Story: TLC
Something funny. In which Marce could have chosen a better time to get back to the dorm she shares with Ida.
TLC
The screams and protests from Room 1502 were quite unnerving to most of the denizens of the Sales Avenue Tower that afternoon. It was only natural that Marce would be more than concerned when she came up to this room, only to find it locked. She pressed her ear to the door, only to frown on hearing the two voices inside the apartment.
"Ouch! Mark, don't touch me there!" Ida's high pitched voice yelled out.
"Wait, so how do you want to go about this?" Mark's lower, quieter voice answered.
Marce groaned as she jiggled the doorknob. "I did not want to hear that!" she whispered.
"Did not want to hear what?" a voice asked. Marce turned to see a young man in the hall. It took a moment for her to place his name; she'd seen him hanging around this place before.
"Um, Francis, would you know what Mark and Ida are doing here?" she asked awkwardly.
Francis' brow furrowed. "I thought they were at the sitio today, helping out with the classroom repairs there."
Marce burst out laughing. "Ida, doing carpentry? You're kidding. I've known her for years and she doesn't do that."
"She helps out," Francis shrugged. He gestured to the door. "Why don't you just knock?"
"I told you, Mark is in there."
Francis pressed his ear to the keyhole. Marce rolled her eyes before attempting to listen in on the door again.
"It hurts! Mark, go slowly please!"
"I'm trying! It's kind of deep in and you're bleeding."
"Oh my God. A lot?"
"Not much. They say the pain gets less."
"It's bigger than I thought---ouch! Just get it out!"
On hearing this, Francis began knocking hard on the door. "Mark! What the hell are you doing in there?" The only reply he got was another one of Ida's shrieks, followed by the rustling of sheets.
Marce was completely pallid by now. "We shouldn't have heard that," she whispered, readying herself to punch Mark the minute she saw him. She heard the sound of a spring creaking, followed by feet shuffling to the door. The lock clicked and the door opened a crack.
Francis gave Mark a stern glare. "Marky-boy. Do we even want to know what you were doing in there."
Mark's eyebrows shot up perplexedly. "What are you talking about?"
"The screaming?" Marce cut in. "You'd better be honest, or I'm going to call security on you. It didn't sound good."
"Marce? Francis?" Ida called from inside.
Marce peered into the apartment and found her friend lying on the sofa bed, looking red and flustered, but otherwise none the worse for wear. "He didn't hurt you?" Marce asked, stunned.
"He was removing a splinter from my toe," Ida said, pointing to her bandaged right foot, which was propped up on a pillow.
Marce could only stare as Ida and Mark slapped their foreheads while Francis burst out laughing.