Mariah.

The Chemicals Between Us

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oOo5rcG.gif THE CHEMICALS BETWEEN US, THE WALLS THAT LIE BETWEEN US
A wide array of boxes act as bricks forming a second set of walls, standing tall around an exhausted Emma De Angelo. Dressed in low-rise, cut off short shorts and a white midriff bearing blouse, tied above her belly ring and over her ample breasts, she stares out her large, paneled window, down to the city below. Cars race by in bold patterns, filled with strangers with seemingly no real purpose—nothing to live for beyond their excess. But her purpose for living sat joyously behind her; no care in the world, and lacking the knowledge of how cruel it could be. It was he: Lucas De Angelo, her one true love.

She’d never allow Lucas to see the world for what it truly was, for as long as she could. She was his protector; his provider. But there were times that she longed for help. Someone who loved her five year old and was willing to protect him as much as she was. Someone to help ease the load she felt weighing down on her petite frame, wearing out every bone. Her thoughts cycle briefly to Lucas’ deceased father and his final moments before the chemicals in his system consumed him, an apology for failing her and their son stuttering through a cold, trembling mouth. Every time the memory is replayed, her heart broke into pieces, for she didn’t believe her nor Lucas would find love like that again.

“Lucas, baby, don’t break that please! I need you to quiet down and relax for five minutes; mommy is on the phone,” Emma begs her toddler before returning to speak to her landlord on the other end of the line, her frustration mounting. It had been several days now since the move in, but it appeared that likewise with her losing a babysitter, everything was coming apart at the seams. Her apartment, in particular, was literal. “Listen carefully. Your contractor was supposed to be here a fucking hour ago and I’m paying you too much money for rent to be sitting around waiting. My pipes are broken, my cabinet doors are falling from their hinges, drawers are getting stuck, and that's not even everything wrong with this place. And on top of all the renovations needed: I've barely unpacked, I have a million other errands to run, I have to call my boss to get the weekend off, I’ve missed out on my first week of classes. Please. I don’t need this process to be any harder. If you could just page him again or something. Or just give me his cell number and I'll reach out myself.” She runs her clawed hand through her hair, combing and tugging it back, then waits as the landlord runs through his rehearsed reply. “Okay, fine. I’ll give it twenty more minutes,” she concludes before slapping the flip phone closed and letting a gust of air escape her glossed lips.

Quietly reciting the mantra routinely used to ease her stress, Emma refused to allow the walls to cave in on her. Resilience was her greatest strength, and it was too premature to renounce the new life she had set path toward. “Lucas, what did I—” she begins to scold as she redirects her attention back to her son, soon after interrupted by a knock on her door. “Listen, we'll talk about it later. Go get one of your coloring books and sit still while I answer the door, please and thanks my love.” 

She adjusts her appearance to a palatable state, then finally marches toward the door and turns the lock to slowly open.
MONTY
@Maxim
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oOo5rcG.gif I WANT YOU TO SURRENDER; A LL MY FEELINGS ROSE TODAY
Bobby parks his truck and raises his pelvis toward his steering wheel, granting him access to his back pocket for his notepad. Looking up from the address jotted down on an otherwise clean page, he then briefly surveys his surroundings. There wasn’t much to behold of the scenery of his location, Bobby very familiar with the tall brick, glass and cement buildings which made up the downtown Olympia skyline; moreso with what monsters hide behind every corner. But by day, the sun seemed to reflect off the rows of windows, giving the city’s core a more optimistic feel. Like there were actual hopes and dreams to be had in an otherwise cold, corrupt place. He knew better, however, especially after how a night of bliss and passion with an unforgettable woman, quickly unraveled into a reminder of the demons he tried to battle⁠—to escape. And he wasn’t even able to bring himself to risk asking to see her again, regrettably so. A result which drew the relentless shaming from a recovering Andrew, who argued that he passed the ball and took a bullet in the process, only for Bobby to fumble.

Exhaling to air out the smoky memories left behind from that fiery night, he next exits the vehicle and unloads his tools from the back to throw himself into his day’s work. He trots up slightly and has to take a minute or two to find his access key upon arriving at the apartment entrance, then marches toward the elevator and pushes down on the given floor. The journey up provides a moment to reminisce once more on the night he found an “angel”. The curves and flow of her body. The taste of her supple lips. The slickness of her tongue. The way she’d tremble as he’d suck markings on her skin. The point of her breasts imprinting on his tongue. The lasting, rich sweetness of her center. Jesus fucking Christ, Bobby, can you stop? It’ll never happen again. It’s over; she’s out of your life. It’s time to focus on work. He sighs once more and narrows down to the door he’s looking for, finally arriving and giving it a knock. With his head still peering down at the paper, ensuring he’s got the correct set of numbers, the lock turns open.

“Um, good afternoon, Ms…. De Angelo? Uh, plumber here answering that service call you-” he cuts himself off as he find himself eye-to-eye with the face that’s plagued his mind for the last eight nights. He hasn’t seen or heard even a peep from the unmistakably ravishing girl he’d found himself engaged with at the club that night. A part of him was willing to shoulder that blame, as he himself had become almost overwhelmingly swamped with more jobs and other insidiously vital shit he’d had going on since that time. The other, very obscure part of him just happened to be a teeny bit disappointed that she likely hadn’t made to seek him out in any way, especially given the implicit, but surely palpable desire they’d shared between them that night. He’d begun to deduce, after some time, that perhaps that had been her way of letting him off easily⁠—to possibly establish that both of their priorities were dissimilar; that, realistically, he was nothing more beyond a regular mark that had ended up swept up in Emma’s routine finesse and lined her pockets with a few extra chunks of cash. Still yet, he can’t help but break into a pink smile⁠—lips parted—at the vision of her. Nothing about her had changed; not that it would or even could. She remained an incomparable sight that he couldn't even fucking bear. “-made. I’m sorry, Ms. De Angelo? It just hadn’t dawned on me that you were a repeat customer,” he sniggers and scratches the back of his head, quick to quip. His blue eyes fixate before him and his jawline flexes, projecting his patent allure, then he continues. “But I’m happy to be of service again. Uh, wanna invite me in and show me where you need help?”
MONTY
@Mariah.
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