Chapter 44 - Mental Block (part 1)
Posted: Tue Jan 28, 2014 11:11 pm
Well, let's just call this the longest I've ever gone without a new chapter - mostly because that's what it is. 11/06/13 to 1/28/14 is very nearly three months - 83 days, actually - during which I've been fighting with this chapter. Of course, there was an interlude around Christmas that took up a fair amount of time - on another unfinished story - but who's counting?
If I could, I'd like to say it was the holidays, technical problems, or some other external force precipitating this long absence, but that would only be half the truth. Honestly, this chapter's title is both relevant to the chapter, and my mental state since November - that is, mentally blocked. It always seems to happen around this time every year - I went on a long hiatus around the new year in 2013 - so it might be a seasonal thing, or have something to do with solar energy, extended periods of night, or just a genuine lack of inspiration, but, whatever the exact cause, it obviously has severely detrimental effects on my prolificity as a writer.
It would be foolish to guarantee that it's over, though the truth is that the last quarter of this chapter was written and proofed in the last 24 hours, so maybe I'll have another chapter before the end of February. It's also possible that a giant meteor will shatter the planet in that time, so I'll keep my fingers crossed.
Anyway, here I present Chapter 43 - Mental Block, which has caused much confusion and general malaise for me almost since before the previous chapter's release. As always, your questions, comments, support and whatever else you feel like throwing at me - not in the face, please - is welcome. Don't be shy about sending me a PM, either; I do check the forums just about daily, and I reply to everything - especially criticism.
Previous Chapter|Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Next Chapter
______________________________________________________________________
Chapter 43 - Mental Block
If you ask me, the best part of having friends is also sometimes the worst: they introduce you to new things. Sometimes that means engaging in criminal activity—like partaking of illicit downloads—but usually they're just things you haven't done, don't do, or might otherwise avoid doing. For instance, Amaya has involved me with cooking because she hopes I'll learn some of her skills—it hasn't worked. Yoko, on the other hand, led me to a place that Amaya has been trying to bring me since it opened two years ago: a lingerie boutique known as Girl Paradise.
A male executive thought up its name, I'm sure...
The hints she had been dropping beforehand should have helped me predict our destination and prepare an escape, but she kept me distracted with a flurry of fashion questions, and we had walked inside before I knew what happened. Once I realized where we were, I very nearly turned right around and left, but she used an insidiously effective puppy-dog look that I couldn't deny—I'm pretty sure it's the one she banned her father from using. Besides that, she had apparently paid to reserve a dressing room for the afternoon, and I couldn't let that go to waste.
At least that meant we were guaranteed some privacy, and, of course, at the time I had no notion of needing that for myself, but it turns out I was being naïve; in my defense, I had no idea Yoko was so wily. Once she had squared away a devilish little collection for herself, she continued using her fashion voodoo, and somehow convinced me to try on a few things. That snowballed into spending the next couple hours in and out of the changing room, during which I probably tried on more bras and panties than I own—admittedly that isn't a very large number to eclipse.
It took some convincing from my fashion muse, but when it was all over I had purchased four sultry little sets along with a few intimate accessories. Being the good friend she is, Yoko provided a reasonable excuse for spending that much yen: she called it an investment in romance. That might not hold up when Mom gets my credit card bill, although she'll probably just be happy I'm investing in femininity. Either way, from where I'm standing, looking at my scantily clad reflection bathed in rainy twilight from my open window, I'm sure Hisao will appreciate my financial planning.
I'm sure I'll get a return on the investment, too...
Whether she intended it or not, Yoko's fashion voodoo has had the side-effect of generating a flood of optimism—metaphorically, and somewhat physically. Instead of worrying about his fidelity, I've been imagining Hisao seeing me dressed in this lacy black bodice and cream-colored panties, swaying seductively in the moonlight. The problem is that fantasizing about exciting my boyfriend with sexy lingerie has left me feeling dangerously amorous. Granted that's a lot better than surly and suspicious, but I'm trying to stay pure—relatively speaking—until our reunion.
Thankfully, rattling at my doorknob breaks me out of my imaginings, and a muffled voice soon follows. “Hey, did you lose track of time? It's almost seven,” Yoko says, giving the knob another try before lilting, “I'm making gnocchi~!”
Coughing loudly, I sputter over a few incoherent responses before settling on a nice innocuous question, “You can cook Italian food?” then start tugging the laces open on the bodice as I add, “Why did I not know that?”
“You've never asked,” she states, pausing a few moments before starting to ramble, “I dropped the pasta just before heading up here, and it'll be done in a few... so, come down when you're ready... or done with whatever you're doing in there... or whatever, just... don't get too distracted with yourself...” her suggestive tone leads into a giddy cackle as she adds, “Don't do anything I wouldn't do~!”
As I'm shrugging the bodice away and reaching for my plain white bra, I recall an incident at the beach house that I could use to fire back a retort, but I think I'd rather save that for an emergency. Instead I decide to cordially reply, “I'll be down in a few,” then shrug and add, “maybe you can teach me your recipe?”
Calming her laughter, she remarks, “I'm a pretty good cook, actually, but... I'm not a miracle worker...”
“Sure you are!” I retort, setting the bodice down on my bed, “You got me into a lingerie boutique, and that's a small miracle at least, so I'd say the sky's the limit...”
There's a short pause as her footfalls start moving away down the hall, followed by a sigh and a trailing comment, “I think I'll concentrate on plausible miracles...”
I don't think I'll ever live down that fire...
Considering she's up against a lifetime of unsuccessful attempts from Mom, and three years of Amaya's trials and failures, I don't begrudge her lack of confidence. Besides, I have bigger problems to deal with—namely finding something clean to wear. Neither of us had an umbrella, so we got soaked running for the bus stop, and again on the mad dash to the girls' dorm. It doesn't take much effort to find some sweatpants and a new t-shirt, but after dressing I discover something important is missing: my satchel seems to have disappeared along with my cellphone and keys.
Two months ago that wouldn't have bothered me, but, especially lately, I can't function without my phone, and that satchel has become a depository for all my seemingly inconsequential necessities—I may have inherited Mom's bag obsession. Fortunately I don't have a lot of space to search through, although that probably doesn't bode well. First I check through the mess of bags strewn across my floor, but it's all bug spray and lacy undergarments. Then I head back to look through my closet, but all I manage to find there is my old flip phone, which has since been disconnected.
Tossing the old phone aside, I roll my chair away so I can check under my desk, then drop to my knees and send an arm under the bed, all to no avail. While my hand is under there, I bump into something plastic and find I've uncovered my heart-shaped pink sunglasses—the ones I haven't seen in months. Peering through the dusty lenses, I wince and toss them over onto my desk—they need a bath before I'll put them near my face. Finding those just in time for the camping trip is probably fortunate, but without my phone and keys, I don't think I'll be going anywhere.
As I'm getting to my feet, I grumble under my breath, “What the hell did I do? Leave it on the bus?”
I wonder if that's what happened to Hisao...
Flopping down on the bed, I stare across at my reflection for a few moments—as though I were expecting her to answer. When she doesn't, I chuckle to myself and recite, “Mirror, mirror on the wall... who's the biggest dumbass of all?”
Talking to myself won't help anything, but I've exhausted all the obvious places to search, so it's time to turn my eyes inward. When I got back—soaked and surly as I was—I had to unlock my door. My hands were filled with shopping bags, and I was in an impatient mood, so I got my keys out using my teeth, and ended up using the wrong key twice because all the dorm keys look the same. That obviously means I had my satchel then, so at least it isn't out riding the bus by itself, but I've already checked every nook in my room. It must be around here somewhere, though, so I continue recalling my movements.
Once I managed to get through the door, I started dropping things haphazardly like always, leaving everything scattered between the door and my bed. My satchel must have been among the things I dropped along the way, but it apparently vanished. Perhaps I accidentally pressed a hidden button that activates a cloaking device, or maybe there was a wormhole on my floor that transported my satchel across the galaxy. It's possible that same wormhole brought my sunglasses back, so maybe all I have to do is wait until an unstable spatial anomaly returns from some uncharted sector of the cosmos.
And I've put myself into the Star Trek universe...
Even if a wormhole really did steal my satchel and it'll be back in a couple months—that's how long my sunglasses were missing, anyway—I can't go without my phone and keys for that long. Granted I could get a new key from maintenance, but that's an embarrassing hassle. The phone is harder to replace, but I could probably get my old one reactivated temporarily. That would mean dealing with Mom's disapproving half-smirk—along with a lecture on curtailing my absentmindedness—when I tell her I lost the new one she just spent a small fortune acquiring, so I might be better off going without.
Maybe I could benefit from living off the grid for a while...
With those thoughts swirling around my brain, I fall back and lie down on the bed with a disgruntled groan. There's a part of me that hates my dependence on technology, but I'm used to contacting whoever I need to whenever I want, and for whatever reason. At any time, as long as I'm not violating school policy, I can call up Amaya just to talk, or ask Kenta about the weather in Hokkaido, or even reach Naoko as she gallivants across western Europe. That's probably why being out of contact with Hisao for the past four days has been so grueling.
Less than my lifetime ago, people didn't have cellphones or an internet to use for long-distance communication; when Mom described not seeing Dad for months at a time, it wasn't an exaggeration. At most they talked on the phone—at great expense, and only from home—for a short while on an intermittent basis, and there were times when they wouldn't get a chance to talk for weeks. Even e-mail, which is now practically an antiquated technology, was a fledgeling industry that neither of them had the resources to access, so a lot of their correspondence was through snail mail.
I've seen Mom's old box of letters, and it's pretty impressive...
If I think about it in perspective, maybe I'm just being selfish. Hisao being out of contact for a few days is comparatively laughable, and there isn't an ocean between us either—just a long train ride. If Yoko is right, and I hope she is, he'll call me back eventually, and I'll have been worried over nothing. There's still a pit in my stomach, but it's from worrying that I won't have a phone when he finally does call, although that's probably equally selfish. It's also possible that pit has more to do with being hungry than anything else; I haven't eaten since lunch, and maybe I can't find my satchel because I can't focus.
I recall something about gnocchi and miracles...
That thought launches me off the bed fast enough to provide a brief dizzy spell, but I've recovered before I get a hand on my doorknob. Unlocking and pulling it open, I step out and nearly trip over something parked beside the jamb. As I turn a frustrated glare down to find the culprit, I let out a self-deprecating groan; I've literally tripped over my satchel. Evidently I let it drop after fishing out my key, and now I feel doubly stupid for having left all my important stuff sitting out here in a dorm full of vultures.
Fortunately, from the look of it, I seem to have left it half-open with the keys lying beside, and some of the contents have spilled out onto the floor, but nothing appears to have gone missing. It also isn't half way across the galaxy, but maybe that anomaly decided to return early—I wonder if it's a stable wormhole. Crazy theories aside, it seems none of my more embarrassing items have found their way out either—my birth control pills and condoms, namely—so I count that as a win, gather up my loose stuff, sling the satchel across my shoulder, fluff my hair like nothing happened, and head for the stairs.
I kinda wonder why Yoko didn't mention my bag lying out there, though...
As I'm chuckling to myself on the way down the stairs, I feel my phone start to vibrate, so I stop on a landing. A little wave of excitement passes through me as I draw it out of the side pocket; it feels as though nearly losing my phone means whoever is calling must be important. Unfortunately that hope is dashed as the screen lights up and reveals the call is coming from a blocked number. With the majority of my friends spread all over Japan, and at least one roaming through Europe, I've seen several unknown numbers show up on my cellphone lately, but none of them get blocked.
I've been victim to a few of Kenta's prank calls because of that...
What I've learned from movies tells me that blocked numbers are usually kidnappers or a drug dealers calling to make arrangements, which means Hisao might be in trouble and needs rescuing. That's probably a fantasy—albeit a strange one—and it's much more likely a telemarketer got their hands on my cell number. If that's the case, I wonder whether Yoko may have signed me up for a mailing list; she spent a long while at the boutique's checkout counter—she's probably due a discussion on boundaries. For now, I have the option to ignore the call and let it go to voice-mail, so I do just that.
I'm sure they'll call back if it's really important...
As I continue on my way down the stairs, and not two seconds after the call switches over to my voice service, my phone starts buzzing again. This time it's not a blocked number, though the quick succession of calls makes me wonder if Amaya is trying to pull a prank—I wouldn't put it past her. Pressing send, I lift the phone up and immediately accuse, “You're messing with me, right?”
“W-what?” she sputters, “Um, no—and hello to you too!”
“You didn't just call from a blocked phone?” I press.
“Nope~!” she assures me, the speed of her response making it all the more believable.
Shrugging, I continue around the banister as I mumble, “Strange...” then shake my head and add, “Sorry, I had a blocked call just a second ago, and... never mind—hello!”
“Blocked call? How many times do I have to remind you: pay attention when you sign up for free porn!” she jokes, laughing at herself as she continues, “Anyway, I heard from Jessica Rabbit that you did some shopping today~!” her lilting tone drops as she adds, “Someone finally got you into Girl Paradise, huh? Without any kicking or screaming, no less?”
Lying to her would just make this worse, so I reluctantly confirm, “Yeah... sorry...”
“See, I didn't believe it from Red, and I should probably be mad at her... but, she's forgiven!” she exclaims, drawing in a deep breath before continuing, “You on the other hand... three years I've been trying to get you in there, and she convinces you in one try? I've had to shop for underwear alone all this time, and now...? What kind of friend does that?”
“I said I was sorry!” I bark, smirking as I taunt, “Besides... maybe Yoko's just more convincing than you...!”
“Hey, I'm not complaining~!” she lilts, giggling darkly, “Besides, this means I'll be able to drag you along next time without complaints—now that you've gone and played dress-up with Yoko, your fate is sealed~!”
And this is why I should never have agreed...
______________________________________________________________________
Previous Chapter|Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Next Chapter
If I could, I'd like to say it was the holidays, technical problems, or some other external force precipitating this long absence, but that would only be half the truth. Honestly, this chapter's title is both relevant to the chapter, and my mental state since November - that is, mentally blocked. It always seems to happen around this time every year - I went on a long hiatus around the new year in 2013 - so it might be a seasonal thing, or have something to do with solar energy, extended periods of night, or just a genuine lack of inspiration, but, whatever the exact cause, it obviously has severely detrimental effects on my prolificity as a writer.
It would be foolish to guarantee that it's over, though the truth is that the last quarter of this chapter was written and proofed in the last 24 hours, so maybe I'll have another chapter before the end of February. It's also possible that a giant meteor will shatter the planet in that time, so I'll keep my fingers crossed.
Anyway, here I present Chapter 43 - Mental Block, which has caused much confusion and general malaise for me almost since before the previous chapter's release. As always, your questions, comments, support and whatever else you feel like throwing at me - not in the face, please - is welcome. Don't be shy about sending me a PM, either; I do check the forums just about daily, and I reply to everything - especially criticism.
Previous Chapter|Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Next Chapter
______________________________________________________________________
Chapter 43 - Mental Block
If you ask me, the best part of having friends is also sometimes the worst: they introduce you to new things. Sometimes that means engaging in criminal activity—like partaking of illicit downloads—but usually they're just things you haven't done, don't do, or might otherwise avoid doing. For instance, Amaya has involved me with cooking because she hopes I'll learn some of her skills—it hasn't worked. Yoko, on the other hand, led me to a place that Amaya has been trying to bring me since it opened two years ago: a lingerie boutique known as Girl Paradise.
A male executive thought up its name, I'm sure...
The hints she had been dropping beforehand should have helped me predict our destination and prepare an escape, but she kept me distracted with a flurry of fashion questions, and we had walked inside before I knew what happened. Once I realized where we were, I very nearly turned right around and left, but she used an insidiously effective puppy-dog look that I couldn't deny—I'm pretty sure it's the one she banned her father from using. Besides that, she had apparently paid to reserve a dressing room for the afternoon, and I couldn't let that go to waste.
At least that meant we were guaranteed some privacy, and, of course, at the time I had no notion of needing that for myself, but it turns out I was being naïve; in my defense, I had no idea Yoko was so wily. Once she had squared away a devilish little collection for herself, she continued using her fashion voodoo, and somehow convinced me to try on a few things. That snowballed into spending the next couple hours in and out of the changing room, during which I probably tried on more bras and panties than I own—admittedly that isn't a very large number to eclipse.
It took some convincing from my fashion muse, but when it was all over I had purchased four sultry little sets along with a few intimate accessories. Being the good friend she is, Yoko provided a reasonable excuse for spending that much yen: she called it an investment in romance. That might not hold up when Mom gets my credit card bill, although she'll probably just be happy I'm investing in femininity. Either way, from where I'm standing, looking at my scantily clad reflection bathed in rainy twilight from my open window, I'm sure Hisao will appreciate my financial planning.
I'm sure I'll get a return on the investment, too...
Whether she intended it or not, Yoko's fashion voodoo has had the side-effect of generating a flood of optimism—metaphorically, and somewhat physically. Instead of worrying about his fidelity, I've been imagining Hisao seeing me dressed in this lacy black bodice and cream-colored panties, swaying seductively in the moonlight. The problem is that fantasizing about exciting my boyfriend with sexy lingerie has left me feeling dangerously amorous. Granted that's a lot better than surly and suspicious, but I'm trying to stay pure—relatively speaking—until our reunion.
Thankfully, rattling at my doorknob breaks me out of my imaginings, and a muffled voice soon follows. “Hey, did you lose track of time? It's almost seven,” Yoko says, giving the knob another try before lilting, “I'm making gnocchi~!”
Coughing loudly, I sputter over a few incoherent responses before settling on a nice innocuous question, “You can cook Italian food?” then start tugging the laces open on the bodice as I add, “Why did I not know that?”
“You've never asked,” she states, pausing a few moments before starting to ramble, “I dropped the pasta just before heading up here, and it'll be done in a few... so, come down when you're ready... or done with whatever you're doing in there... or whatever, just... don't get too distracted with yourself...” her suggestive tone leads into a giddy cackle as she adds, “Don't do anything I wouldn't do~!”
As I'm shrugging the bodice away and reaching for my plain white bra, I recall an incident at the beach house that I could use to fire back a retort, but I think I'd rather save that for an emergency. Instead I decide to cordially reply, “I'll be down in a few,” then shrug and add, “maybe you can teach me your recipe?”
Calming her laughter, she remarks, “I'm a pretty good cook, actually, but... I'm not a miracle worker...”
“Sure you are!” I retort, setting the bodice down on my bed, “You got me into a lingerie boutique, and that's a small miracle at least, so I'd say the sky's the limit...”
There's a short pause as her footfalls start moving away down the hall, followed by a sigh and a trailing comment, “I think I'll concentrate on plausible miracles...”
I don't think I'll ever live down that fire...
Considering she's up against a lifetime of unsuccessful attempts from Mom, and three years of Amaya's trials and failures, I don't begrudge her lack of confidence. Besides, I have bigger problems to deal with—namely finding something clean to wear. Neither of us had an umbrella, so we got soaked running for the bus stop, and again on the mad dash to the girls' dorm. It doesn't take much effort to find some sweatpants and a new t-shirt, but after dressing I discover something important is missing: my satchel seems to have disappeared along with my cellphone and keys.
Two months ago that wouldn't have bothered me, but, especially lately, I can't function without my phone, and that satchel has become a depository for all my seemingly inconsequential necessities—I may have inherited Mom's bag obsession. Fortunately I don't have a lot of space to search through, although that probably doesn't bode well. First I check through the mess of bags strewn across my floor, but it's all bug spray and lacy undergarments. Then I head back to look through my closet, but all I manage to find there is my old flip phone, which has since been disconnected.
Tossing the old phone aside, I roll my chair away so I can check under my desk, then drop to my knees and send an arm under the bed, all to no avail. While my hand is under there, I bump into something plastic and find I've uncovered my heart-shaped pink sunglasses—the ones I haven't seen in months. Peering through the dusty lenses, I wince and toss them over onto my desk—they need a bath before I'll put them near my face. Finding those just in time for the camping trip is probably fortunate, but without my phone and keys, I don't think I'll be going anywhere.
As I'm getting to my feet, I grumble under my breath, “What the hell did I do? Leave it on the bus?”
I wonder if that's what happened to Hisao...
Flopping down on the bed, I stare across at my reflection for a few moments—as though I were expecting her to answer. When she doesn't, I chuckle to myself and recite, “Mirror, mirror on the wall... who's the biggest dumbass of all?”
Talking to myself won't help anything, but I've exhausted all the obvious places to search, so it's time to turn my eyes inward. When I got back—soaked and surly as I was—I had to unlock my door. My hands were filled with shopping bags, and I was in an impatient mood, so I got my keys out using my teeth, and ended up using the wrong key twice because all the dorm keys look the same. That obviously means I had my satchel then, so at least it isn't out riding the bus by itself, but I've already checked every nook in my room. It must be around here somewhere, though, so I continue recalling my movements.
Once I managed to get through the door, I started dropping things haphazardly like always, leaving everything scattered between the door and my bed. My satchel must have been among the things I dropped along the way, but it apparently vanished. Perhaps I accidentally pressed a hidden button that activates a cloaking device, or maybe there was a wormhole on my floor that transported my satchel across the galaxy. It's possible that same wormhole brought my sunglasses back, so maybe all I have to do is wait until an unstable spatial anomaly returns from some uncharted sector of the cosmos.
And I've put myself into the Star Trek universe...
Even if a wormhole really did steal my satchel and it'll be back in a couple months—that's how long my sunglasses were missing, anyway—I can't go without my phone and keys for that long. Granted I could get a new key from maintenance, but that's an embarrassing hassle. The phone is harder to replace, but I could probably get my old one reactivated temporarily. That would mean dealing with Mom's disapproving half-smirk—along with a lecture on curtailing my absentmindedness—when I tell her I lost the new one she just spent a small fortune acquiring, so I might be better off going without.
Maybe I could benefit from living off the grid for a while...
With those thoughts swirling around my brain, I fall back and lie down on the bed with a disgruntled groan. There's a part of me that hates my dependence on technology, but I'm used to contacting whoever I need to whenever I want, and for whatever reason. At any time, as long as I'm not violating school policy, I can call up Amaya just to talk, or ask Kenta about the weather in Hokkaido, or even reach Naoko as she gallivants across western Europe. That's probably why being out of contact with Hisao for the past four days has been so grueling.
Less than my lifetime ago, people didn't have cellphones or an internet to use for long-distance communication; when Mom described not seeing Dad for months at a time, it wasn't an exaggeration. At most they talked on the phone—at great expense, and only from home—for a short while on an intermittent basis, and there were times when they wouldn't get a chance to talk for weeks. Even e-mail, which is now practically an antiquated technology, was a fledgeling industry that neither of them had the resources to access, so a lot of their correspondence was through snail mail.
I've seen Mom's old box of letters, and it's pretty impressive...
If I think about it in perspective, maybe I'm just being selfish. Hisao being out of contact for a few days is comparatively laughable, and there isn't an ocean between us either—just a long train ride. If Yoko is right, and I hope she is, he'll call me back eventually, and I'll have been worried over nothing. There's still a pit in my stomach, but it's from worrying that I won't have a phone when he finally does call, although that's probably equally selfish. It's also possible that pit has more to do with being hungry than anything else; I haven't eaten since lunch, and maybe I can't find my satchel because I can't focus.
I recall something about gnocchi and miracles...
That thought launches me off the bed fast enough to provide a brief dizzy spell, but I've recovered before I get a hand on my doorknob. Unlocking and pulling it open, I step out and nearly trip over something parked beside the jamb. As I turn a frustrated glare down to find the culprit, I let out a self-deprecating groan; I've literally tripped over my satchel. Evidently I let it drop after fishing out my key, and now I feel doubly stupid for having left all my important stuff sitting out here in a dorm full of vultures.
Fortunately, from the look of it, I seem to have left it half-open with the keys lying beside, and some of the contents have spilled out onto the floor, but nothing appears to have gone missing. It also isn't half way across the galaxy, but maybe that anomaly decided to return early—I wonder if it's a stable wormhole. Crazy theories aside, it seems none of my more embarrassing items have found their way out either—my birth control pills and condoms, namely—so I count that as a win, gather up my loose stuff, sling the satchel across my shoulder, fluff my hair like nothing happened, and head for the stairs.
I kinda wonder why Yoko didn't mention my bag lying out there, though...
As I'm chuckling to myself on the way down the stairs, I feel my phone start to vibrate, so I stop on a landing. A little wave of excitement passes through me as I draw it out of the side pocket; it feels as though nearly losing my phone means whoever is calling must be important. Unfortunately that hope is dashed as the screen lights up and reveals the call is coming from a blocked number. With the majority of my friends spread all over Japan, and at least one roaming through Europe, I've seen several unknown numbers show up on my cellphone lately, but none of them get blocked.
I've been victim to a few of Kenta's prank calls because of that...
What I've learned from movies tells me that blocked numbers are usually kidnappers or a drug dealers calling to make arrangements, which means Hisao might be in trouble and needs rescuing. That's probably a fantasy—albeit a strange one—and it's much more likely a telemarketer got their hands on my cell number. If that's the case, I wonder whether Yoko may have signed me up for a mailing list; she spent a long while at the boutique's checkout counter—she's probably due a discussion on boundaries. For now, I have the option to ignore the call and let it go to voice-mail, so I do just that.
I'm sure they'll call back if it's really important...
As I continue on my way down the stairs, and not two seconds after the call switches over to my voice service, my phone starts buzzing again. This time it's not a blocked number, though the quick succession of calls makes me wonder if Amaya is trying to pull a prank—I wouldn't put it past her. Pressing send, I lift the phone up and immediately accuse, “You're messing with me, right?”
“W-what?” she sputters, “Um, no—and hello to you too!”
“You didn't just call from a blocked phone?” I press.
“Nope~!” she assures me, the speed of her response making it all the more believable.
Shrugging, I continue around the banister as I mumble, “Strange...” then shake my head and add, “Sorry, I had a blocked call just a second ago, and... never mind—hello!”
“Blocked call? How many times do I have to remind you: pay attention when you sign up for free porn!” she jokes, laughing at herself as she continues, “Anyway, I heard from Jessica Rabbit that you did some shopping today~!” her lilting tone drops as she adds, “Someone finally got you into Girl Paradise, huh? Without any kicking or screaming, no less?”
Lying to her would just make this worse, so I reluctantly confirm, “Yeah... sorry...”
“See, I didn't believe it from Red, and I should probably be mad at her... but, she's forgiven!” she exclaims, drawing in a deep breath before continuing, “You on the other hand... three years I've been trying to get you in there, and she convinces you in one try? I've had to shop for underwear alone all this time, and now...? What kind of friend does that?”
“I said I was sorry!” I bark, smirking as I taunt, “Besides... maybe Yoko's just more convincing than you...!”
“Hey, I'm not complaining~!” she lilts, giggling darkly, “Besides, this means I'll be able to drag you along next time without complaints—now that you've gone and played dress-up with Yoko, your fate is sealed~!”
And this is why I should never have agreed...
______________________________________________________________________
Previous Chapter|Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Next Chapter