"Ooh, Reno," I moan as he places a trail of open-mouthed kisses from my neck, to my navel, to my thighs. "God, yes," I sigh.
"How does it feel?" he asks me as he rubs that soft spot in the back of my thighs, occupying himself with my underwear at the same time.
"It feels so (beep, beep, beep) good."
He pauses for a minute. "Are you sure you (beep, beep, beep) want this?"
I look down into his eyes. They look so... sincere. "Of course I -- (BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!) -- What the hell is that?"
"The beeping? Oh, it's a time bomb."
"WHA -- "
And that's when I wake up, sweat-drenched and gasping. I look around: my room, my bed, two sets of eyes staring at me, and that wretched clock, beeping in all its fucking glory. "DAMN YOU, CLOCK!!!" I scream as I yank it from the outlet in the wall. I also manage to pull out the battery. You see, this clock is one of those clocks that you put a battery in it so that when the power goes out, it'll still be keeping the time -- which means that if I leave the battery in, it'll still be beeping.
Have you ever had one of those dreams where any movement, noise, or somethin' that takes place in reality interferes in that dream? That was one of those dreams. "I WAS ALMOST THERE!!! YOU JUST CAN'T LEAVE ME BE, CAN YOU!?" I yell as I throw the now deactivated 'time bomb' to the wall, watching as yet another defenseless little clock shattered into what looked like a million pieces. That's the 5th clock in a row that I've gone through in the period of a week. Five days in a row. The same dream each day.
Ah, well. I gotta get up anyway. As I get up out of the bed, I hear this yelling coming from my next-door-neighbors' window. "GRANTHONIA," the old hag yells.
I go to my window, parallel to hers. "IT'S GRANT, WOMAN!! MY LAST NAME IS GRANT!!" When will you ever get that?
"KEEP THAT RACKET DOWN, DAMNIT! IF I HEAR THAT SHIT TOMORROW I'M CALLING THE POLICE!"
"WHY THE HELL AREN'T YOU SLEEP?"
"BECAUSE OF YOU!!"
I close the window. I live in a house, with a lot of nosey neighbors. That one is Ms. Crumplebottom. She's normally a nice lady, but I've been buggin' her. I don't blame her for bein' pissed. I'm just tired of hearin' her old, crackled voice at five thirty in the morning. That reminds me...
I turn around to see those eyes still staring. They belong to my cats: Charcoal and Memory. Well, technically, Charcoal is glaring, and Memory is staring. "Oh, kitties. I'm sorry; did I wake you?" Memory yawns and hops of the bed to come and sit at my feet so that she can stare in my face until she gets bored (which usually takes a while). And there he goes, still glaring. It's like he's telling me: "This is the FIFTH TIME IN A ROW that you've awaken me, woman! IT SHAN'T (I could picture him saying something like that) HAPPEN AGAIN!
"Yeah, yeah, whatever kitty. It was the clocks fault." He yawns and goes back to sleep. I look down at Memory (it doesn't surprise me that she's still staring at me). "Well, I guess I'll clean up this mess and go get ready for work."
"Meow?" She says. She's basically asking if I was going to feed her or not.
"Yeah, kitty, I'm gonna feed ya." She makes a pleased purr.
Chapter 2 | Fanfiction