Chapter 2: On the Fifth Floor

I jump out of the VR pod and sprint through my bedroom. A hand over my mouth and another clutching my stomach. I stumble across the dark hallway to the toilet. The door to the porcelain throne room is barely open, that I drop to my knees and brusquely unswallow my last meal into the bowl—in a much less solid state than when I ingested it.

After a good five minutes of dry heaving, I slump against the wall, trying to catch my breath while ignoring the thumping in my temples and the tidbits of leftover vomit assaulting my taste buds. “Well…that’s…that’s an improvement… I…suppose…”

When your base standard is ‘not fainting’, improving isn’t that hard. The ever-present sarcastic voice quips in from the back of my mind. I roll my eyes. Give me a break.

Having retrieved the ability to inhale and exhale at a human frequency, I carefully stand up and step out into the hallway, not forgetting to flush.

I flip a switch on the wall, then frown when the hallway remains dark. It takes me a couple seconds to remember. “Ah. Right.” For a month now I’ve sworn to myself I would replace that damn light bulb and… Well, obviously I haven’t.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” the saying goes. And while I technically spend most of my time inside this apartment, I actually spend it inside my game pod and in the virtual world of the game Untold Tales. There are no light bulbs over there. So I systematically forget. In fact, I tend to forget this kind of things as long as they aren’t causing me any major inconvenience. My toes beg to differ but I prefer to stay neutral in their war against furniture and corners.

My intent set on brushing my teeth and getting rid of this horrendous tang in my mouth, I walk resolutely to the bathroom. Stepping in, I pause momentarily, taking a second to appreciate the decoration. I know this is inside my home and I see this every day, but I can’t help but be proud of my design. Who else can say they take showers in an amateurish rendition of the inside of Jules Verne’s Nautilus, uh? Not many people I bet! Ha-hah! Who would want such pointlessly fancy decor anyway? Shush you.

I walk to the sink, pick up toothbrush and toothpaste, and proceed to achieve my goal. The relief is instant and substantial. My toothpaste is mint flavoured—trumps half-digested food and gastric acids every day. “‘hy ij it ooth’ush an’ ‘ooth’aste a’y’ay?” I spit in the sink. “Shouldn’t it be teethbrush and teethpaste? Who brushes one tooth?” It’s really puzzling.

Gargling a mouthful of water, I spit again in the porcelain basin.

When I look back up, my eyes meet my reflection in the mirror. Dull green-blue eyes, boringly Caucasian features, beard of…err…something between four days and two weeks, and lips that are a little too meaty—or maybe it’s just me self-depreciating. Truthfully speaking, I don’t dislike my appearance, although I won’t say I love it either. If not for my height, I’m rather unremarkable—in a good way. The nails that stick out too much are always the ones that get hit. And I’m fit enough for a twenty-something sedentary gamer.

I prefer the term “sedentary” to “shut-in”.

I do go out, you know?

So, I’m not a sex symbol and maybe I could stand to lose a few pounds, for aesthetics’ sake. But that’s it.

All in all, I look much better than I feel. Which is good, because I feel like my insides went through a blender…on a roller-coaster…at sea…during a storm…and upside down—which admittedly sounds awesome, except for the blender part.

What I mean is you wouldn’t guess I just puked moments before just by looking at my face. Although, it’s not surprising. I’m not sick. I’m cursed.

…

……

………

Well, not really, though, but it does have real repercussions. I suppose that’s why the creators of Untold Tales put a ban on players choosing characters of the opposite sex inside their VRMMORPG. I never quite understood their technical justifications. Something about the immersion being too realistic and taxing the brain? I don’t get it.

But I think you can’t fully appreciate the meaning of “infra-physiological neuro-feedback-impulsion-induced hormonal imbalance” until you've experienced it.

…

Still don’t get it, though.

“Ahhhh,” Sighing, I run the tips of my fingers through the short beard eating my chin. The itchy sensation gives me pause.

I’ve never been a facial-hair kind of guy. But keeping up with the speed at which that scratchy stuff grows is just a pain. So I usually shave only every two-three weeks or so, which leaves me unfortunately bearded most of the time. Thankfully, genetics granted me a natural short-boxed, so I avoid looking like a scruffy bear. You could just get rid of it. Laser treatment is rather cheap these days. I don’t know…I don’t really feel comfortable about it. Electrolysis then? That’s not the point.

It’s not like I have anyone to impress anyway. Mum hates it, but we only see each other about two-to-three times a month—she’s a busy woman—so there’s that. Although I’ll admit these capillary concerns of mine have been bothering me more and more lately.

Unfortunately, I don’t think I have time to shave this morning. Today’s the first day of the new school term after all. I won’t pretend I have a perfect attendance record, but I’d rather not late on the first day.

Err…

“What time is it anyway?”

I glance at the steampunk cogwheel clock up the wall.

…

……

………

“Uh oh.”

* * *

Minutes later, naked and wet…from a much-needed shower, I leap out of the bathroom and back into my bedroom, open the wardrobe and grab whatever seems to match. An advice: when in doubt, or in a hurry, just go all black. You can’t go wrong with black. Except in summer, then you’ll cook. Although, admittedly, it mostly rains around here in summer.

Northern Europe, yeah~ Gotta love clouds.

“♫ Here come the Men In Blaaaack—I don’t have time for this!” I run down the hallway into the living room and dash to the balcony windowed door. I slide the door open—a little too brusquely. Mah~ I’m sure nothing’s broken.

McLeon, my huge fat ugly one-eyed black semi-domesticated alley cat, protests when I pick him up by the skin of his neck like an overgrown kitten. I ignore his meowled complaints and forcefully carry him inside.

One day I’ll solve the mystery on how this mini-panther reappears every morning on my balcony after spending the night out. This is the fifth floor, you know? And I let him out the front door every evening. I smell something fishy, though it might just be the cat. There’s a river not too far and a small fish market right next to it.

Anyway, I don’t have time to prove cats can fly right now.

I step into the kitchen and drop the humongous feline on the tiled floor. Quickly, I feed McLeon and prepare myself a sandwich.

After putting on shoes, I pick up my bag and finally step outside, not forgetting to lock the door behind me. The cold morning air of February strikes me like a flying iceberg. Unlike some other buildings in the neighbourhood, here the flats take up the entire width of the floor. There so “eastern” side and “western” side. That also means the front doors lead to open walkways, for some reason. But I guess it’s nice in summer.

With my half-assed breakfast hanging between my teeth, I start running down the walkway towards the elevators. I must look like some anime cliché. Yosha! Now, I just have to bump into my true love!

Hahaha. Right. Like that’s ever going to happen—“WOOH!!”

Sadly(?) I don’t slam into someone, but the floor, the bread that was supposed to positively influence my fate sliding across the painted concrete. NOOOOOOO!! Bread!

“Mmeeemmble…wha—? Mmmbl…”

“Oh, you shut up.”

Ah, yes. There was actually another person involved. I didn’t just trip over myself. I can be a bit clumsy, but I’m not that hopeless.  

Getting up and dusting my clothes, I glare at the cause of my collapse, a man looking in his late thirties, who’s lying butt-naked on the cold floor, mumbling in his sleep.

…True love indeed. AAAARGH!! What about my maidenly hopes, you exhibitionist bastard?! Please die of hypothermia! And what am I thinking? I’m no maiden! No, you’re a widow. Who’s a widow?!! Wait. That’s not the point! “Ahhh…My head…My kingdom for an Advil…”

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

I’m tempted to walk away, pretend I’ve seen nothing, and leave that nude ossan here to freeze to death, but I’ve an agreement with the landlord. He’s giving me a discount on the rent, and in exchange, I help him inside Untold Tales—since I’m such a great player and all—and also I’m supposed to take care of this very specific kind of…recurring incidents.

Because—unfortunately, yes—finding sleeping naked adult males in the walkway of the fifth floor is a “recurring incident” in this building. More like a repeat offence really.

As for the offender…

I spin around and ragingly press on my neighbour’s doorbell…and keep pressing, and pressing, and pressing, harassing the white button like it had killed my—inexistent—girlfriend, or perhaps as if each push could return me some of the time I’m currently wasting.

After two minutes and seventeen seconds of pounding the misunderstood electronic device—I counted—the sound of an opening lock finally answers my irritated action. The door swings open on its hinges and a pair of huge bouncy boobs comes out of the apartment.

…

……

………I’m sorry. I’m usually not a partisan of sexually objectifying women, but this particular individual makes it really difficult for me not to.

Hell! I believe she objectifies herself far more than any man ever could. I’ve never figured out if she’s a feminist’s dream or nightmare. Also, the fact that the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw “them” was “they’re bigger than mine” doesn’t exactly help my mood either. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but I blame Monday morning.

Following the lead of the outrageous appendages—100% natural mind you—a sleepy woman steps out through the doorframe, rubbing her sleepy eyes, lasciviously stretching, and wearing nothing but a frilly purple babydoll over R-rated underwear. In fact, I think it barely qualifies as “wearing something”. Not that I’m complaining.

Let me pause an instant to describe this here woman.

Mary Chaste, alias the Ironically Named, is my neighbour. She has glossy blond hair—currently in a messy bead-head that only makes her look seductively wild—kissable full lips, and a model’s face, beautiful even without make-up. That sexy package sits atop an alluring body that would relight the molten church candle of an impotent priest. She also has the morals—or lack thereof—to actually go down on the aforementioned priest.

Did I mention she’s a high school teacher? No? Well, she is a high school teacher. At least she is when she’s not in-between jobs after being fired for sexual harassment. You’d think that after the first couple lawsuits, she’d be blacklisted, but she always manages to find a new post after a while. I don’t have to strain my imagination to guess how.

It’s actually very ironic that the very reason she gets hired also gets her systematically fired. I chalk it up to most men being prideful dicks. Every single one of them thinks they can handle her despite her track record, but they all find out the “hard” way they were severely mistaken.

I’m not most men, though—and I say this without arrogance, only self-awareness. I know selling my soul to this brazen succubus definitely isn’t the right solution to remedy to my current frustrating lack of a sex life outside of VR. I’ll admit I’m a little intrigued. How could I not?

The walls between our flats are thin.

However, this is one curiosity that would definitively kill the cat. And the dead feline in this analogy wouldn’t be the pussy.

That said, I’m not averse to enjoying the view. I know she doesn’t mind. Otherwise, why would she open the door wearing in such a not-outfit? I’m in a hurry, however, so I raise my eyes from her two oversized manjū and meet her dark-rimmed gaze, deliberately disregarding her satisfied knowing smirk.

Told you she didn’t mind.

“You sure you should be opening the door like that?” I ask, referring to her clothes—or the lack thereof.

“Aaaw~ But, Nick… Who but you would be ringing at my door this early in the morning?” Even her voice fits her perfectly, melting the brain of any male around, waking up their inner lying Pinocchio while firmly gaging Jiminy Cricket. It’s because of people like her that I believe magic exists in the real world. I’m half-convinced she’s an actual succubus, who ate her summoner and decided to remain in the mortal realm to prey on high-schoolers.

Ahhh~ Paedophilia. It’s funny.

I didn’t mean it like that!

Her sultry pout used to fluster me too, once upon a time. But six months of cohabitation and daily overhearing of her “eating” habits have created enough of a deplorable mental image for me to develop a hardened immunity to her charms.

“Hardened” immunity, uh?

Will you shut up?!

Well, I’m aware I have painted a rather unflattering picture here, but in truth, I don’t dislike her. If you put aside her complete lack of morals or decency, she’s a pretty nice neighbour—when she’s not hungover. She was even very helpful when I first moved in—ulterior motives asides. So what if she’s a promiscuous…err…a promiscuous…

Help me.

The word you are looking for is “slut”.

…Right.

Well, anyway, the content of my porn folder doesn’t allow me to take the moral high-ground.

Though, that still doesn’t stop me from acting like I do.

“Oh, I don’t know…” I answer sarcastically. “I can think of plenty of people who’d ring at your door early in the morning. Enraged students’ parents. Debt collectors. Policemen here to arrest you for violation of the age of consent. A knife-wielding wife here to ‘peacefully discuss the matter of her husband’. A porn director in search of an actress.” I’m just joking. Vincent wouldn’t allow strangers inside the building. Well, the police did come once. “Or this guy.” I gesture towards the pitiful, naked and shivering creature slowly waking up at our feet. Right now, he’s probably wondering why his back hurt like someone stepped on it.

Wait until he sees the shoe print.

“Oh.” Mary blinks in surprise. I can’t tell if she’s faking it—A sentence I plan never to use in any other circumstances with her. “He’s still there?”

“Well, obviously. He ain’t gonna slither too far away in his birthday suit.” I click my tongue. “Mary, how many times do I need to tell you not to leave your used commodities outside your door? There’s no pickup for this kind of cumbersome trash.”

She throws her head back in tinkling laughter and covers her mouth with a hand. “Hahaha. Such mean-spirited humour as always, Nick. By the way, aren’t you late for college?”

“I am. In fact, I wouldn’t even be losing my time talking to you if I didn’t worry that Vincent, or someone else,” meaning me, “might trip again on your stuff. The old man broke his hip last time. Besides, don’t you have work yourself?”

“No, I took a sick day.”

“Did you now?” I raise a dubious eyebrow.

“Hehhh…” A drowsy wheeze suddenly rises from the ground. “Mary? Baby, who’s that guy? Why am I–”

“Shut up Brandon!” Mary interrupts him harshly.

“…I’m Jayden.”

Poor thing.

Completely snubbing the dejected man, Mary closes up the distance between us and presses her scantily clad voluptuousness against my chest, clinging to my shirt and looking at me with upturned eyes. She’s rather short, not excessively for a woman, but I’m fairly tall myself. The pleasant smell of sweat from her unwashed hair tickles my nose.

“You’re a really good kid, aren’t you Nick? Worrying about old Vincent like that… Or is it only about your lightened rent? Hahaha~. But that selfish side of yours isn’t bad either. It makes me want to. Eat. You. Up~” She punctuates the last three words with a light tap on my chest with a long manicured finger. “What do you say? Skip classes and stay here to play with this big sister, uhn~?”

Wilfully ignoring the physiological response of my lower body, I look down at her with all the indifference I can muster and flash her my best cynical smirk. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve seen what becomes of the poor souls you disturb my sleep with. And who are you calling a kid? You’re barely ten years older than me.”

Stepping back, Mary crosses her arms while scowling—more of an erotic pout really. Her action causes her monstrous breasts to look even more inflated. It’s a calculated gesture, of course, but I remain unfazed. I’m more worried for the seams of her baby-doll. Had they possessed the ability of speech, their screams of agony would have been audible from miles away.

Mary lets out an annoyed hum. “Mmmh. You’re no fun. And it’s seven years older, Nick Single.”

HAHAHA!! What a HILARIOUS wordplay on my surname, Siegel. I laugh dryly. “I may be a desperate bachelor, but I still have some self-esteem I’d like to keep.”

“Hahaha!” Even her laugh is erotic. I wonder if she trains with a recorder. I would if I were her. “Nick, Nick, Nick.” She shakes her head, her blond locks swaying to cover part of her face. “This self-depreciative honesty is what I like most about you. You’re so harsh even with yourself. It makes me want to tie you up in my basement.”

“You don’t have a basement.”

“My closet then.”

“That’d still be illegal. Satisfy yourself with having me shut-in next door.” Oh, I’m sorry. I mean sedentary.

“When do I get a double of your keys?”

“Never.”

“Mooo…” She pouts loudly.

“What are you, a cow? —Oh. Wait.”

“Ha-ha-ha. Ugh! You’re so mean to Big Sister!”

“Who’s whose sister? So you’re a brocon too?” I fake a consternated sigh. “It seems every time I revise my low opinion of you, you manage to dig that hole even deeper.” I suddenly notice we’ve already been talking for quite a while. I’ll really end up late if this continues. “Anyway, if you sadistic man-eating demon would, please, return her latest clueless victim his clothes to cover his…” I trail off and thoughtlessly take a peek at the man’s nether region. “Uh. That’s pretty small by your standards, isn’t it?”

Brandon—or Jayden, whatever—blushes furiously and sputters something about the cold, and at last, he hides his private parts. I ignore him. I don’t feel anything for the male body. He could be doing the helicopter for all I care and I wouldn’t bat an eye. Or maybe I’d glance at him with disdain.

Ah. But I’d rather not see naked old people, though, of either gender. That’s just gross.

Mary sighs. “Not as small as his endurance.”

“I see… You have it hard.”

“Unlike him.”

“That bad? Where did you pick up that thing?”

“No idea. I was drunk last night.”

I frown, actually concerned. “You know you should be more careful. You have no idea where that thing has been.”

“Hey! I’m still here—”

““Shut up Brandon!””

Hey! We spoke in unison.

“…Jayden.”

“Anyway, Mary. Give this small performance issue back its clothes. I have to go.” I start walking away. “I’m already late for the first lesson. I’d like to try not missing the second.” I throw those parting words over my shoulders.

“Are you sure you’re in a position to talk about someone else’s performance issues? Hmm? Mr I-lost-my-girlfriend-to-a-girl?”

It’s funny. I think I must have learnt teleportation somehow, because a blink later I’m back facing the woman, shoving an adamant finger in her face. “Just wait, you wench! I’ll show you my perf…” I snap my mouth shut at the sight of the foxy smirk creeping its way on her tempting lips. “…ha-Ha-HA!”

“Awww~ Nick. You shouldn’t wear your emotions so openly on your face. You’re so easy to tease…and cute too.”

Trying hard to hide my blush, I roll my eyes in exasperation. Mary doesn’t look convinced. Maybe I should take up acting lessons. It has actually been on my mind for a couple years, but I never got around actually going through with it. And for the past seven months, Untold Tales has been all consuming.

Although, now that I’m stuck in that tower, I’m likely to find myself with quite a lot of free time on my ha—Right! TIME!! I’m late dammit!

“Right, I’m a cute little rosebud princess with hypersensitivity! I’ve said it. Happy? Alright. Naked dude. Clothes. Fetch.” I point. “Now!”

She smirks softly. “Okay, okay. I’m sure this guy’s things are somewhere in the kitchen.” She spins in place, causing a fleeting movement in her nightdress and briefly revealing—okay, revealing even more—of her sinful buttock. Wait. Are those handprints? I look away. I’m not even going to ask why the kitchen…

Anyway, my fifteen minutes of community service are over, I’m off.

Turning away from the opened door, I’m startled to abruptly come face to face with Brandon-Jayden. When did he stand up? He’s not looking at me but staring absently at where Mary stood an instant ago. “I think I’m in love…” I hear him murmur in a daze.

Poor guy. She broke him.

“You’re sick dude, in the head, and naked. Get fixed. Get dressed. And get the fuck out of here.” Finally walking away for good, I add without looking back. “In whichever order you prefer…”

I lean down to retrieve my sandwich and dust it. It won’t be spoilt for a handful of minutes on the floor. The walkway is always rather clean—except for the section directly in front of Mary’s door.

Quickly increasing my pace, I cast a glance at my phone. Eight-thirty. Dammit. I’m really late now.

“♫ I’m late ♪ I’m late ♪ For a very important date ♩ No time to say ‘Hello-Goodbye.’ ♫ I’m late. I’m late. I’m late!!”

Ignoring the elevators and turning into the stairs, I take a bite off my sandwich.

Tastes like Friskies.

…

……

………

Then…what did I feed to the cat?

* * * * *