Late One Night.
... ... ...
April looks at her laptop while sitting on her couch. The black framed glasses she wears are slipping down her nose. They nearly fly off her face as she jerks her head towards her phone, now ringing. Smiling, she relaxes back into the couch and decides to answer her favorite caller in a throaty, playful voice. "…Michael?"
April takes her glasses off.
Harsh panting sounds coarse out of her receiver, she pulls the phone away from her ear, cringing. She places her laptop on her coffee table and says in a hurry, "Mikey? Can you hear me..?"
She receives no answer and cannot yet decide if she should roll her eyes or frown with worry. April only hears the sounds of Michelangelo running fast as hell. The grunts of exertion, then silence, followed by more crunching footfalls on gravel. She opens her mouth to yell into the phone then stops herself and stands. Her eyes dart back and forth, listening, as she continues to decipher Michelangelo's breathing.
Then it is eerily quiet, she is compelled to look at the phone to confirm the call remains active. She furiously scratches her scalp for a moment and returns the phone to her ear, whispering hesitantly, "Hello..?"
Light staccato taps on glass cause April to jump, half curse and drop her device. She rushes over to her window and yanks open the curtain. With it pitch black outside she is met with her reflection. She huffs and meets her own gaze, swirling between dread and hope. April presses her forehead against the glass, cupping her eyes, connecting to the baby blues belonging to the turtle of the hour.
Michelangelo lay at ease on her fire escape, completely on his side, one arm crooked to hold his head up jauntily. He nods one time at her and she can hear a muffled, "Sup, girl."
Her short burst of laughter fogs up the pane slightly and she kisses the glass leaving an imprint. Michelangelo's deep bravado filters through the glass as April prepares to open the window.
It was just another booty-call.