Three Strikes Ch. 03

Where's the rule of physics that says you'll wake up in the same emotional state as when you went to sleep? Why is that not a rule? It really should be. Waking up with the clarity you only get after a few hours of sleep, lack of alcohol, and the return of normal hormone levels is not that great. Especially when you're still in bed with the biggest asshole of all time and most of your memory intact.

I knew I needed to leave. Correction, I knew I should've never—fuck! I shouldn't be where I was. But there I was and I needed to leave. I felt Shane's deep, slumbered breath against my back. His body wrapped tight around me.

Why are we so close together? I groaned inwardly.

I had only a vague recollection of where my clothes might be and no idea where my phone was. I prayed to everything holy that it was hiding in plain sight. I had so many other questions, too.

Where was I? What time was it? How was I going to get home? Did he have roommates that I'd run into during my haste exit? How was I going to avoid him for the rest of my life? But the most important question, the one that was sitting stagnant in my frontal lobe and would most likely be the reason my stomach revolted was, why, why, why, didn't we use a condom?

Leaving—that was the plan. Thinking about how dirty I was would have to wait until later—or never. Except, never was only an option after six months and two clean test results.

I softly gripped his wrist and, with my face clenched with anxiety and determination, slowly released myself from his death grip. I had to find a way to pull my legs out from under the massive one he had thrown over me. If I hadn't been sure before, I'd confirmed that yes, he was in fact, a massively solid dude.

I'd just released myself from his grip when I felt his arm wrap around my waist and squeeze me tighter.

Of course. Why would anything be easy for me?

This time it took more effort. Once again I picked up his wrist and, as if I were liquid, slid off of the bed and gently onto the floor.

I was lying completely naked on the floor of, what I assumed was Shane's bedroom. I was covered in enough evidence to convict the both of us in whatever heinous crime had taken place a few hours earlier. I put my hand over my chest in an effort to keep my rapidly beating heart inside of my body and hoped to use the unobstructed floor level view to locate my stuff.

I saw my romper, underwear, and one shoe. That was a good start. I also noticed that Shane quite possibly never cleaned under his bed. I shivered at the realization that I was lying naked on a dirty floor next to God-knows-what...and a couple of spider webs. Which alone had me on the verge of a frantic tailspin.

Two spider webs vs. facing Shane.

For the first time in my life I might voluntarily crawl through spider webs to escape my nightmare. Luckily for me, that wasn't necessary. I crawled around the bed and quietly got dressed. All without leaving the comfort of the hardwood floor.

Putting the romper on was more annoying than trying to get it off the night before. While trying to shimmy into the damn thing, I'd decided I was going to burn the fucker as soon as I got home. All of the Facebook memes that said guys shouldn't wear rompers were spot on! Who knew?

In my head, I was singing—the romp, the romp, the romper's on fire, we don't need no water let the mother fucker burn!

I grabbed one shoe and crawled to the door. As I turned the knob, I prayed it wasn't one of those squeaky doors.

'Please don't be a squeaky door! Please don't be a squeaky door!'

I heard Shane rousing from sleep and froze. Panicked, I sucked in a deep breath and held it as I glanced back to find him lazily feeling the spot I'd occupied only minutes earlier. It was now or never, so I opened the door and slid out.

I tiptoed down the hall (where I found my other shoe), and into the living room where I found my jacket and Aaron, who was sitting on the couch drinking coffee and smiling at me. Oh, how I wished for a memory loss spell or that tiny device from Men in Black.

I breathed out in one long sentence.

"I wasn't here, you never saw me, I'm not this desperate."

I heard the bedroom door open and both Aaron and I looked toward the hall. No, no, no, no!

"Gotta-go-bye," I quickly whispered as I hustled to the front door.

Before I could close it behind me, I heard Shane say my name.

"Gordy?"

I'd never moved so fast in my life—down the steps, thru the driveway, and down the street until I was sure I couldn't be seen from a window, the porch, or any vantage point that would benefit him. I took a moment to catch my breath and pull the phone out of my jacket pocket so I could see where the hell I was.

Everything around me was rows of similar looking houses—Suburbia, USA. I was in an episode of Desperate Housewives, the one where the nosey neighbor watches me walk away in my wrinkled, cotton romper, shoes in my hand, and my pride dragging behind in shame. Shane shame. Exactly how I imagined my television debut would be.

Not.

I tried to figure out phase two of my exit strategy when I heard a truck start-up in the near distance. I wasn't far from his driveway. I just knew it was Shane. I looked back and saw his black truck slowly backing out. Without hesitation, I ran and dove behind a row of hedges that lined the sidewalk of one of the neighboring houses.

For the first time in twenty four hours, I was ridiculously happy to be wearing my green romper—the perfect camouflage to wear while lying in green grass, behind green shrubbery.

I heard him, or who I assumed to be him, drive by. Not knowing if he had somewhere to be or was making a quick circle so he could beat me to a pulp before coming back, I decided to lay low and call Allé for a ride. I pulled out my phone and was ringing my friend in no time.

"Hey, Allé. I'm going to send you my location and I need you to come pick me up...now! No time to explain, call me when you're close for further instructions."

I hung up before he could say a word. For the second time within thirty minutes, I found myself lying on my back in a strange place, and all I could think was, 'this is not my life, this is not my life'.

But it was my life.

True to every stereotypical episode of Desperate Housewives, my thoughts were interrupted with a gentle cough—the kind that's meant to get your attention. I literally whined, out loud, at the harsh reality that was my life.

Sure enough, no more than fifteen feet away was an older gentleman, in his late seventies, standing on his porch, sipping coffee, and watching me with wonderment.

"Last night did not go so well," I offered the only explanation I had.

I figured it was pretty self-explanatory, given my current position. He laughed over his cup of coffee and waved me over.

"Come on over. You look like you could use some coffee."

I started to get up and froze. Try as I might, I couldn't see my surroundings, but I knew enough to know I had the disadvantage of being spotted first.

"Don't worry, the coast is clear. You're safe, for now."

He laughed as I scurried into his house. He offered me a spot at the table while he got me a cup of coffee. He slid the cup in front of me and sat down. I couldn't help but notice the smug look on his face. I knew he wanted the story, but what was I supposed to say?

'I spent all night fucking your neighbor, who happens to be the King of Doucheland, ruler of all things heinous and rotten. I snuck out this morning and he tried to follow me, most likely to murder me or throw things at me. That's how I ended up sprawled out on your lawn. I was hiding in wait until backup arrives to extract me from this unfortunate predicament.'

Right! Sure thing, amigo.

He strummed his nails against his mug as we stared each other down—each of us waiting for the other to say something. I watched his eyes taking in my state of disarray and oh, the judgement that lied behind his brown eyes. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer and, with a mixture of 'wtf, this shit's hilarious' and 'ugh, kids these days', his laugh lines lit up as he smiled and asked.

"What are you wearing?"

Freshly laundered on a good day, the romper sat above mid-thigh, but after a night of dancing and making out before being abandoned on the floor, the wrinkled cotton was closer to a modest, one-piece swimsuit. Praise Jesus for great legs because it didn't matter how much I pulled on the hem, it wasn't ever going to cover any part of my thigh again.

"A mistake, that's what." I sighed. "You're going to tell all of your friends about this at Bingo next week, aren't you?"

His smile widened as he nodded his head. I'd guessed he hadn't had a new story to tell in years, and I could only imagine the conversation they'd have.

'I walked outside and found this pathetic loser lying in my yard and he was wearing a romper for christ sake! Who wears those in real life?'

'No way! A romper! Really? Then what happened?'

'Let me finish the story, George. I took pity on the fool. He was covered in a layer of cum and regret...and he smelled just terrible...Don't get me started on his hair!'

'Was his hair really that bad? Tell us about it.'

'I'm getting to that part, Harold. Calm down. As I was saying, his hair was perfect, it was the strangest thing I'd ever seen, just beautiful! Even after the rough night he'd had, there wasn't a hair out of place, but the rest of him was trash! I had to sanitize the entire house after he left and I gave the mug he used to the biohazard people.'

I smiled. At least I'd have good hair. I figured there was no harm in giving them something to talk about so I told him the story. The club, the kissing, the sex (I didn't scare him with details, of course), the morning regret as I laid naked on the floor, choosing between facing the sleeping beast or spiders, slipping out as he woke, the roommate, the labyrinthine of taking my romper on and off during the course of the evening, and finally, the jumping into the bushes.

As I finished, my phone rang. It was Allé.

"Do you have a name to go with the story?" the old man asked.

"Yeah, you can call me Ray Charles because I never saw you...and you never saw me."

I winked and he laughed as I answered my phone and walked toward the front door where I saw Allé slowly approaching the house.

"Hey, Allé, I see you."

"What's going on? Where are you?"

"Stop the van and open the sliding door."

"I can't, the power button is broken, but I can open the back door. Will that work?"

Sure, why not. Climbing into the very back of a van after last night was exactly how I wanted to end this nightmare.

"Sure, that's fine."

I watched the back door rise up.

"Do you see anyone or any cars coming? A truck to be specific?"

"No, there's no one. What's going on? Should I be helping you?"

"Start closing the door...now!"

I ran to the van and slid into the back as the door was descending. After the door latched and I felt the van accelerate, I let out a long sigh. It was finally over—or so I thought.

"Hey, D. There's Shane and he's waving me over."

I panicked.

"Oh-my-fucking-god! Allé, I'm not here! Do not tell him I'm with you!"

The last thing I wanted was for Shane to see me hiding in the cargo area of a minivan. It was seriously the worst walk of shame I'd ever experienced.

I noticed a couple of blankets, so I quickly covered myself and laid in wait, again. My blood and adrenaline were pumping so fast, I could barely hear anything over the pounding in my ears.

"Hey, Shaney. What's going on?" Alle purred.

I imagined Shane leaning his elbows on the van's window ledge.

"Nothing. Have you talked to Gordy this morning?"

"No, sir, not a peep since last night. Why are you asking?"

"Erm—no reason."

No reason my ass. Actually, my ass was literally the reason. He hadn't had a chance to throw stones at me before I left. I could only imagine how upset he must've been.

"Okay. Do you want me to deliver a message to him or anything?"

"Uh, yes. I mean, no. No message. Thanks, though."

"Alrighty. See you around sugar."

I felt the van accelerate again, but that time I wasn't going to breathe a sigh of relief because doing so only seemed to be a bad omen of things to come. I was staring out of the back window, willing my dignity to return, when Allé broke the comfortable silence.

"Do you want to ride up front and tell me what's going on?"

I crawled over the seats until I was sitting next to him.

"Not really."

I mumbled but ended up giving him the bullet points anyway. I left out the majority of the details as it was nothing I was keen on reliving, even in the dark depths of my mind. Of course, he was laughing by the end of it. Who wouldn't be?

Oh yeah—me.

"Oh. My. God. This is amazing! Thank you for letting me be a part of it."

I thought to myself, 'who would want to be a part of this? Not me. It wasn't anything to be proud of or excited about.'

"My pleasure. I'd gladly swap places with you—wait, where are we going?"

We'd turned into a random parking lot and everything came rushing back to me—brunch plans with the DONNAS.

"Fuck me," I whined, dropping my head in shame.

*** *** *** ***

Allé had finished retelling the sordid tale of my woe and everyone was left in stitches. The entire cafe was staring at us, undoubtedly catching every word since Allé's voice could carry cars across a river.

I was sitting with my elbows on the table and my cheekbones resting against my palms while waiting for the dreadful brunch to wrap up. Luckily, Allé had loaned me his bright-pink peacoat , with fur and fringe, which was a lot better than yesterday's wrinkled romper and cum stains.

"I wish I would've stuck around longer. It sounds as if we missed the good stuff," Sam blew me a kiss.

"Please, tell me the sex was great. It was fucking good, right?" Nick asked.

I shook my head no, which of course was a lie, but I wasn't about to tell anyone otherwise. That was top secret, classified information.

Nick whined while picking at his food.

"Nooo, that's so disappointing. I'm so disappointed! Ugh, I had such high hopes for him."

Nelly was eyeing me and carefully studying me. "Are you sure? Your hair is atrocious. Maybe you did have a good time last night."

I ran my fingers through my hair in a lame attempt at making it to look semi normal. Well, there went any hope that George or Harold would hear about my fab hair when Mr. Neighbor told my story. Such a shame.

"Trust me. Last night was nothing I want to relive."

That wasn't a lie.

*** *** *** ***

After I got home, I took the longest shower of my life. They say your body is a temple. Mine was more like a canvas on which a crime took place. I showered in a vain attempt to scrub away the evidence (and other things that weren't likely to disappear with antibacterial soap and hot water).

Relaxed and clean (physically, anyway), I spent some time doing yoga. After last night, I was desperate to center myself. I sat cross-legged on the floor and took a deep breath. When I let it out, all of the stress and negativity that had consumed me all morning disappeared and, by the time I was done, I felt amazing.

What's done is done. I cannot change it. I cannot control it. I can only move forward. I am a strong man. I am a confident man. I am a capable man.

Newly centered and restored to factory condition; I spent the rest of Saturday catching up on house chores. I made an extra effort to clean under my bed. Should anyone feel the need to retreat from my room in the wee hours of the morning, I'd hate for them to have to choose between seeing me and death-by-spiders. Also, spiders are nasty and I'll kill them all. I'm a cold-hearted bitch like that.

I slept like a log that night, which I was thankful for. It was always hard to go to work if I didn't feel fully rested because the kids deserved my best during every shift.