Monday, 12-18-06

12:57 P.M.

My fingers toyed lazily with the cast iron posts encasing the stoop of Number 21 Myler Circle. I tugged wistfully at the scarf wrapped so intricately around my wispy locks, scanning the cul-de-sac for any form of life. Each of the other ten houses on the high security lot had a dank, deserted look to them however. No cars leaked oil upon the snow white driveways; no children flitted through the perfectly manicured imported grasses. Silk curtains and stoic blinds barred the windows of lives shaded from the public eye.

I shivered slightly, tugging at the worn laces of my classic Vans that seemed so odd against the stone laid steps beneath them. Standing shakily, I turned around, studying the profile of the magnificent house behind me. Like the others upon the street, none of the windows displayed a view of the home's contents. Stacked stone lining all but the entrance of the exterior gave it a cold, lifeless feeling. Taking a step toward the voluminous stained cherry door, I hesitated slightly. My hands were numb from the hour and a half spent outside, and they itched for the modern luxury of air conditioning.

Sighing, I reached a gloved hand into my purse, groping around for my key ring. Fingering a golden, oddly shaped key, I pushed it slowly into a similarly shaped hole at the base of the knob tacked at the center of the door. A resounding click filled my ears, and I pushed slighting, revealing the uncharted abyss that was Tom Quincy's home.

I swallowed, taking a tentative step forward. The foyer was encased in complete darkness, so before closing the door, I groped around blindly, first searching for a wall, and then a light switch. Having found both, I shut the door noiselessly behind me.

I blinked. I feared momentarily that I was having a seizure of some sort, and I rubbed feverishly at my eyes. Upon notice of the rouge tint of my mittens, I focused once again upon the room.

The entire foyer was white. The couches, the carpet, the walls, the fireplace, even the television, with exception of the LCD screen. The atmosphere was stiff, giving of a sterile feel to it. No accessories personalized the space, only the bare necessities littered the spotless floor.

After a few moments, I realized I was still stationary upon the marble strewn across the doorway. Stepping onto the plush carpet, I removed my scarf, laying it on the arm of a very uncomfortable looking chair. Its purple color contrasted greatly, I noted. To anyone entering the home, it would become an instant focal point.

Setting down my purse, I rotated idly upon the spot, searching for a doorway. Finding a suitable one, I began to roam through the empty vicinity.

Before I knew it, I stood at the threshold of the master bedroom. Gulping, I contemplated entering. Deep down, I knew that Tommy would skin me alive for intruding upon his personal space. Hell, I knew that Tommy would skin me alive for coming inside in the first place. This hardly could be classified as an emergency, the sole reason I possessed a key to his bachelor pad.

Curiosity overtook my sense of modesty, however, and I tiptoed tentatively into the room. As my feet placed small indentions upon the intricate carpet, my eyes traveled languidly over the furnishing.

To my surprise, there was nothing at all remarkable about the room. It seemed oddly out of place with the architectural splendor of the rest of the home. The contents were completely routine: queen sized bed, two nightstands on either side, mirrored bureau on the adjacent wall. Blanched colors covered the walls and fabrics. There was no romantic or feminine touch in the entirety, something that oddly enough, disappointed me. From his promiscuous reputation, I had expected something much more… accommodating. Not that I had ever imagined Tommy's bedroom. And not that I had made any assumptions towards his, erm, promiscuity.

A photograph tacked to the bureau's mirror caught my eye, and I marched swiftly towards it. I recognized its origin immediately and exhaled softly. My own petite form met my eyes. It was a picture from my senior prom. Outfitted in a purple knee length halter dress, my hair was pinned at the top of my crown, allowing my bangs to cascade, reaching the level of my eyebrows. My face was cocked in mirth towards a man's figure on the left. He was also dressed for the occasion, in an ebony tuxedo. I reminisced fondly of the event. For one night, we had been the perfect couple.

I was too entranced by the memories that were currently flooding through my mind to notice that another being had entered the room. I didn't hear the door open on the landing below, the pitter-patter of footsteps up the stairs, nor did I notice when someone else's reflection appeared in the mirror before it was too late.

Two strong arms closed around my small waist, procuring a firm hold. I gasped, my gaze shooting to the room's reflection in the mirror. I relaxed immediately, succumbing to the warm embrace.

"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He murmured softly, toying with a lock of my hair nonchalantly, eyes never leaving the photograph. His tone was the exact opposite of the trivial action, however. It sent a chill up my spine, and my pulse quickened.

I remained silent, both dumfounded and in a moment of shock. Not only was I all alone with Tom Quincy in his bedroom, he was coming on to me quite blatantly as well. And despite the soporific atmosphere, I was beginning to find myself quite unable to resist the man's touch.