[for Jessica]
Someone's throwing rocks at my house.
Admittedly, that's not the first conclusion I jump to when I'm startled awake from a mercifully dreamless sleep. Oh, no, there are all sorts of hoops I have to drag my exhaustion-addled brain through before I puzzle that one out, and even once I do, it takes me at least a minute or so to decide if I'm going to do anything about it. In my defense, my bed's incredibly comfortable; Mary Jane's playing the role of the big spoon tonight, her breath warm against my back, her arm draped over my waist. The impulse to just stay put and wait out my would-be company's attempt to get a hold of me is pretty tough to beat. (It doesn't even occur to me that it could be someone for MJ; even if I'm not her friends' biggest fan, there's no denying she hangs out with a saner crowd than I do.) When the rocks keep coming, though, irritability wins over patience, and I carefully crawl out of bed, sticking a pillow under Mary Jane's arm as a sort of placeholder when she starts to stir with a murmured promise that I'll be back right away, she should go back to sleep.
Here's hoping that's a promise I can keep. Then again, if it was something all that important, there are better ways of contacting me than the ol' tap at the window routine.
Pulling open the shutter, I stick my nose out the window just in time to get struck by a small pebble, right smack in the middle of my forehead. Wincing, I let out a hiss, lifting my hand to rub at the point where I got hit; this is really shaping up to be a stellar day, I'm telling you. With a quiet sigh, I squint, blearily, into the night, trying to make out the slight figure standing not too far away. Exhausted as I am, it takes a good five seconds for my eyes to focus, and another five for my brain to realize just who it is I'm meant to be looking at. It takes me an additional five after that before I actually believe I'm not just seeing things.
"...Jessica?"
Admittedly, that's not the first conclusion I jump to when I'm startled awake from a mercifully dreamless sleep. Oh, no, there are all sorts of hoops I have to drag my exhaustion-addled brain through before I puzzle that one out, and even once I do, it takes me at least a minute or so to decide if I'm going to do anything about it. In my defense, my bed's incredibly comfortable; Mary Jane's playing the role of the big spoon tonight, her breath warm against my back, her arm draped over my waist. The impulse to just stay put and wait out my would-be company's attempt to get a hold of me is pretty tough to beat. (It doesn't even occur to me that it could be someone for MJ; even if I'm not her friends' biggest fan, there's no denying she hangs out with a saner crowd than I do.) When the rocks keep coming, though, irritability wins over patience, and I carefully crawl out of bed, sticking a pillow under Mary Jane's arm as a sort of placeholder when she starts to stir with a murmured promise that I'll be back right away, she should go back to sleep.
Here's hoping that's a promise I can keep. Then again, if it was something all that important, there are better ways of contacting me than the ol' tap at the window routine.
Pulling open the shutter, I stick my nose out the window just in time to get struck by a small pebble, right smack in the middle of my forehead. Wincing, I let out a hiss, lifting my hand to rub at the point where I got hit; this is really shaping up to be a stellar day, I'm telling you. With a quiet sigh, I squint, blearily, into the night, trying to make out the slight figure standing not too far away. Exhausted as I am, it takes a good five seconds for my eyes to focus, and another five for my brain to realize just who it is I'm meant to be looking at. It takes me an additional five after that before I actually believe I'm not just seeing things.
"...Jessica?"