Page 8 of Beautiful Crazy

Graham:Uh oh. How did you let that happen?

Me:Not like I can just stop her.

Beckham:You know what to do. You just have to grow your balls first.

Me:I’m sprinkling them with chia seeds and water as we speak, man. Nothin’s happening.

Graham:Try hot wax. I hear hot wax will make them grow.

Me:LOL Yeah, right out of my nut sacks when I go to pull that wax off!

Beckham:HA! Hey sometimes sacrifices have to be made. *GIF of Shrugging Elmo*

Me:I think I’ll stick to warm weather and porn. That should help them grow. I’m goin’ to bed so I can give my balls a stern talking to.

Graham:Give’em hell for me, Emmett!

Me:Will do. Night assholes.

Beckham:Night.

Graham:Night man.

Asher:My bellybutton smells like pizza grease.

A laugh bursts from me at Ash’s drunk texts as I plug my phone into the charger on my nightstand and look once more at the time. One-fifteen. “Okay Emmett Fox. It’s time to stop dicking around and grow your balls,” I tell myself. “Man up and get the girl before she falls for some unworthy opponent.”

It may be the middle of January, but I suppose it’s never too late to make a New Year’s resolution. Sitting down on my bed alone in my room, I take a deep breath and speak the words to make it official.

“This year, my resolution is to finally get the girl.” I nod my head, my confidence boosting with every passing second. “I’m gonna get the girl. I deserve the girl. Beckham has the girl. Hell, Graham made his girl a wife and even Asher has his sights set on a girl. It’s time for me to get the girl too. Okay. Yeah. I got this.”

I feel a proud smile widen across my face as I turn off my lamp and lean back on my pillow with my hands folded behind my head. “Now I just need a plan.”

___

Crash!

My eyes spring open at the clattering sound of broken glass. My room is thronged with darkness, and I can’t see a damn thing. I turn my head to look at the clock that flashes a bright red, two-thirty-five at me and hear another crash followed by a muffled sound, and then a few mumbled voices. It’s hard to know what’s really going on with my door closed.

What the fuck is going on?

Someone’s in my apartment.

I throw the covers aside and step quietly out of bed, grabbing my old baseball bat that I’ve kept underneath it for this very reason, and tiptoe out of my room and down the hall.

It’s fucking dark in here at night.

I see what looks like a figure bent over in the kitchen searching through my cupboards and raise my bat to the ready position. I’m not afraid to take a swing, but maybe I can scare the shit out of him first.

“Hey asshole, you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?”

A snort answers me, and the figure stands up. “Never rub another man’s rhubarb.”

“Emily?”

She laughs harder. “Of course, it’s me. Who did you think it was, Batman, Jack Nicholson?”

I lower the bat in my hands and hold it to my side. “What the fuck are you doing in the dark?”

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