summary: I always said chocolate was either rewarding or trouble. Now, at this moment, with my best friend crushing me beneath his heavy body, I wondered which one it was tonight.

PART ONE

I.

I throw myself to the bed; fatigue an etching in every curve and dip of my body, muscles groaning in protest of my work-holic states. ‘What time is it?’ My mind asks my body, or maybe it’s the other way around, and I strain to lift my head from my comfy pillow to check. “One-twenty four? Bloody hell!” I murmur to no one in particular, staring intensely at the bright neon-green numbers. This was the first time in a long time that I’ve actually been able to get home while it was still dark out. I congratulate myself. “Well, Aubrey, you bloody genius, you’ve actually done it! This time, we’ll get home by 12:00!” I exclaim in a sudden burst of energy, in the process shooting up, finger pointing in the air like an idiot. I sigh before sinking back to the bed. ‘Another burst of my odd, random moments.’

I snort in amusement at not only my actions but my thoughts. It took me three months to remember that I had an extra-key hidden under my bedroom windowsill. The only reason I actually remember was…after Mike and I broke up, I stormed out of here, forgot my keys, and had to sneak back into the bedroom, miffed at the fact that he cheated on me. Luckily, the window was quiet as I lifted it (though what it was doing open…) and he was gone, presumably to look for me. After that, I resolved to remember to set my alarm every night; what if he decided to do something totally off the effin wall like trash my apartment—or steal my underwear? Again, I sigh, and stick my hand under my pillow, searching for a sweet stashed haven i.e. emergency chocolate bag bad hair days, atrocious blind dates, severe PMS-ing, excoriating cramps, etc. to hear not hear the familiar crinkle of love.

I quickly look up, narrow by eyes at my hand, and throw my large black pillows from the bed, desperately searching for my poor missing chocolates; there was only the odd blank space with a slight indent where my precious bag once rested. I cry out and glare at the seemingly innocent spot.

I always wondered if my Queen-sized bed would steal them; absorb my chocolate in a mad frenzy of denying its cravings for oh-so-long. The remainder of the bag is probably trapped between the springs and stuffing, and whatever the hell else makes a bed. If my bed left that, I think dryly. “My sweet, darlings, you have lived a good life hidden beneath my pillows. Alas, I bid you farewell to your early death of Shirley.” I lament. “Ne pleure pas; I survivront. Vous ne serez pas oubliés.”

‘Well, that’s another disappointment in my life.’ I absently wonder back to a time when I had a diminutive affair with some I wish erotically attentive Brazilian model. When I say short I didn’t even get to…let’s say abnegate my (sometimes vexing, annoying, and too-proud) virginity! You see, he had this party that I wasn’t even invited to!! where most of the exotic and foreign women went from some delicious and supposedly praline delicacies to…ponderous and repulsively EW!! Needless to say, there was a lot of drinking, I crashed the party held at my house and he didn’t seem to like the way we ended.

The “affair”, if you can call it that, barely lasted two weeks.

And he still stalks me to this day.

So you see my dilemma. Here I am, stuck in the end of summer, with a missing bag of chocolate, a freaking virgin still, and no man. And it was the weekend. I sigh, sit up, and rummage underneath my bed. My close girlfriends always said vibrators and dildos were the best substitution for the real thing; they loved me enough to go out on my 21st birthday and buy me all kinds of kinky sex toys from leather whips to gags…and those were the most innocent things. Now a year later, I have yet to touch, yet alone use on of these things. I stare oddly at the pink instrument in my hand, and scrunch my face up. ‘So, I have sunken so low as to masturbate?’ I glaze at it once more before tossing it across the room.

I can’t do it. I won’t.

Besides, I’m not that horny…or desperate.

The phone suddenly rings, starling me from my self-pity state. I by-passing looking at the caller-id and instead look at the clock. It now read 1:36 a.m.—boy, am I tempted to not pick up the damn phone. After another series of three rings, I pick it up, hoping it isn’t my boss, wanting to talk to me about possibly staring in his newest porno flick. “Hello?”

“What are you wearing right now?” A heavy accent asks, sending buzzers and bells ringing in my head—I can’t place it.

I frown. The voice sounds very familiar. It is deep, husky…arousing, melting into every corner of my head and wetting me. In alarm, I press record, and clear my throat. “What was that again?”

“I said, what are you wearing right now, Au-bree-y?” The voice stresses every syllable.

‘Oh, shit.’ I think. ‘The Brazilian has found me.’ Instantly my paranoia turns to anger. “What the hell do you think? A come-fuck-me-now sign?”

There is a deep and full chuckle. “I shall be right over there then. Very, very soon.”

The line clicks dead. I frown and push stop, rewinding and replaying the message multiple times. On the seventh time, I listen to the last line carefully. ‘I shall be right over there then. Very, very soon.’ God, I shiver, that sounds too much like a promise.

author’s note: originally written March 7, 2007. please enjoy as I try edit it.