Everybody except for me thought he was 100% definitively dead.
Had he fallen backwards down the 62 stories into the street, then maybe I could, but something about the fact that after a few moments of startled stumbling, he actually managed to turn into the fall, and essentially dive off the edge of the building down 62 stories to his supposed demise. It seems to be that I was the only person who took note of such a reaction, and such is the result of me thinking that perhaps, as unlikely as it may be, that he’s really not dead.
It doesn’t really matter right now though, because for now, at least, maybe forever; he’s out of the picture. And with him out of the picture, it means she’s available.
We met at a rooftop event. She was a svelte, pretty, straight-haired blonde that appealed to me greatly, which led to my pursuit of her initially. I can’t exactly remember the circumstances in which allowed me to be there in the first place, but it’s really quite irrelevant. Eventually the evening led to me sitting next to her at a round table; I was flirting heavily with her, and she was enjoying my attention immensely. We talked about stealing the spotlight, and being the life of an event. After a while, she had glanced back, and her mood immediately shifted from pleasantly jovial, to concerned and deflated. He was watching her, and he was also watching us.
Frustrated, she explained to me how jealous and overbearing he is, and how she was likely going to get an earful, maybe worse, later on, because of our flirtatious encounter. Such a thought instantly lowered her mood to unpleasant to my preferences of company. The chivalrous part of me did not want to stand for such behavior, so I got up from the table to confront her asshole boyfriend.
Somewhere in the process, no initial fight actually happened. I turned the corner to approach him, and he began towards me with as much authority as he could display. But no blows were actually thrown; for whatever reason, a soccer ball was on the ground, and with as much might as I could muster, I kicked the ball as hard as I could, with little focus on aim, but more on power. It sailed mightily into a nearby brick wall, before ricocheting into him, crashing into him with surprising, even to me, force. He also happened to be standing a little too close to the edge of the rooftop, and it was at this point, did he stumble around, before eventually plummeting to the ground, regardless of how he fell, depending on who you ask.
Apparently, he wasn’t too popular with a lot of people, and not just her. There was an audible rejoice when it was thought that he was dead, and suddenly, people were applauding me, and praising me for getting rid of a dirtbag, even if it could be classified as involuntary manslaughter. She came up to me slyly, and with a smirk, remarked “well, that’s one way to steal the spotlight and become life of the party.” Needless to say, there wasn’t much question that she was a little relieved that he was out of the equation now.
After the party, I was washing dishes in my kitchen late in the evening. My laptop was constantly a buzz, with emails coming in from various people, all with encouraging, congratulatory messages about me having killed, him. One of the later emails that chimed into my inbox was from none other than her, which intrigued me, but it turns out that I wouldn’t actually read it, because right about this time, I realize that she’s there in the kitchen with me. I’m pleased by this notion, because I am certainly attracted to her, and we spend a little bit of time chatting, beyond the meaningless flirting from earlier.
She says she went to St. John’s in New York, and also got a Master’s degree at JMU. I like the idea of that she is an educated girl, on top of the physical attraction. She tells me that she and her parents are kind of distant, to which I feel that I can relate a good bit. I feel easy around her. I like her. I can tell while conversing, that she’s partially relieved in the fact that her overbearing guy friend is no longer in the picture, but at the same time, a little rattled in the circumstances of his departure from the picture; the only person other than myself to actually have noted such details. It’s like there’s relief, but a little bit of disbelief that there is.
In the middle of the night, I abruptly awaken. I blink my eyes a few times, and realize that I do not feel the groggy, dreading fatigue that of typical mid-sleep awakenings. My mind is active, thinking about the pretty girl sleeping in another room; smart and pretty, and very much available, but she doesn’t seem to have fully accepted it yet. My foot is already in the door, and the attraction is mutual, but there’s still something in the way.
My door opens quietly. I don’t really move from my lying sideways position, but from my peripheral vision, I can see that it’s her. I think that I should be curious to what’s going to happen next, but I seem to already know. Carefully, she approaches my bed, and peels back the covers. Gingerly, she climbs into my bed, and drapes my arm over her body. She presses her back into my chest, and lets her body relax, exhaling deeply. She is warm against me.
“I know you’re awake,” she says, pressing back against me, my arm clenching across her lithe figure reflexively.
“What’s your point?” I respond.
“Nothing,” she says. And then I wake up.
