only to have him bring her face up again.
"Did you sleep last night?" Her faced stayed in the same position, since he held it tightly so she couldn't look away, but her eyes darted everywhere possible. It's difficult to lie with only your eyes.
Damon let go of her face with an exasperated sigh. He covered his face with his hand, the other running through his hair.
"Come on, Laurette, we talked about this. You have to try to sleep, I know you have insomnia, but you're just making it worse."
Laurette rolled her eyes at him. She nodded her head and made a shooing motion with her hands.
"No, I won't back off. You need to try the very least."
Laurette snapped. She was pissed. She pulled out her phone and started typing furiously away.
Damon rolled his eyes and snatched the phone away, "Save it, Laure. I know what you're going to say. 'No, I'm trying. You don't now how it feels.'"
Laurette's eyes slit and her brows crossed. But then a thought came into mind and she smiled. She smiled at him calmly before asking for her phone.
"... Okay? Something's not right, why aren't you flipping out at me?"
Nonetheless he gave her her phone back. She typed away and soon a sound was heard from Damon's phone.
"'Sorry I got angry. Sit down I'll make it up to you.' Um... Ok, why- whoa!" she pushed him onto the chair and he slipped his phone back into his pants pocket. Laurette climbed on and straddled him. She would never be able to do this to anybody else, only Damon would ever see this side of her.
Damon was her best friend. They acted like lovers or couple around each other but they were friends really. Laurette's emotions had shut off after the... Accident. Nothing between them meant anything, purely lust. Hey did love each other though, but in a brotherly-sisterly way - even though they were friends with benefits. They both weren't looking for relationships, they both had a dark or haunting past so, in a way, they were perfect for each other. But they could never date. It wouldn't work.
She started kissing his neck and working her way up to his lips, grinding and rolling her lower part against his. She could feel herself warming up as well as him.
The bar was empty. No one was there yet. Only Laure came this early to earn a few extra bucks by cleaning the bar and then coming in the evening for her shift.
Damon grunted as he rested his head against her shoulder; he was lifting his hips and thrusting while she grinded. Her hands travelled to his strong, hard abdomen; a well worked piece of art. Damon is your average surfer from California, but he moved over to The Big Apple. It wasn't like anyone could resist such booming city like this one; it was the life of the party, the city that never sleeps.
As soon as she felt his length digging into her thigh, she quickly stood up and walked off towards the bar before he could grab her wrists and pull her back.
"What are you doing? Do torture me like this, Laure...," he whined.
She simple smiled back at him, pulling her eyelid down and sticking her tongue out. She quickly typed into her phone and used the projector to say, "It's hard, isn't it?"
He groaned while she merely laughed silently. One could hear her laugh in their mind - a sweet, melodic chuckle.
She moved behind the bar counter and started to clean the dirty beer mugs and shot glasses from the previous night. She soundlessly hummed to a song, getting lost in her thoughts of rent, school work, bursary years, scholarships and food money.
She felt somebody's body-warmth radiating off onto her, their hands running from her abdomen and down to between her legs, spreading them slightly. Damon's hand rubbed between her legs, his fingers applying pressure on her clit now and again. He freed his one hand and groped around her breasts. Laure dropped the cups into the sink with a loud crash, though nothing was broken. She bit the side of her lip, her eyes closed as she enjoying the feel of his touch. Honestly, groping never really aroused her, maybe it aroused men, but it just felt weird to her. He started pushing into her opening through her jeans, and she could feel her underwear getting wet. She prayed it wouldn't leak to the jeans. It would show since they were black, but it still feels rather uncomfortable.
She was halfway through when Damon withdrew his hands and walked off. He whistled as he left, singing 'Payback'. Laure rolled her eyes. Even though she was halfway and rather aroused, she gets over these things easily and quickly. There were no emotions attached, only lust, which made it kind of alright.
Laure spent the next two hours washing up all the cups, cleaning all the beer dispensers and the bar counter in general. The light wind he blew in from the stairs that led to the ground always blew the light scent of vomit from somewhere else in the bar. The bar counter was the only area she was in charge of so whatever extra, isn't her problem. She mopped the spilt drinks on the floor, swept the broken glasses and wiped the work area.
When she was done, her fingers were all wrinkled, cold and prune like. She checked her phone in the employee/staff locker room to see that it was already 7:12. The girl dashed to Damon's office and knocked rapidly.
"What? What? Come in!" he called from the other side, as if he just woke up.
Laurette burst through and held out her palms open while she used her other hand to tap her wrist.
"Oh! Do you have to go now? How much do I owe you?"
She nodded her head vigorously, her brunette layered hair flying around. She held up two fingers, a fist and then five. Damon scratched his head as he looked shocked.
"Geez, two and a half hours already? How time goes by...," he mumbled the last bit to himself.
Laure rolled her eyes.
"What?" he asked, innocently, obviously still half asleep.
The girl pressed her hands together and put it to the one side of her face, tilting her head to the one side.
"No! I was working, I just happened to suddenly doze off when you bounded in," he replied defensively as he dug around his pocket.
She smiled genuinely, her eyes creasing and dimples showing. She lifted her right hand and held three fingers pointing up, and then turned the hand to the left, making a W and an E.
"Here, now leave you horrible bitch! And don't come back until tonight, after you've slept after your lecture," Damon said jokingly, shoving a fifty dollar bill into her hand from his wallet. But she knew he was serious about the sleeping.
Laurette smiled and waved goodbye to him using the dollar bill.