Vereor Nox Academy

Purgatory. A place that was yet wasn’t. An existence that did not exist. A state of nonbeing where the only goal, if one wanted to call it such, was to wait. It could be until judgment, whether it be to ascend or be forced deeper to hellish punishments and terror abound, yet Purgatory, itself, was a Hell- no. Worse than Hell. At least Hell was something, a conclusion.

Johnathon Blaze was facing Purgatory in the Pittsburgh International Airport, watching it go round and round. He swayed with it, his eyes heavy and red. It was dark out, the sun still a few hours away. The yellow concrete had an eerie glow, the red rails an unnatural gleam, all steeped in the stench of old food and the sweat of thousands. The noise, the buzzes from the displays and overheads culminated into a constant drone, a drill that bore into the back of his skull.

That lost soul sighed. The opening a yawn needed, breaking his gaze for a moment, just a moment, from the baggage carousel. As he focused again a piece of paper came down it, placed four revolutions ago. Yet the oncoming line still had nothing of his.

He shouldn’t have been there. That bag was meant to be a carry-on. The checker had their tongue in the wrong way when they weighed it back in Washington, and that disparity was enough to force it down into cargo. Even after he offered to take one thing out –just one. That’s all it needed. One. Item: A coat. He didn’t think he would need it. Weather was fair, enough that he got away with an old, rocker tee and a pair of raggedy sweats in the dead hours of August, so he shoved it in the bag. He thought he could get away with it, but Purgatory holds all by the tip. And It is as cruel as It is cold. He hoped he could talk his way into taking it out, but no! But no.

Johnathon yawned again. When his eyes opened again there was a faint glimmer of hope. A bag appeared at the end of the carousel- but it was only a glimmer. That bag was chartreuse, when the one he was waiting for was patchwork. BUT. Progress.

He ran a hand through his brown hair, giving those shaggy, greasy, heavy ends a good scratch. Those locks were just able to reach his shoulders, settling as he smoothed them out and soothed his weary brow. How about some positivity? Nothing kept one better at ease than some good ole ego stroking. Not too much; just enough to edge from proper release until it was ready. Where to begin… though he was no stranger to stress his fair face didn’t have a single wrinkle nor blemish on it and was the very definition of masculinity. A well-defined jawline, strong cheeks and chin, bright, pronounced eyes of steel blue, and a perfect set of thirty-two behind lush lips. In fact, he was so certain of it he once applied to Calvin Klein. He was rejected, his shots believed to be shopped. They were, not for his structure but because of the beard and mustache. The two things he truly lacked, and would forever lack. He made peace with that soon after getting rejected, so long ago back in college. He would never be perfect but at least handsome. But even handsome people must suffer, all equal under the gaze of their mechanical overlords –see? Only edging.

Others bags came but always for the other souls gathered, freeing them until he was the only one left. He was alone, forced to watch the spiral and after his bit of paper, over and over.

As it returned for the 384th time, however, he was done. There was only so many times he could be teased before he lost interest. He picked that paper off the carousel, yawned one more time, and turned on his heels, walking away-

A shudder ran through him, making every part shake, then stop. He rolled his eyes, slumped his shoulders, and turned around. As always, that “feeling” was right: his bag finally emerged. As if with fanfare, marching to its drums. It approached him, slow, slower than the belt ever moved before- but. It didn’t matter. He rushed to meet it. He finally had it, so he could leave that nightmare. And he thought the in-flight movie was bad. He didn’t care how popular it was, those sparkling prima donnas were not vampires. Though he could see them as demons, skinwalkers. The plot seemed to play into that, but no. Vampires sell. If it was a decade earlier, maybe, just maybe, it could have been demons. Or angels… Same thing, in the end.

The walk out went faster than expected. Even though his body lurched with each step, threatened to stumble, he made no effort to slow his gait nor change his stride, even as he walked along the inclinator, feeling almost superhuman in how fast he went- and there’s the supernatural again. In truth the part that irked him the most about that movie was how the main character reacted when she realized she was sharing a world with monsters. Literal monsters.

The idea of vampires and otherkin was nothing new. Humanity always believed there were other beings among them. Most of them born from misunderstandings on illness and deformities. Poetic in a sense but would one really be so accepting if they found out it was all real? All of it? The things, the beasts that live in so-called mythology; would one really be enthralled to find out they truly existed, and would they really be more than happy to meet them, knowing they would more than likely eat them?

Well, in the movies, she was more than happy with the notion- at least it was perceived to be happy? The actress’s foray of emotion was so immaculate that she portrayed so many emotions all at once in a stony, absentee expression. Johnathon at least believed that she was happy but probably, more than likely, she wasn’t thinking of being eaten. At least not in the way the other party was trying to convey.

What would he do in such a situation… He didn’t know. So many times, so many scenarios; he wouldn’t know what to do if he found out, but one thing was for certain: He wouldn’t be standing wherever he was. Like a bat out of hell, faster than he ever was or would be again. He thought he was going at an unnatural pace on the inclinator; if he were put in a room with, say, a werewolf or a harpy or a demon he would be on another continent if not in space before they had a chance to exhale. That’s nothing to say about witches and magic, but then, at that point, he didn’t really have a chance. He doubted real-world witches would be as conspicuous as they were portrayed in media and just be a person like him.

Hell, the only monster he would probably be okay with was a succubus. Oh no! A demon of semen that wanted to drain his “life force” through sexy acts; what a terrible fate. He was trembling with excit- terror! Terror… Yes. What’s the worse they could do? Make him addicted to sex? Force him to forge a pact? As if humanity didn’t already have something like that, and just as soul-crushing in the modern day.

The inclinator came to its end. Johnathon stepped off but kept its pace, much to his leg’s disdain. They were already burning, worked to their end. When he finally slowed as he reached the entry they shook like jelly. They barely held as he pressed open the steel-reinforced glass doors, more than ready to collapse at the curb and wait for his ride.

A black sedan was already there. The windows were tinted, making it hard to see if there was anyone inside, but the sign plastered to the back right window was a strong hint for whom it was meant to pick up. They even had his middle name, Allen. Its doors whirred and clicked as he approached, but it was only for the back door. The interior was blacker and leather. It scrunched as he sat, cold, and he removed the sign from the window, looking out. Pennsylvania was left behind as the car left the airport and into West Virginia. He had never been there before, and all he ever heard of the state was that it was the Scotland of America: Beautiful scenery, vengeful denizens, lots of rock.

Though it seemed Washington, West Virginia, and Scotland all shared weather. He could feel the rain in the air, the darkness overhead not from the lack of sun nor stars but from the coming storm. That in combination with the smooth jazz emanating from the speakers lulled him to sleep far too soon. He hoped to see more, get an idea of where he was being taken and how, but even the car’s rumble was but a distant thrum, lost to respite.

If brief.

The car came to a jarring halt. Before he even had a chance to compose the door popped open. Johnathon grumbled and clambered out, looking around. The sun peeked over the horizon, gleaming upon rows of trees, sprouting from hillsides far beyond and high yet so dense that no light made it through. Water rushed nearby, either falls or a river or both, gurgling off rocks that droned out traffic far beyond those green hills lost to time.

It seemed Paradise, West Virginia, was located in a canyon. More information than he could find otherwise. No matter how many times he searched or where, online or physical. He wondered if it was an actual place at all, if he was simply being scammed, but the money was placed into his account all the same and the plane ticket arrived when he accepted Her offer. Even the transport She promised the day they agreed upon. If this was all a scam, he already made more out of it than he would have staying in Washington.

All that was left was to see if the apartment was true or if that was where this whole ruse ended, where he would be sliced up and sold or eaten or dropped down in a hole until his skin was loose enough to be made a part of a suit or made into a sex slave or, worst of all, he was forced to join a cult –though the last two could easily be conjoined- all four could be, really. What may come, he already wrote his will, signed it off with his parents as witnesses. If they didn’t hear back in three days all his dust bunnies were theirs. Which were worth more than his life insurance and bank account.

The apartment complex was as to be expected. A solid, concrete cube with doors dotting along it and several stairwells. The more minute details, such as height, floors, stairs, would simply need to wait. He could only focus on so much, and the signs with his name on them and arrows were more pressing, leading the way into the complex. The more he saw the more he prepared for the worst. Too apparent, erring on insulting.

Until he missed his door. Literally had his name on it, in bright red marker, and he kept going to the next sign at the right end of the second level, plastered on the iron railing. When he reached it and read he rolled his eyes.

Got you. It was back a few doors.

He sighed, opening the way to another accursed yawn, and teetered on his feet, moved by the gust that blew through the building. It whistled against the concrete, cut by the jagged edges, making it moan and scream, and reeked of ozone, ushering in the soft rain that raced through the woods beyond and pattered on the town. The blasted yawn gave and he turned around at last. He lumbered back, and found the door emblazoned with his name. The rain caught up at last, hitting that paint and making it run, seeping onto the ground in a puddle of deep red. He chuckled, a hollow thing, and slapped his hand onto the doorknob before taking a deep breath. His eyes slid shut, and stayed that way for a bit too long, snapping open as he huffed, pushing down.

Finding it unlocked.

It eased in, stopped by a little rubber flap on the left wall, before another door. There was a rug in front of the entrance, with another, smaller throw beside, lining a woven basked to the right, resting at the foot of a wooden stand with a glass bowl on top. In it, there was a sealed letter and a set of keys.

There was an archway off to the right, told apart by the panel of seven light switches before it, all flicked on and revealing a galley kitchen with marble counter tops. The floor was a soft cream tile with enough room for two people to move around in it with ease. There was a booth at its end, the quaint table set before a rugged, red wraparound seat molded to the wall. There were two chairs on the other side, pressed in and matching the dark wood of the table.

What he was happiest to see in that kitchen, though, was the coffee pot. It was a newer model, meant to take capsules, which meant he didn’t even need to brew. Simply needed to slip a cup under when it warmed, press a button, and have his fix... If ever there was a vision of what heaven might be, it was in that black, curvy machine. There was even a cup waiting underneath and a pod already in the slot.

Johnathon pressed its button before he lurched to the booth and sat at one of the chairs. He opened the letter, pulling out and unfolding- unfurling. He needed to unfurl the contents, looking upon his welcome letter on that flattened scroll, returning to its shape under his caress. His schedule was hidden within as well, but he only looked at them. No matter how many times he blinked nor wiped them, his eyes wouldn’t cooperate. They faded those small, black words together, the time table a solid slate.

He left it on the table as he lumbered to the entry again and towards the living room, widening for it. Which he was impressed. If the four he lived in prior were anything to go by, apartments were meant to be little more than boxes, glorified rat cages, yet he could fit two couches with ease in that expanse and still have room for a pool table. Sadly he didn’t have the pool table, but he did have the two couches, both a rough blue material. But it was a give and take; for all that space it sacrificed windows.

There was a door on both the left and right. The left housed the master bedroom, which had its own bathroom, while the right was a secondary bath. To call it a room would be giving too much. It was little more than a cubical, just enough room to step in, turn, and either use the porcelain throne or look in the mirror on the medicine cabinet as you used the sink. It had an exhaust fan at least, and a toilet paper holder, built into the wall, all lit by a single light centered above the door.

Sadly, he wished he could make out more of the living room but it was currently inundated with boxes, his infestation of life that was packed a week before and transported here. By their hands. There was one thing he needed to do. One task his eyes fixed for. There was one box in general in that mess that needed to be-

And found, set before all the others. It was a long, slender box, the opening on the top that specified to fold down. He did just that, taking out his TV, but that was only one of the items in that task. He needed to find a socket to put it in and the plug wasn’t the longest for most, so he needed an extension. It wasn’t heavy but there was only so much his weary body could give. Thankfully they were both against the back wall, a bit off to the right. Off-centered… Easily fixed. Later.

He turned on the telly. No Signal appeared. Of course- solved as he found the cable box to the left of the TV. He plugged it i-

“Good morning, Tri-state area!” The woman on the TV boomed. Right into his ear, at max volume. She was a bit older but still pulled off looking twenty in her forties. She was in a bright blue dress with a white jacket, yet it and the rest of the apparel might as well have not existed. It hid none of her curves and even teased with how her ample breasts pressed against the thin fabric –which whoever made that dress deserve a medal. It made that sagging set look perky and prime.

Her opening jingle finished at last, and Johnathon found the remote, putting it on human levels of enjoyment. Or at least on normal human levels of-

He noticed what channel it was on.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said as she continued.

“This is Aunt Flow, your weather girl here at Convenient News Network. If it’s wet and steamy or hot and heavy, you know I’m here for you.”

A map of the United States faded in on the green screen behind her, replacing the soft spring sky that was plastered before. She turned to the side, showing off her other half. Again, whoever made that dress, damn medal. The map focused on West Virginia, then cropped to the upper panhandle, specifically on the area in between it, Pennsylvania, and Ohio.

“It looks to be a nice mix here in the tri-state,” she said. “Morning’s going to start moist but comfortable in the mid 50s before getting up to 69 this afternoon.”

“Nice,” both she and Johnathon said.

“It’s looking to be a wet one, if you know what I mean. Expect it to rain all day before clearing up at ni-”

“All I needed to hear.”

He turned off the TV- and was attacked by another yawn. It held him at knife-point, demanded him to raise his hands. Their knuckles just grazed the blades on the ceiling, humming, droning as they whiffed by. He cracked his neck, finally let go the yawn, and his arms fell, nearly dragging him along. Every part of him was in on that plot.

They would simply need to wait. He trudged back to the kitchen. The coffee pot signaled that it was ready. He pressed the pod in and it whirred- before he saw the other light. The water basin wasn’t filled.

“Fuck it,” he said, and turned off the machine. “Deal with it later.”

He checked his work schedule- and felt silly as he looked over it. His name wasn’t printed on it at all but written. In bright red marker, and at the very bottom.

“Start at nine, end at five... Same shit, different place.”

He shook his head, and lumbered back into the living room, leaning against one of the box monoliths. Another yawn rumbled through him, and that time his eyes were adding their two cents. The bit of rest he had was wearing thin, and the bags were starting to weigh- oh. Right. He took the bag off his shoulder at last and tossed it at that sea of brown before rubbing the ones under his eyes while pulling out his phone. It was a quarter til eight.

The time table wasn’t for the AM, however. That was clarified when She first approached him about the job. That didn’t mean he could go to bed. Not yet. He still had so much to do.

His first task didn’t cause much umbrage, and were where they were expected. The garment bags were hanged neatly in the closet of the master bedroom, hidden behind sliding doors to the right of its entrance along the same wall. The bedroom, itself, had a long, squat chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. There were also two nightstands on either side of the bed, both them and the chest of drawers matching the motif of the rest of the wooden furniture, made of that dark, glossy wood. Two stained-glass lamps were placed on their tops but there was no light fixture otherwise, and, at the furthest point of the room there was a wide window that opened for the fire escape. The first window he saw in the place; the only window in the place.

But. Those garment bags. He fished through the four, each one holding eight ensembles, including shoes tucked in the bottom, and picked out one. He went with “old reliable”, his finest, black dress coat and pants, with brown leather loafers and his favorite undershirt. It was faded, more a powder blue if not baby blue, and rumpled, more wrinkles than material, looking to fall apart from a stiff wind. It held strong, so Johnathon did the same.

He left the suit, freed of its brethren on the bar inside the closet, but carried the loafers out to the entry, placing them in that basket. He checked the final door and found it to be another bathroom, so that simply left checking the master bedroom’s extra. His personal lavatory.

It put the guest’s, both of them, to shame. The space alone would swallow five of those cubicals and still be left wanting, and it reveled in its majesty. Its turquoise tile twinkled from the six lights molded into the ceiling. There was a long mirror along the right wall with a counter under the entire way, while a tiny medicine cabinet was tucked into the far wall that joined it by the entry. The left side had a shower-bath combo as well as a walk-in shower.

It was what was built into the center of the room that stole the show. There, lined with hard, tacky rubber, was a hot tub. Its basin was a hard black plastic but it had a clear shell molded over it, only allowing the jets, six of them on each side, to be free. Johnathon wondered what the mats were f- there was a raised lip on the tacky mats, which, when pulled, revealing a USB hub, also covered in thick rubber. There were, also black, wiry nodes under the clear plastic shell, almost blended into the hard plastic but the slight sheen from it gave them away: Speakers.

Johnathon huffed, and returned the mat before turning around and returning to the door. There were a few hooks on the back of it. He tested how far the door could open, and once more it simply thumped against a plastic nub, leaving the towel hamper and closet behind it unscathed.

“Perfect,” he said, wiping his hands before resting them on his hips. “Everything is perfect… Something must be wrong. Must be.”

If everything else was perfect so far, and there was only one item left to test... The one thing he hoped wasn’t messed up... As it stood, though, that was all that could be- He could remain ignorant to it. For at least a day. He didn’t need to test it then... right?

“But thou must,” he grumbled. And trudged over to the shower. He kept his gaze averted from the mirror, though. Last thing he needed was a nightmare before falling asleep. He opened the smoked glass door of the shower and turned the knob for hot water. The pipes in the wall rumbled, but only just. It wasn’t long before water streamed from the perforated head. He held his hand under the water, finding it far colder than he expected. It was almost ice- but it gave way to steaming relief. He waited for the pipes to finish, then gave the cold knob a turn, a mere formality as it came sputtering out, just as quick to be removed.

Johnathon looked over the shower one last time, and saw that there was a steel bar set in the back right, where four mesh levels were soldered on. The bottom had a few hooks on it, small things to hang loofahs and bath sponges from, while the top had two as well, added to the outside. But, again, perfect.

“Got it!” He blurted, clapping his hands. “It’s haunted.”

He returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed, a king covered in dark blue sheets. It had four pillows at its head, the top two in matching shams to the comforter while the two under were in white slips. How his head pulled to them, but his mind kept it up. Whirring away.

“Roach infestation?” He said, rubbing his chin. “Insurance fraud? Halfway house? Jehovah’s Witnesses?” There was a knock. “I was kidding about that one. At least the ghost has a sense of humor.”

He chuckled... but the knock came again, pulling him to his feet. It was his door. Not the wall nor ceiling nor in his mind but, physically, the door. He shuffled towards the entrance, turned to a brisk limp as he passed through the living room. The door groaned as another set of knocks came, louder as he leaned on it, looking through its peephole.

A woman stood outside. Her red hair was disheveled, clashing against her pink top and its assortment of cartoon critters. Her flannel pants were gray, her feet hidden in dark green slippers, all being pattered on by the rain. She heaved a sigh, and knocked one more time.

Stopping, smiling as he opened the door. The warmth of it reached her teal eyes, making them shimmer. Her cheeks also warmed, rounded with the rest of her face. And other portions of her body.

“Hi! Morning,” she said, offering her hand. “You must be the new tenant.”

“Nah. Just sort of followed the signs and broke in. Did you know they left it unlocked? Even left the keys. Any random schlub could have broken in.”

He laughed, but she was slow to join in. She was at least quick to pull her hand away. The horse finally crossed the finish line, however. Her smile had faltered but returned to full, laughing with him.

“Right,” she said, drawing it out, and he could just hear an inflection of a southern belle. “Well, I’m Bridget, your neighbor from down the hall. Thought I’d come say hi and welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks. Name’s Johnathon, but you probably knew that from all the-” The sign, at least the one on his door, was gone... He shook his head. “Anyways…”

“Well, Johnny –you don’t mind me calling you Johnny do you?”

“I prefer Johnathon. Or John.”

Really he preferred anything BUT Johnny. Even asshat or limpdick or faggot. Johnny never sat right with him. For multiple reasons.

She continued. “I know it’s still early, but what say you come on over and we can talk. Just brewed a pot of coffee.”

“That sounds wonderful, but tell you what: You bring over a couple hot mugs and we can break in my kitchen.”

She nodded as she departed while he took point in the kitchen, sitting in the booth. He leaned his head into its corner, indulging in its smoothness, its coolness, its welcoming embrace- until she returned. Far too soon. She sat in the booth with him, handing him a cup as she slipped in. The black nectar steamed, bubbling around a silver spoon. She was carrying another item, a wire basket hidden against the side of her magnanimous bosom, housing a container of cream and sugar, placed on the table.

“You angel,” he said, topping off his cup. She didn’t, though her coffee was already a nice, tan color.

“You’re welcome. Wasn’t sure if you needed them or not. Instead of playing the guessing game, thought I’d bring the entirety over.”

“That’s fine. I’m a bit picky, like only a touch of creamer, little more than a teaspoon but not a half- oh, and no sugar. Cutting back on the sweets.”

“You? Really? That’s just rude, you know. You’re skinny as a twig! I mean, look at me.”

He already was, but now that he had permission... She exchanged her pink top for a green tank, under more duress. Her chest bulged against, quivered against the fabric, untouched by any bra. They fought to push their way through any opening possible, stretching the fabric as much as they could while the two points in front just tried to bore through. She had a bit of a pudge on her stomach, giving her waist a good bit of grip-

The yawn, the yawn! Once his doomsayer now his savior. It took his mind off of her, and he stirred in the creamer proper. He tapped the spoon on the side of the cup before setting it on the table- ah, but a single drop leaped from it. It arced and landed perfectly across on her shirt, staining it, enticing him to further stare.

“So. Bridget,” he said, clearing his throat. “What are you doing up so early? Job? Kids?”

“Kids? No. Not even a man. Just got off... My job, I mean. Work at Vereor Nox Academy.”

“You too?”

“Too? You’re the new teacher, then.”

“Supposedly.”

“Well, I was getting settled in when I heard the pipes rattle -this place has paper-thin walls- so I came to check.”

“There it is! Thank you!”

“I’m sorry?”

“I was wondering what was wrong with this place. No way in Hell it was as good as it seemed… Any case, I start tonight.”

“Small world. You start working where I and two other tenants from this building work.”

“I know, right? It’s as if this place was made for the teachers.”

“Nah... Couldn’t be... Heard you saw a lot of the world coming over. Washington, huh?”

“Good ole Washington. Brunt of jokes ever since those vampire movies, so how could I say no when I’m invited out of the blue to come here. Especially when they offered triple of my initial wage, got me this apartment, and covered all travel expenses. And I mean all; They had a car ready and everything after the red-eye. Talk about dedication.”

“Huh. We weren’t given any of that when we applied... Any idea why they asked you, specifically?”

“None. I mean, I’m a decent enough science teacher I suppose, but if that places me as THE top pick for this area... That scares me- a little. J... Just a touch.” He chortled, taking a long gulp of his drink at lad. “Good blend... and I wasn’t going to argue.”

She hummed, biting her lip, tracing the rim of her cup with her finger.

“Yeah... Ron retired. He was our best science teacher. Others tried, but... Well, here’s hoping that you stick.”

“Anything I should know about th... Sorry... Weird time for a school, isn’t it?”

“It’s a school for... special students.”

“Special? How so?”

“They... Some can’t go to normally-scheduled schools. Others... are better attending this one.”

“Age group?”

“Eighteen to twenty-five.”

He almost spit his drink, concealing it behind a napkin.

“They do know that I was a high school teacher, right?”

“And you are still giving a high school education. You can just be a bit more... free with your scheduling.”

“So I saw. Six days instead of five...”

“It’s going to suck the first week, but you’ll get into the swing of it.”

She picked up his cup, emptied, as well as the cream and sugar, all the while giving him an ample view down her tank. Those fair ladies swung just a touch, their tips seeming to perk from the attention, keeping him up... and awake for that bit longer. She righted, and beamed at him.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Johnny- oh! Do you have a car? Do you know where the school is... Johnny?”

He shook his head, cleared his throat, and looked into her blues again.

“Supposedly I have an escort coming later on to show me the way. Orientation, all that fun stuff. After that? No idea. Could get in touch with a car dealership close to the area-”

“Why do that when you can just ride with us?”

“Would save money –though I would still pitch in for gas of course.”

“Of course! Well, if you ever want to carpool, you simply need ask.”

He nodded, and followed her to the door. He rested against its frame, saluting as she skipped away, disappearing into her apartment at the left end. How he loathed watching as the last of her slip inside, but he couldn’t argue that it wasn’t worth watching her leave. It even had a standing ovation, perked from that bit of caffeine. It was a good blend, though had a strange aftertaste. Some type of flower?

However, it was as tired as he, and fell just as quick. He closed the door, yawned, and finally, at long last, began his dirge to the bedro-

There was a knock. Before he could move or act there was another round of rapping. He turned around and looked through the peephole again. That time he was met with black hair, tied back in a ponytail, as well as bright green eyes, made brighter by her purple lipstick and her paler skin.

She scowled at the door, knocking- pounding it, jiggling her chest, barely kept in by her black silk top. Skulls meshed, melded, clashed across it, tucked into crimson satin pants. She had no slippers, tapping away on the concrete outside of his door as he opened it. Her scowl turned to a smile, as if just his presence removed the surface-level bitch, but the bitch would always be there. Deep down.

She rested her hands on her hips, jutted her chest forward, making up for the space the door once held domain.

“May I help you?” Johnathon said.

“Just wanted to come say hi.” She yawned, offering her hand –which even how she flourished it screamed “overcompensating”. “Lola. I live in the apartment right next door. Heard you and Bridget talking and thought I’d get my licks in before hitting the hay.”

“Licks, huh? But let me guess. You work at the school, too.”

“Yep. English.”

“English? By the way, do you know what Bridget teaches?”

“English. All three of us d-”

“Three?”

“Thanks for ruining my introduction.”

A blonde pushed Lola aside, releasing the bitch once more. It was only a matter of time. The blonde’s hair was rolled into curlers, complimenting her white bath robe, also forced to endure her chest. It failed more than the others, though, as she had the largest set so far, their light pink tips just seen, basking in their victory against the fabric. She had wide hips, flaring the robes enough to show off her tanned thighs, leading to her large feet, snug in their white slippers.

The blonde cleared her throat, her blue eyes cold, and bowed, showing off more of her front- one actually flopped out.

“Tanya,” she said. “A pleasure.”

“Huh. So... Bridget... Lola... and Tanya.”

“Yeah?” Lola said, crossing her arms. “What about it?”

“Nothing, nothing-”

“Like BLT, right?” She pressed by Tanya, giggling, and rolled her hands to herself. “I might be the lettuce but why not try and get your whip on this part of the sandwich before the others.”

“I... have no ide- So do you two want to come inside, as well? Have coffee?”

“Nah. I’m pooped.”

Lola huffed then stretched, testing the limits of that shirt. She might have been the smallest of the three, but still far more supple than any he had been exposed to before. Must be something in the water.

Her arms fell with a sigh, smirking at Johnathon.

“Just wanted to get you all hot under the collar before I passed out,” she said. “You’ll find out quick I don’t give a fuck –and that is also literal. Go bark up another tree.”

She patted his shoulder, smirk turned to a sneer, and sauntered away. Not too far, however. Only a door to the right, leaving the wind to shut it behind as her feet padded away.

Tanya, meanwhile, entered his apartment. She simply listed her way in, drifted to the living room, weaved between the boxes, looking at them all yet none at the same time while her head lulled the entire time. She passed the television several times, circling back to it four times as she simply mumbled.

At last, she stopped and sprawled out on the mound of boxes in the center. At least, from his angle, that’s what it looked like. The way fabric whispered, though hushed, he hurried around and saw her on one of the couches. It contoured to her, accepted her into its folds, sighing as she splayed out on it- though, averted. Her robe did nothing to hide her pink thong, and that didn’t do anything to hide the forest under it. Not only that but the top part of hers robes was down. Instead, he looked to the door, to the bedroom, glaring at how close yet how far it seemed.

He cleared his throat, and rolled his wrist her way.

“So,” he drew out. “Tanya was it?”

She hummed, and he heard her raise a touch. “And you’re Johnny.”

“John or Johnathon please.”

He closed his eyes as she stood, beginning to sigh as she shuffled- gasping as she pressed against his chest. She yawned against it, rested her head upon it, mumbling as she drew a figure-eight with her hand on his left pec.

“Did you enjoy my signs,” she asked... and he could feel the smile on her face. “Did you read the one at the end?”

“I did. That… that was good. That was definitely a good one.”

“Thank you... I came back before the others so I could take them down. I’ve been up almost two days now... I know it’s a bit sudden, but do you mind if I stay? I’m too tired to walk back upstairs.”

“S... sure. Let me just clear the middle of the room. I can set up a makeshift futo-”

“Why?” She drew harder on his chest, her nail digging in, creasing into his t-shirt. “This is fine.”

There was a third knock at the door. Johnathon sprang at the chance. Literally. Tanya fell back on the couch as he sprinted to answer. He threw it open, and, of course, as was the trend, another woman awaited. Her bronze skin gleamed from the sun, allowed a moment out from that overcast just to wash her in light, as if it knew she was his saving grace. No shirt hindered her bountiful chest, winning first place. Instead, a single, quivering, pink bra braced against and pushed them together. If Bridget’s tank was fighting that bra was at war to keep them from spilling out. Her round face was flushed, “pink” eyes unfocused, glassed, and her breath was hot on his collar as she fell into the apartment.

On him.

Glass clinked against the tile, the empty bottle of whiskey shimmering. Her hand chased after it, still trying to grasping. Instead groping something it shouldn’t.

“Hey there, handsome,” she said, and flung her hair back, giving him a haughty look. Those locks were dyed white to their amber roots, shimmering more than her eyes. No small feat. “I feel something that could be popped. What do you say? I’m drunk; lets fuck!”

She growled and tried to kiss him-

Stopped by Tanya.

“Oh, not again Lily,” the blonde exclaimed, pulling her off. “Come on. Let’s get you home... Sorry, Johnny. Looks like we’ll have to wait another day.”

The two left, walking far straighter than what Tanya let on. Johnathon couldn’t have closed the door fast enough. He locked it and made a mad dash to the bedroom, leaping from its entrance to the bed. He crashed into its satin, rubbed his head against its pillows as the covers welcomed him into its embra-

Of course there was a fourth knock. Of course... and it repeated, again and again, over and over until he stormed back through the living room. He stomped through the entrance, threw the door wide-

But caught it. It was barely a soft tap on the rubber nub as he smiled, beaming at the person beyond STILL following the trend, the oldest-looking. Late twenties at least. She had long, brown hair, left to its own devices. It whispered against the wind, stirring, dancing over her fair shoulders and before her face and its hazel eyes, as warm as her smile. She wore a loose blue top, which only affirmed his hypothesis on the water. It was pulled tight against her, though she had the second smallest set (yet), but was raised enough to show off her caramel-colored belly and its diamond stud at the navel.

“H-hi,” she said, her voice so soft. And foreign; a middle-eastern accent. “I’m-”

“A neighbor, right?”

“I take it I wasn’t the first.”

“If it’s any consolation, I already like you the most.” He chuckled, offering his hand. “Johnathon Blaze. A pleasure, Miss...”

“Isiah. Please. Just call me Isiah.”

“Isiah? That’s pretty... and unique.”

“Not in my family. Actually rather common.”

“Well, I never heard it before... So...”

“So?”

“Are you going to ask to have coffee or come in and chat or...”

“Oh. No. I just wanted to say hi. I had a late night-”

“The school, right?”

“Y... yeah... Oh! You must be the new teacher.”

“That’s what they keep telling me. What do you teach?”

“Oh... I don’t teach...”

“Then what are y... You’re a student?”

She nodded, blushing. “I know... Must be silly for a woman my age to still need high school education, but-”

“Hey, I’m not here to judge. Just to teach. Plus, you don’t look that old.”

She brightened back up and bit her lip, marring its cherry coat. He could have drank that image like it was a cup of coffee, but a yawn stole his sight a moment. She giggled at it, but answered with one in turn.

“You must have had a long flight,” she said. “And a longer drive.”

“Nah... it wasn’t that bad. That is, after the TSA theater. They had a field day... Meanwhile, I slept the drive. Actually a bit scared by that, in truth. Do you know of Convenient News Network, or is my TV the only one with it?”

“We all have it. It is eerily clairvoyant with its delivery but after living with it for a few years it has been a boon.”

“A ‘boon’, huh. You sure you aren’t older than you let on?” He chuckled, giving way to another, staggering yawn. “Well I won’t keep you.”

“You weren’t. Don’t worry... Can we have ‘breakfast’ later? Around 7?”

“If I’m awake by then sure. I tend to sleep until the last minute.”

“Right... See you later, Johnny-”

“John or Johnathon. Please.”

“Or Mister… Did you say your last name was-”

“Blaze. Yes, yes. Skull on fire, that kind of thing. No big deal. Dad had a lot of fun naming me when I was born. Thus why I’m not too keen on Johnny.”

“Ah. Makes sense… Is he still alive? Your dad I mean.”

“Yeah. A boring doctor. Mom’s still with him too. A cop.”

Isiah huffed, smiled, and shook his hand one last time before departed. He closed the door, toppling against. He slid down it, looking out to the living room, to what awaited... but he didn’t tempt it any further. He grabbed the rug beside, tossed it over, put his shoes under the other rug in the basket and used it as a pillow. It had already been a long day, and it hadn’t even started.