White Lies

By: Ariadne

--W..M..W..M..W..M..W..M..W--

Title: Foot Fetish

Chapter Rating: PG-11 (I made up a rating, lol)

Disclaimer: Plot mine. Characters are Ms. Collins's. Don't sue me.

Summary: He never knew what he was getting into. He never expected that such a small thing could affect his life so drastically.

Author's Notes: Rated for (homo)sexual reference, stalkers and light swearing. I researched apartments in New York and yes they are wicked expensive. Oh, and don't get your hopes up for this story. This chapter has been on my computer for ages. I just felt like I should put it up. I'm looking at one person in particular...through the computer. Plus it's my birthday in...an hour so I'm feeling generous.

Beta: Ares Is Awesome was supposed to do it. But she never sent me the finished copy, so this was unedited.

--W..M..W..M..W..M..W..M..W--

The apartment was tiny. Not just small, like most apartments. It was tiny, barely the size of a hotel room. Ares had walked around it twice, and he still couldn't believe that this was what he was paying over eight hundred dollars a month for. There was a living room, with a sink, a counter, and a tiny stove in a corner that was supposed to pass for a kitchen. The single bedroom was next to the living area, it had a large window with a beautiful view of a brick wall. The tiny bathroom couldn't have been bigger than five feet by three. He shrugged; at least it had a shower.

There was a knock on the door, and then it swung open. He turned to see a pretty young woman with black and platinum blonde streaked hair. "Well?" She said expectantly, "Are you going to come down and get your things, or are you going to sleep on the floor?"

"Thanks, Nike," Ares told his friend, for probably the third time that day. She had volunteered to drive him and his belongings to the apartment building. He had even scored a mattress out of the deal.

Between the two of them they got the mattress and two small boxes of clothes and other personal effects up to his new apartment. Both Ares and Nike looked around the tiny eggshell white apartment, neither wanting to do anything that would end in them saying goodbye. Nike and Ares had been good friends for a very long time, despite the fact that Nike was five years younger than him. Seven months ago, when Ares had been almost literally living in the gutters, she had picked him up and brought him back to her house. The young woman had then presented him to her mother like a lost puppy dog, asking "Can I keep him?"

Athena didn't really have a choice in the matter, because shortly after that question Ares had collapsed on their doorstep from dehydration, lack of sleep, stress, and god only knows what else. The two nursed him back to health, and gave him their basement to live in for the moment. Ares had never really been able to thank Nike or her mother, and both women maintained that thanks weren't necessary. In the end it was Nike who broke the silence, which was only to be expected.

"You must be so proud. You have your own apartment now," Nike said with mock pride, and clapped him on the back adding, "and you're only twenty two years old."

Ares scowled at her sarcastic manner, "You can go now."

"I thought you'd be happier! I mean, now you and my mom don't have to worry about me walking in on you--"

"Hey!" Ares exclaimed. Nike laughed at him as he blushed hotly. "You know I didn't do anything with her! She was coming onto me!"

The young woman was in absolute stitches watching her friend protest about the circumstances she had found him in a month ago. It was completely accidental, but the reaction of all three parties involved had been hilarious. "Of course not, no man with a box full of makeup and hair care products is going to be interested in my mother!"

The dark haired man glared at her furiously. She was egging him on and he knew it, but it was working. "Shut up, Nike." He would have said more but was interrupted by a squeal from his friend.

"Oh my god, is this my flat iron?! I've been missing this for ages!" She held up the hair straightener gleefully. Ares snatched it from her and stuffed it back into the box it had come out of. A box that, as Nike had observed, was full of assorted cosmetics.

"It's mine--" He tried to object, but was cut off by another shriek of glee.

"You're gay aren't you!?" Nike exclaimed eagerly. She grinned at him, "You'd make such a cute gay person! All my friends would be jealous."

"Dammit, Nike," Ares growled, "I'm not gay, and I'm not a little toy poodle either. Find someone else to display like a doll." He gave her a shove toward the door, indicating that it was time for her to go.

Nike, however, had other plans. She was staring at him thoughtfully and firmly stood her ground when he tried to usher her out. Puzzled by her odd behavior, Ares let go of her arm. They hadn't really been arguing, the playful fighting had been going on between them for close to a year. Nike's hyper optimistic manner contrasted sharply with her friend's chronic moodiness so they constantly clashed, but both had managed to adjust so that their disagreements never got unfriendly.

"Prove it," Nike challenged.

"Prove what?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"Prove to me, right now, that you are not gay."

Ares scowled, "And how am I supposed to do that? This is ridiculous, Nike, you know I'm not gay."

The girl shook her head stubbornly; her wide hazel eyes gleamed with determination. "Kiss me. Prove you aren't."

"Th-that's ridiculous!" He protested, eyes widening. Why would she ask him to do that anyway? If he was more egotistical he would have assumed that she had a crush on him, but he was certain that she had an ulterior motive. Finally, seeing she wouldn't back down, Ares leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. "Happy, now?"

Nike just smirked and replied, "Yeah, you're definitely gay."

"What the hell, Nike?!" Ares shouted.

"That wasn't a kiss kiss," she pointed out disdainfully.

Ares looked ready to strangle her. "You're seventeen! I'll be arrested for statutory rape!" Nike merely gazed at him, one eyebrow raised. Muttering multiple swear words, he gave in and kissed her. His face was bright red by the time he finished the pointedly long kiss, but he did it and he made sure it was good. "Well?"

His friend smirked impishly, "You're pretty good," she commented, and then bounced happily, "Now Pandora owes me dinner!

He gaped at her in disbelief, "Have you been making bets about me with your friends?!"

"Ummm…" Nike grinned guiltily, "Look at the time! Have fun in your new apartment! Bye!" With this she practically danced out the door, and walked toward the elevator, giggling helplessly.

Ares ran a hand through his hair, glad she was gone, but irritated that she had left him hanging like that. What had the bet been about anyway? His sexual orientation or his ability to kiss? He blinked, her words clicking in his head.

"Pandora bet against me?"

--W..M..W--

For the next hour Ares unpacked the boxes, dragged the mattress into what passed for a bedroom, and attempted to make the tiny apartment livable. Surveying his handiwork, he decided it looked a bit like a hobo had broken in.

There was a mattress with no sheets, just a blanket and a throw pillow; a pile of clothes next to the bed; a plate, and no silverware; a flashlight; and a box full of hygiene and cosmetic items. He figured the only difference was that a hobo wouldn't have twenty dollar Ulta eyeliner.

"Pathetic," he summarized. Whatever it was, it was his apartment, and he was proud of it. He had a good job and hopefully he would make enough money to fix up the little rat shack that he now called home.

--W..M..W--

The next day, Thursday if you want to be picky, found Ares in the laundry room on the bottom floor of the complex. After sitting half-folded in a pile for hours, his clothes had gotten filthy, not to mention wrinkled. Actually, his clothes weren't that bad, but the obsessive compulsive part of him couldn't help imagining all the disgusting things that could be on his clothes from the previous owner of his apartment. So he woke up and immediately subjected his clothes to the dubious clean of the ancient washing machines.

Ares was fidgeting around the lobby, trying to find something to occupy him while his clothes were washing, when he saw her. There was no ominous music, nor clashing of lightening to announce her presence. He barely noticed the slender young woman, merely flicking his eyes toward her as she entered the laundry room.

A few minutes later a loud blaring alarm announced the end of the rinse cycle. Ares hoisted himself out of the chair, where he had been trying to get into a Cosmo Girl magazine, and went to change his clothes into the drier.

When he walked in there was someone at the washer he had been using. Confused, and somewhat alarmed, he hurried over to see the girl loading his clothes into the dryer. Ares stared openmouthed at her for a few moments.

She had unkempt pale blonde hair that was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was tiny, maybe four foot ten, and eighty pounds. When she finished loading the clothes, she patted the drier, turned and gave Ares a small smile, then strode out the door without a second glance.

Completely mystified by the encounter with the diminutive girl, Ares quickly scanned the other washing machines and driers, but there wasn't a thing in one of them. Apparently the only reason that woman had been in the laundry room was to change his laundry. Because that's not weird at all.

"That…" Ares muttered, going back up to his apartment, "was bizarre."

--W..M..W--

Half an hour later, Ares figured his clothes were done, or close to it, and opened the door to go fetch them. He swore; there had been something outside his door and he had almost tripped on it.

It turned out to be a hamper full of meticulously folded clothes. His clothes. A sticky note on the top of the pile informed him, in perfect cursive, that he should, "Wash your clothes in cold water. The colors will last longer."

Ares looked up and down the hall. There was a young man coming out of the elevator, Ares immediately discounted him. At the end of the hall, fumbling with her keys, was the tiny girl he had seen in the laundry room. "Hey!"

She immediately turned when he called out to her, her brown eyes wide, giving him a perfect deer in headlights look.

"Um…thanks?" He said uncertainly, and gestured at the hamper. Now that he saw her better he judged her to be around twenty or so, but he could easily add or take five years from that estimate and it would still be plausible. Her slight form could easily pass for thirteen, but her thin face had a distinctly adult look to it. She gave a small squeak, nodded frantically, and then bolted into her apartment. "Okay, she's weird." He swept up his laundry and walked back into his apartment.

Almost immediately there was a quiet knock on his door. Ares growled at the interruption, even though he wasn't doing anything in particular, and answered with a distinctly unfriendly look on his face. His glare was instantly gone when he saw who was at his door.

The tall young man he had noticed by the elevator stood before him. His tousled hair was pure white and fell over the side of his face. The one eye you could see was a deep glittering red. He was young, probably only eighteen, but he was incredibly good-looking.

Ares had told Nike that he wasn't gay, and he had been telling the truth. He liked girls just fine, but he would be lying through his teeth if he said he didn't find some men attractive.

"Hey," The boy said, and shifted uncomfortably. He looked distinctly awkward, like he regretted knocking on the door, "I'm Bane. I live across the hall from you."

"Ares," he supplied with a smile. The older man offered him a hand, but Bane was staring down the hallway and didn't see, or decided to ignore him.

"You were talking to Creepy Stalker Girl," the pale boy stated, still gazing down the hall.

Ares gave him an odd look, "To whom?"

Bane turned back, catching Ares's dark eyes with his own, "Look," he explained, "there are three kinds of people that live in these apartments: serial killers, druggies, and Creepy Stalker Girl."

The dark haired man nodded, and then asked, "So what does she want?"

The other smirked, the first smile Ares had seen, "No one knows. Some people don't think she has a job; others take it further and say she doesn't eat. People see around her every once in a while, but no one has ever gone into her apartment, or even seen the inside. She refuses to talk to people, and she picks one to three victims at a time."

"And what does she do to them?" Ares asked, halfway curious. He was sure that this whole thing was just gossip about the quiet young lady.

"Check your laundry," Bane instructed cryptically. His smirk turned into a grin as he watched Ares rifle through the hamper.

"What the hell?"

"What's wrong?" The pale boy looked almost beside himself with the laughter he was holding in.

"One of my socks is missing."

Bane nodded gleefully, "Stalker Girl strikes again!"

"What does she want with my sock?" Ares asked, a comic look of bewilderment on his face.

"Foot fetish?" Bane supplied before completely breaking down, consumed by mirth.

"Ha," Ares said, completely monotone. "Ha, ha, ha, ha. So…how much evidence do I need to get a restraining order?"

The other man clawed his way into a standing position, and leaned against the door frame. After he got his breath back, he invited himself in by closing the door and leaning against it. "You're lucky, you know," he jabbed an accusing finger at Ares. "She got me worse than you, and it was more than once."

"What'd she do?" Ares scoffed. "Steal your underwear?"

The silence was answer enough. Bane shook his head, and laid a friendly hand on Ares's shoulder. "Do not question the power of the Creepy Stalker Girl. Lock your doors at night, keep your windows bolted, and you might just be alright."

Ares laughed, then asked inquisitively, "You said there were only three kinds of people living here. So, what category do you fit into?"

Bane seemed to consider it for a brief moment, then, without any facial expression at all, stated, "Oh, I'm a serial killer."