Chapter 10
Millie; February 22nd, 9:34 P.M.
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I should definitely be taking this more seriously, Is the only thought running through my mind as Mia leads me down the hallway. We stroll inside an empty lounge, and she instructs me to sit down at a couch, before slamming down a slab of papers in front of me, along with a pen that nearly rolls off the table before I catch it. Pretty smart for a pen; I’d be running too.
“What's this…?” I ask with dramatic hesitancy. She sits on the couch across from me as she pokes the gargantuan stack of paper with her manicured finger. “An NDA.”
I raise an eyebrow. “An? As in, like, Singular?” She maintains a stoic expression. “Yes.” “Right. Quick question?” She hesitates for a beat before responding. She doesn’t trust me – Can’t say I blame her. “Yes…?”
“Do your eyes work?”
She loudly groans in frustration & throws her head back on the sofa, placing her head in her hands. I smile. I think I got her to break character. “Just sign the damn thing, okay? I don’t want to deal with you anymore than you want to deal with me.”
I shrug, picking up the pen and removing the first paper from the stack. “Sure,” The line I’m supposed to sign on is at the bottom of the last paper in the stack– something I realize all too late. Mia’s just been staring at me the whole time, no help given towards the funding of my ‘find-the-line’ adventure. Before I sign it, I skim a few of the papers, which are now strewn about the table like a crime scene; the reminisce of me spending 30 minutes trying to find the line to sign on. Do I sound like I’m holding a grudge? Well maybe that’s cause I spent thirty minutes trying— One of the pages stands out to me as I’m skimming, interrupting my mental rant. The heading reads “Module 32: Living Arrangements” in big, emboldened font. I pick it up without so much as a second thought; I wonder if it’ll have big windows. Ohh, or maybe a jacuzzi? I’ve always wanted a jacuzzi…
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPc2HOlXXYB
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159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzBPxLbafNA
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159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjKW29Bwp5Q
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKCiGTPXO02
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWMW6bFSm8W
Module 32: Living Arrangements
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159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHaGnVDuO37
In the signing of this document (s), All parties (The employer & all members of previously disclosed partnership– A & B) must agree to the notion of a shared living space between both affiliates, in order to ensure the eliminated risk of the abscond of partner B.
Due to lack of necessary funding, parties must also acknowledge the absence of a newly purchased space, and must agree to reside within the bounds of any of partner A’s pre-existing financial assets.
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8dRu42zofr
Module 33: Usage of H.A. Regulated Weaponry
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3DQStg8Szp
Use of weaponry will be mandated, so long as
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4nf2fHIdvC
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrx2LQrxSDI
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ17EZP0heqE
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159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYqhk5nDGBP
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgPfCv9N17F
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3yxkTqMq79
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrSE58VKhiR
Someone please tell me this is a joke. I don’t bother reading anymore, because this is ridiculous. I look up at Mia, seething. She conveniently turns her head to the side, examining some unforeseen object. “Just what the hell,” I start slowly, as if I'm powering up for some big explosion, “makes you think you can do this?” My voice is rising, slowly getting unsteady. If there's one thing you should know about me, it’s that I don’t like sleeping in other people’s houses. I don’t know where it came from, or why I am the way I am, but every time I sleep over at someone else's house, I end up having a panic attack and freaking everyone out. As a kid, I could never do sleepovers with my friends, and I still can’t, even now as an adult. The only times where I was able to comfortably sleep in someone else's house were when their house was so clean that it felt like a hotel or a B&B. Walking into a house and immediately being met with the smell of old jeans, clutter everywhere, and dust sticking to my socks has always been nightmare fuel for me. I could say I blame my upbringing, that growing up in a clean, minimalist house is the source of my fear, but I recently got an official diagnosis for anxiety around three years ago, and it’s changed my view on everything. I’m not medicated, solely because the idea of drugging myself freaks me out, but it still hits me every now and then.
Anyhow, this is going to be hard for me. Then I think about sleeping on the dirty prison cots – maybe this’ll be better. I hope. Mia doesn’t respond, and the silence kills me. As if on cue, Cy walks into the room, pausing when he notices the tension between us. Wordlessly, I hand him the paper as he walks closer. He plucks it out of my hand gently and skims it before returning his soft gaze to me, setting the page down, and sitting beside Mia. “Did you…” I take in a big gulp of air, hoping my voice doesn’t sound too watery; I don’t need them to know I’m freaking out. “Know about this?”
He doesn’t respond, just looks away awkwardly. I’ll take that as a yes. Lovely. I take a deep breath as I press the pen to the paper, and it feels like I'm pressing a gun to my head – This is a bad idea. It feels invasive; creepy, even.
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYVJY3NuV25
—
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It’s quiet– too quiet. Me and Cy step outside of the building, and I stop to take what might be my last few breaths of cold night air before catching up with and following him to the parking garage directly beside the building.
This is possibly the strangest parking garage I've ever seen. We walk up to a small, metal hinged door with what looks like a tiny ipad nailed to the wall beside it. Cy pulls an ID out of his hoodie pocket & taps it on the screen. It beeps, glows green, and he places his hand on it. Then, it.. Wait, Is it… Scanning his hand? What is this men-in-black bullshit? You’d think they’d have a better way to do this. This has got to be some sort of intimidation tactic. Whatever. I don’t say anything – a rare occurrence for someone like me, but it’s past 9:00 P.M., and my brain has officially powered down for the night. The door opens… Upwards? Like, It retracts upwards into the wall. They seriously couldn’t do this any less normally. I follow him inside.
I take it back; this is possibly the nicest parking garage I've ever been in. The floors are made out of fresh, white concrete, the lights are bright– none of them are flickering, and the walls are made out of this reflective metal that bends and distorts my reflection as I pass. I look around at the floor. Not a single oil stain to be found. It is at this point that I realize I'm tired of shutting up. “Isn’t this a little…” I trail off. Actually, maybe I shouldshut up, especially if I can’t finish my fucking sentences. This is a social disaster. “Much?” Cy finishes for me, touching the wall as we pass and rubbing his fingers together, as if ridding of some unforeseen dust. Nevermind. All is safe and right with the world. “Yeah…” I respond, examining the garage. We pass rows and rows of cars, some tactical, but most that look like you could auction me off and still not be able to afford them. And I'm priceless, so that’s saying something. Sorry. I’ll shut up now. We stop at a beat-up red honda civic. Are you serious? What is he, a lesbian mother? My car is nicer than this. He opens the driver's side door, staring at me as I stand in front of the car, trying not to laugh. “What?” he asks, patting the top of the roof “Don’t like my car?” He’s smiling. This is not helping with the whole ‘don’t laugh, this is serious’ thing. I take a deep, bracing breath. “No… It’s… It’s nice..!” I fear I'm smiling, too. No! Bad Millie. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. I mentally facepalm myself 1000 times.
Then he laughs. A full belly, hunched over, grasping the car door for life laugh. Beside myself, I laugh too. I try to keep it practiced at first, but it slowly spirals into a real, loud laugh. To my demise, I let out a snort. Instead of saying anything, he laughs harder. At some point, I actually have to stop to catch my breath. “I can’t… breathe…!” This only sends him reeling again, but this time he’s gasping for air. Oh, how the tables have turned. I haven’t laughed like this in a long time; it feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my chest. Our incessant giggles echo through the garage, and for some reason, I don’t care who hears.
I recover first, restoring my breath with a shaky sigh & standing straight again. He does the same, clearing his throat and resuming a poised, gentlemanly stance, still slightly smiling. If I look at him any longer, I’ll laugh again, so I simply open the passenger-side door and climb in. Cy ducks under the roof and climbs into the front seat next to me, starting the car. In the sudden silence, I come to my senses.
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What the hell was that???
Chapter 10
Millie; February 22nd, 9:34 P.M.
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWwtuTI8q22
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8krgpZAH4D
I should definitely be taking this more seriously, Is the only thought running through my mind as Mia leads me down the hallway. We stroll inside an empty lounge, and she instructs me to sit down at a couch, before slamming down a slab of papers in front of me, along with a pen that nearly rolls off the table before I catch it. Pretty smart for a pen; I’d be running too.
“What's this…?” I ask with dramatic hesitancy. She sits on the couch across from me as she pokes the gargantuan stack of paper with her manicured finger. “An NDA.”
I raise an eyebrow. “An? As in, like, Singular?” She maintains a stoic expression. “Yes.” “Right. Quick question?” She hesitates for a beat before responding. She doesn’t trust me – Can’t say I blame her. “Yes…?”
“Do your eyes work?”
She loudly groans in frustration & throws her head back on the sofa, placing her head in her hands. I smile. I think I got her to break character. “Just sign the damn thing, okay? I don’t want to deal with you anymore than you want to deal with me.”
I shrug, picking up the pen and removing the first paper from the stack. “Sure,” The line I’m supposed to sign on is at the bottom of the last paper in the stack– something I realize all too late. Mia’s just been staring at me the whole time, no help given towards the funding of my ‘find-the-line’ adventure. Before I sign it, I skim a few of the papers, which are now strewn about the table like a crime scene; the reminisce of me spending 30 minutes trying to find the line to sign on. Do I sound like I’m holding a grudge? Well maybe that’s cause I spent thirty minutes trying— One of the pages stands out to me as I’m skimming, interrupting my mental rant. The heading reads “Module 32: Living Arrangements” in big, emboldened font. I pick it up without so much as a second thought; I wonder if it’ll have big windows. Ohh, or maybe a jacuzzi? I’ve always wanted a jacuzzi…
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2PYONUzm9g
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgqbGtZH6xZ
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡptVNQqiuag
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjMiq7Sdchf
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159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5qevPoQdgu
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4df7wVdn1l
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159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWxdm1VBFWk
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9C9aYTchw6
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡB8NsXvNLjT
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡchuKt6RCfA
Module 32: Living Arrangements
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaHJ7IGHuKX
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp9xTsvQdQr
In the signing of this document (s), All parties (The employer & all members of previously disclosed partnership– A & B) must agree to the notion of a shared living space between both affiliates, in order to ensure the eliminated risk of the abscond of partner B.
Due to lack of necessary funding, parties must also acknowledge the absence of a newly purchased space, and must agree to reside within the bounds of any of partner A’s pre-existing financial assets.
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡta13B4RTmG
Module 33: Usage of H.A. Regulated Weaponry
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqqfsaPeRYi
Use of weaponry will be mandated, so long as
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuSa5O9NAC7
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2pkGwR9OQ6
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuWl1kDX7Xo
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkZUetTj32P
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡimRM8EhrYj
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9WsxoL16wQ
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRUek092oNb
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbOkoIXpfo2
Someone please tell me this is a joke. I don’t bother reading anymore, because this is ridiculous. I look up at Mia, seething. She conveniently turns her head to the side, examining some unforeseen object. “Just what the hell,” I start slowly, as if I'm powering up for some big explosion, “makes you think you can do this?” My voice is rising, slowly getting unsteady. If there's one thing you should know about me, it’s that I don’t like sleeping in other people’s houses. I don’t know where it came from, or why I am the way I am, but every time I sleep over at someone else's house, I end up having a panic attack and freaking everyone out. As a kid, I could never do sleepovers with my friends, and I still can’t, even now as an adult. The only times where I was able to comfortably sleep in someone else's house were when their house was so clean that it felt like a hotel or a B&B. Walking into a house and immediately being met with the smell of old jeans, clutter everywhere, and dust sticking to my socks has always been nightmare fuel for me. I could say I blame my upbringing, that growing up in a clean, minimalist house is the source of my fear, but I recently got an official diagnosis for anxiety around three years ago, and it’s changed my view on everything. I’m not medicated, solely because the idea of drugging myself freaks me out, but it still hits me every now and then.
Anyhow, this is going to be hard for me. Then I think about sleeping on the dirty prison cots – maybe this’ll be better. I hope. Mia doesn’t respond, and the silence kills me. As if on cue, Cy walks into the room, pausing when he notices the tension between us. Wordlessly, I hand him the paper as he walks closer. He plucks it out of my hand gently and skims it before returning his soft gaze to me, setting the page down, and sitting beside Mia. “Did you…” I take in a big gulp of air, hoping my voice doesn’t sound too watery; I don’t need them to know I’m freaking out. “Know about this?”
He doesn’t respond, just looks away awkwardly. I’ll take that as a yes. Lovely. I take a deep breath as I press the pen to the paper, and it feels like I'm pressing a gun to my head – This is a bad idea. It feels invasive; creepy, even.
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZZLkMhUKcd
—
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcPCyQc3Xth
It’s quiet– too quiet. Me and Cy step outside of the building, and I stop to take what might be my last few breaths of cold night air before catching up with and following him to the parking garage directly beside the building.
This is possibly the strangest parking garage I've ever seen. We walk up to a small, metal hinged door with what looks like a tiny ipad nailed to the wall beside it. Cy pulls an ID out of his hoodie pocket & taps it on the screen. It beeps, glows green, and he places his hand on it. Then, it.. Wait, Is it… Scanning his hand? What is this men-in-black bullshit? You’d think they’d have a better way to do this. This has got to be some sort of intimidation tactic. Whatever. I don’t say anything – a rare occurrence for someone like me, but it’s past 9:00 P.M., and my brain has officially powered down for the night. The door opens… Upwards? Like, It retracts upwards into the wall. They seriously couldn’t do this any less normally. I follow him inside.
I take it back; this is possibly the nicest parking garage I've ever been in. The floors are made out of fresh, white concrete, the lights are bright– none of them are flickering, and the walls are made out of this reflective metal that bends and distorts my reflection as I pass. I look around at the floor. Not a single oil stain to be found. It is at this point that I realize I'm tired of shutting up. “Isn’t this a little…” I trail off. Actually, maybe I shouldshut up, especially if I can’t finish my fucking sentences. This is a social disaster. “Much?” Cy finishes for me, touching the wall as we pass and rubbing his fingers together, as if ridding of some unforeseen dust. Nevermind. All is safe and right with the world. “Yeah…” I respond, examining the garage. We pass rows and rows of cars, some tactical, but most that look like you could auction me off and still not be able to afford them. And I'm priceless, so that’s saying something. Sorry. I’ll shut up now. We stop at a beat-up red honda civic. Are you serious? What is he, a lesbian mother? My car is nicer than this. He opens the driver's side door, staring at me as I stand in front of the car, trying not to laugh. “What?” he asks, patting the top of the roof “Don’t like my car?” He’s smiling. This is not helping with the whole ‘don’t laugh, this is serious’ thing. I take a deep, bracing breath. “No… It’s… It’s nice..!” I fear I'm smiling, too. No! Bad Millie. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. I mentally facepalm myself 1000 times.
Then he laughs. A full belly, hunched over, grasping the car door for life laugh. Beside myself, I laugh too. I try to keep it practiced at first, but it slowly spirals into a real, loud laugh. To my demise, I let out a snort. Instead of saying anything, he laughs harder. At some point, I actually have to stop to catch my breath. “I can’t… breathe…!” This only sends him reeling again, but this time he’s gasping for air. Oh, how the tables have turned. I haven’t laughed like this in a long time; it feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my chest. Our incessant giggles echo through the garage, and for some reason, I don’t care who hears.
I recover first, restoring my breath with a shaky sigh & standing straight again. He does the same, clearing his throat and resuming a poised, gentlemanly stance, still slightly smiling. If I look at him any longer, I’ll laugh again, so I simply open the passenger-side door and climb in. Cy ducks under the roof and climbs into the front seat next to me, starting the car. In the sudden silence, I come to my senses.
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsQYV8BvgW9
What the hell was that???
159Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoYvtAstMOs
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