"S-s-s-s—" I stumbled backwards, my tailbone thudded heavy against my desk and rattled all the stationaries atop. But I kept moving back despite the pain, "—STAY AWAY!"
I had raised an open palm in front of myself defensively, but my fingertips were... melting?
It didn't feel any different from regular fingertips, but as if they were ice, they slowly liquified into clear, pristine water, cascading down my finger, then to my palm before dripping onto the floor from my wrist.
"H-huh?"
The melting didn't stop at the fingertips, it escalated over time. In merely a few seconds, I've lost half of all my fingers on my right hand; they had all, unpromptedly, magically, turned into water.
The shirtless adonis behind my melted hand was the man with dragon horns that I was fending myself off from. This was the first time I've seen him, and I was in my pajamas; he was in my bedroom, and he was dangerous... -ly hot.
He smirked wryly, with his hands firmly planted on his waist, "You're getting really wet over there."
"Ahh..." I gasped, then I wheezed, "Arghhhhh..."
"Look at you go—"
"ARRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" Then I screamed.
———
Don't worry, I'll explain this, by first telling you about yesterday, March 30th.
As always, I could only be woken by the sun itself, seeping through the curtains. The alarm I set on my phone beside my bed had been snoozed at least twenty times.
Groggily, I sat up on the bed, unravelling from the thick blankets and pillows, as my messy, long raven hair disturbed my face.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
The twenty first snooze was over.
...
I went into the bathroom unhurried, despite knowing very well that I'll be indefinitely late for class. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, slapped myself a few times in front of the mirror, then I'm ready.
I changed from my pajamas to a gray hoodie and denim shorts before checking the schedule; I really should've reversed that order as checking the schedule revealed that I was in fact, not late for class.
It's a Monday, Angela, it's a Monday. I scolded myself with light punches to the head.
That wasn't to say today was a holiday; I have lecture at eleven, and a client at nine, which is ten minutes from now.
It's not like he'll complain if I was late though.
I headed downstairs with deliberate, heavy steps, then waltzed through the dining area, where customers were chatting over breakfast with unpleasantly loud Cantonese.
The atmosphere was suffused with the thick aroma of steamed goods, mostly soy sauce, garlic and spring onion. With this strong strike of scents rushing up my nose, I didn't need anything else to energise.
Mother working the cashier couldn't spare me an eye, but Darryl the waiter could, "Those are some heavy eyebags, Angela."
"I know." I sauntered past him with a yawn, past a doorway and into a brilliantly maintained, terribly decorated kitchen, where the only colour was silverly gray.
I reached into a rolling steel shelf for one of its steamed buns, but,
tsssss...
I could feel, and hear my fingertips sizzling from that touch that lasted a fraction of a second.
"Ow..." I shook the pain off.
"Here." Darryl handed me a sheet of paper towel to shield from the heat.
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
I went back upstairs to my room with the steamed bun shoved into my mouth. I carefreely loaded up my computer, readying to meet my client without any prior preparation.
Because the job doesn't require any.
Did you know, that being a female is an easy cheat code to money? I don't mean selling your body, I hadn't stooped that low. However, men will pay just for my voice. Sorry, correction, not my voice, a fake one I conjured by pitching my voice high, to sound like the average anime waifu in romcoms. I don't even have to open the camera.
Then, all that's left to do is.
"Goddamn it, man!" Comfort their lonely souls and receive paychecks, "Angel, baby... How could this even happen?"
"Oh no! What happened that made you sooooo upset?" I exaggerated concern the best I can.
"Urgh... You know I'm an education advisor, right?"
"Yes." I knew that and that you're forty something paying to hear a nineteen-year-old talk sweet.
"See, this rich kid came into my office. And when I said rich, I meant LOADED. I'm certain you have clothes of the brand Lerring?"
The sleeves of my gray hoodie had 'Lerring' sewn in cursive. "Yes, I do know that brand. I looooove their clothes, they're always so cute, but I could never afford them..."
"Oh I'm certain you'll look fantastic in anything. If you want anything, my angel baby, just tell me."
"Mm!" That sound that anime waifus make when they nod their heads with unrealistically reddened cheeks? That was what I imitated.
"The Lerring kid, who's like a superstar model, came into my office, along with, I believe Hansen Lerring's assistant. And I just knew immediately, man, I will maximise all my efforts to push him into private, prestigious, money-sucking universities... I did all that I can, but you know what happened?"
"Did you succeed?"
"I FAILED! The kid genuinely said, 'no, I don't want my life to just be stuck studying in a room, I want to join clubs, make friends, enjoy life in a more humble way.' He said all that, while knowing how to fluently speak five languages. Arghhh apa la ni...? (what is this...?)" I could hear him gritting his teeth as he spat.
"Oh nooooooo. I feel bad for youuuuuu. I'm so sorryyyyyyyy."
"No, angel baby, it's not your fault. But argh, how could teenagers these days be so stupid?" I heard a crack, he probably broke a pencil or two in rage.
"Don't be sad. I'm here for you. You can talk to me about everything."
"Aw... Thank you..."
Your welcome, Mr. Chang, and as long as you keep paying me fifty an hour, you can talk to me about absolutely everything.
...
Seventy five ringgit of profit made later, I packed my bag, readying for another boring lecture on taxes. God, why did I choose finance as my degree again?
I headed downstairs, forgetting to cover up my eyebags with at least a layer of makeup. I'd make it all the way until outside the restaurant, before Darryl screamed through the Cantonese chattering, "Good bye!"
I turned to look, and there he was grinning like a child despite being forty something, with both his arms waving left and right dramatically.
I waved lightly and succinctly in response before leaving.
...
In the commercial district where both my home and my parents' restaurant were located, there would always be a street musician performing acoustic guitar paired with soothing Chinese songs.
Every time I walk by him, wherever he might be stationed, I'd tip at least a ringgit, if not more, depending on my mood.
And every time, he would respond with a "謝謝.(Thank you)" despite the charity becoming a daily routine at this point.
I'd stroll with my headphones on after the performer's music was no longer in range, and play some songs that almost everyone my age would consider edgy or emo.
Today, there was a new sight; a beggar was walking around the streets, asking for change with a rusted can that used to held sardines.
No one bat an eye at him, and the blame's not on them; there's a conspiracy going on that these beggars works for a bigger syndicate; you'd just be donating to a drug syndicate.
But today's seventy five ringgit was awfully effortless, I felt light and decided to throw a ten ringgit bill into the empty can.
I didn't think much of it, I just ambled on past like nothing happened, as if tossing a coin into a wishing well.
But to the beggar, in tattered clothing, wearing oxidised skin, crowned thinning hair, it prompted a far larger response than I would've expected.
"Thank you!" It was loud. It echoed through the streets of the city.
I turned to find him kneeling, fingers clenched around the can so tightly that it could burst.
He was about to thud his head on the ground, when the kneeling was uncomfortable enough for me.
"No, no, no..." I walked back with two open palms waving to stop him, "Stand up, stop this, geez..."
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
"Is that the only two words in English you know? Aw man. Stop it, please, this is really uncomfortable."
"Thank you..." He did comply eventually, standing up and continuing his hunt for change.
After my donation, more people seemed to be convince that this beggar was indeed, not working for a syndicate. More donations piled on, which inexplicably curved the edges of my mouth...
... before my watch turned that smile upside down by informing me I'm already five minutes past the start of the lecture, yet still a ten minutes walk away.
Amazing.
While all this unfolded, I never realised I was being watched, by an old man with wrinkles folding deep into his brownish skin and short white hair decorating his head. He was sipping coffee in an inconspicuous corner of an inconspicuous store; newspaper hid half of him.
...
I did try to open the door as quietly as I could, but the rusted doorknob still sung and the door still creaked.
The lecture hall was seventy percent empty; the other thirty percent turned to stare at me, as if the crime of being fifteen minutes late was as horrific as public shooting.
"Miss Mok." The lecturer recognised me, she crossed her arms with an exasperated expression, "I'm certain I've only had three lectures with you so far and you've been late to every one of them."
"Still better than Sue Storm over here, no?" I slapped an empty seat and joked emotionlessly. The crowd reacted to my joke just as emotionlessly. I doubt most of them even know that I was mocking absentees. Did you know that I was mocking absentees?
"Please sit down."
Alright then.
I climbed through the top row of seats until reaching the centre, before finally pressing my butt against the cushion.
Everyone else took their seats at the edges, not bothering to climb in; that's like sitting at the edge of a restaurant's booth, not allowing anyone to sit on the inner seats.
But whatever, maybe I was just being pretentious, it's not like anyone else will be entering this lecture hall—
THUD!
The door was slammed open.
It was a tall female student, with a half-eaten toast still hanging between her lips. She had short hair of which edges were dyed pink. She sported a black, off shoulder crop top and long gray baggy sweatpants.
With her body proportions, I would've expected her to be popular (slim waist, big ass), but what unfolded next proved me wrong.
Once again, the entire lecture hall looked at her like she was wearing a vest strapped with military grade grenades. Then the lecturer started, "Challenging Miss Mok in how late one can get to class?"
She pulled the toast away from her lips, then responded with a mouth still stuffed, "Better than challenging Miles Morales."
"Pahhahahahahahaha..." The laughter wasn't loud, because it was just me and I think one other; the entire rest of the class reacted as emotionlessly to that joke as they did with mine.
"Please sit down. And quiet down, Miss Mok." The lecturer urged.
She climbed into the top row, and then plopped into the seat next to me, "You get it."
"Why Miles? Sue was the obvious choice."
"Shit! You're right!" She slapped her forehead, then sighed heavily and dramatically. "What's your name?"
"Angela Mok."
"Ah right!" She snapped her fingers, "Miss Mok, that's why prof said that, you're the one that always arrives to class last."
"Yeah, congratulations." I lightly clapped.
"Thank you." She took the last bite of her toast. "I'm 林黛黛 (Lín Dài Dài). Call me 黛黛 (Dài Dài)."
"Hi." As you can tell, I'm not the most social person ever.
Then, instead of paying attention at the lecture in the front, I paid attention at a group of girls sitting in front.
They were chattering, chuckling, all while seemed to be taking pictures of a guy sitting at the front row. A... blonde guy? Blonde guys aren't rare in Malaysia, but given his hair roots, he's naturally blonde, which is rare.
Well no matter who he is, he's certainly not consenting to his pictures being taken like this.
"Hey, hey, you three!" I waved for their attention, "Hey!"
It wasn't until I raised my voice did one of them notice me, "What?"
"I don't think you have permission to be taking his pictures like that."
She seemed amused after I said that, then she quickly tapped on her friends' shoulders. She whispered into their ears, then they were all equally as entertained. But I didn't make a joke though? What was funny?
"Do you not know who he is?" Dai Dai whispered, whilst pointing at the blonde man.
"Oh no, me and him go way back, we're practically childhood friends to be honest."
"For real?" Dai Dai widened her eyes.
"No, I was being sarcastic. No, I don't know him."
"Girl, you live under a rock." She pulled out her phone and quickly typed out something before showing it to me.
On her screen was the blonde student in the front row. He was posing in a golden tuxedo, fingers through his wavy hair, another hand buried in a pocket.
His shoulder to waist ratio was perfect, and that face card, that face card was heavenly. His clean shaved jaw could cut air, and his deep blue eyes could earn him any roles in Hollywood.
"This is him?" I asked with a finger to the front row.
"That's him, the most famous model walking the Earth currently."
I squinted my eyes into the image Dai Dai was showing me. At the top right corner, the brand name: Lerring.