Chapter 1:3 Stalkers and Retarded Penguins, Xoxo Nyx

Xoxo Nyx

---

Even with every warning bell going off in my head, I’m stuck in my current position. Locked in place as the ways to barrel through the obstacle churn subconsciously with all the horrible ways that this could end.

“If you don’t take that post down right now, BFF is going to stand for balless former friend.” I yowl as quietly as I can from my still hidden place in the shrubbery.

“You’d never do that to my future husband,” the little imp dares to taunt back.

It’s only when I stop talking. Cease to make translatable sounds, reverting to a grunting if not confused chimpanzee that Nicky checks in,“you okay?”

With the man, he had me ‘running into’ last Friday circling back to my position again, I’m too upset to recognize the genuine concern in the tone he’s taken. Dr. Nikolai Cross, being the one to diagnose me, is able to pick up on the mini meltdowns that come with the condition.

Just like he’s aware that once a wall is hit in our minds, there’s no stopping until we break through it. Whether that’s ill-advised scenarios or flat out tantrums, Aspies charge forward or completely shut down until they have a solution.

“What part of him showing up at my apartment is not ringing warning bells in your pea brain?!” I shrill.

There are things that even I can’t laugh at, no matter how hard I try. Still, as long as I or a body part don’t end up in a trophy case, this might seem as funny to me as it has to Lucy and Shannon.

Eventually.

“This is not funny, and I am not joking!” Thankfully or unfortunately, whichever works, ‘Jonathan’ chooses that moment to launch himself on a squirrel thinking it’s a bat.

“DIE DEMON,” his sharp accented declaration is likely heard by the people in the lobby, it’s so loud. Not to mention every other person doing their best to avoid the lunatic as they walk through the thirty by thirty swing doors.

I all but pounce out of the hedge, using a rather portly man as a human shield in case the vampire hunter dares look back. Once inside the pristine lobby, I do not ‘run’ to the elevators. It is, after all, one of five or six major conglomerates that have the ability to blacklist me from ever working in this city again. So I skitter towards the closing doors.

And I would baseball slide into the safety of the tiny tin coffin if it wouldn’t rip my pencil skirt.

Once inside the box inside the garishly pressed tin box, I press the floor to the notary, and let out a shrill, not giving one hoot stick who hears me.

“How in the h e double hockey sticks does me getting laid equate to breaking the curse of the bad luck cat that YOU! Yes, YOU, Nikolai, stuck me with?!” Over having to control my volume, not that Autistics can without heavy concentration.

“Where…..”

“I’m in a frizzing TOD,” I roar over the nobleman on his earpiece to Nicky’s question on speakerphone, only to get a sharp schnitzel hiss from him. My civilian brother is more than aware that I side with Alex on elevators being death traps. Well all special forces soldiers really.

Hence, the Tiny Tin Box of Doom, T.O.B.D., pronounced Todd or sometimes Toddy. Elevators can also be called TTCs, Tiny Tin Coffins, pronounced tocks, not to be confused with Terrified Civilians, T.C.s pronounced ticks.

“Even if we skip me hanging by my knickers like a Wonderlight ornament over a motel pool. Your oh so fantastic selection process has landed me at a steakhouse with a vegan stripper trying to recruit me, a married priest with turrets trying to seduce me in a confessional, and who can forget the clown with an X-rated non con honking habit chasing me through a pride parade!”

“And that was just last week! I am still getting daily messages from Ginger. You know the moonlighting contortionist with a foot fetish, you sent me to my first ever professional pedicure with. I can practically set my clock by her daily polish suggestions. Not to mention the request for photos of my pretty toes for her to rub one out to!”

Twenty floors to go.

“All of which I could forgive if you didn’t set me up with an anorexic Mexican who believes he is a fictional character; ruining one of my favorite romance novels with the experience!

Now you won’t have to worry about the big city swallowing my midget body whole, since the proper schizophrenic you gave my personal information is stalking me!” I stamp my foot with a sharp intake of breath.

“He’s a stalker, Nicky! You know how I feel about stalkers! They are up there with being late, daisies and Hitler! ” I heave in a shaky breath, battling down the panic.

“We are well past the point of comedy of errors! Because of you and that stupid dating profile, I’m not only being stalked, but am going to be late on my first day wearing a naughty secretary outfit from a stripper’s closet! That’s if I don’t end up in a trophy case before I check in!”

I don’t even register his attempt to speak. I’m so miffed.

“How..........?” He croaks out, likely focusing on how I am wearing stripper’s clothing. Well, because it was the only thing remotely stretchy.

“Oh, why, you ask?!” I correct him anyway. “Because ‘Jonathan’ oh so diligently slept in front of my apartment door all bloody weekend to trap Dracula while I stayed at LUCY’S!

“Lucy?” He sputters.

“Ryan’s room-mate! You know, the only people in this city you haven’t catfished with your hair-brain, half-baked attempts at turning rom-com meet-cutes turned into real-life meet-horrors! So not only could I not get in my apartment for proper clothes. Your newest selection has evaded the authorities and is out front of one of the most prestigious firms in the whole city!

Leaving me to dive in a bush, spill the best coffee I’ve ever tasted down the borrowed naughty secretary librarian outfit. Waiting until ‘Jonathan’ launched himself on a frizzing squirrel thinking it was a bat; giving me just enough time to shuttle my booty across marble floors like a retarded penguin in a skirt three sizes too small and six-inch hooker heels that by some miracle fit!”

“Niccolo, I will have to call you back.”

There are times I feel like Autism should be referred to as Association Disorder, because of the involuntary and never-ending comparisons we have to make before we can process anything. At the moment, all I can see behind my eyes are the women I watch in courtroom dramadies scuttling like giant mentally impaired birds.

Ones that Nicky and I made fun of until I found myself in too tight clothes I can’t properly move in. The AI elevator lady chimes, “fortieth floor,” breaking my brief moment of introspection with the businessman ending his call.

“So do me a favor and stick whatever nonsense you have left in Mary’s Mossy Cobbler because I will be celibate for the rest of my days before I ever let you set me up on a non-con blind date again!” As the doors ding, I’m all but crouching in a racer’s pose to bolt out of there as quickly as possible.

Looking at the garish carpet rather than either man tucked to the back corners of my hot toddy. I silently lift a prayer that this building and this city is way too large to ever see them again.

Just as I’m about to bolt, the square tips of heeled boots come into my vision with an all but howled, “Mina, my love!”

“Jonathan...........”

---

Chapter 1:4 Sucking Dracula's Face Like A Starved Sex Demon, Xoxo Nyx