Thursday, 22 November 2012

You've Got Male Models: The Start Pt. 3

This is the final installment of the The Start.
I wake to the steady strum of a healthy heart. The lull of the arias and ventricular walls almost send me back to sleep. Almost, because the morning glare turns the inside of my eyelids red and I quickly realize I can't struggle to move away from the light. Alarm sets in and I force myself to pry my eyelids open. It takes a lot of fluttering as my hands can't reach to rub away the grittiness. 

My face is pressed against the skin of a planed chest.

My legs kick out in a conditioned reflex and I struggle to shimmy my shoulders out of the vice-grip that has pinned my arms to my sides.

He lets out a sharp yelp when I knee him in the thigh, releasing his grip over my arms momentarily in confusion.

Realizing too late that my arms are asleep, in an attempt to sit up, I end up slipping over the plastic of the mattress in my squirming and tumble to the hardwood floor. A chuckle gains my attention from my ungraceful fall and I peer up at my bed.

"Morning, sweetheart," Tristan chimes, yawning, peeking over the mattress to address me. He props his head up with his hand, smiling brightly under his halo of ruffled blonde curls. 

The bedroom door slams open and Jones surveys the room in a panic. "Someone fell," he starts then notices me on the floor. He visibly relaxes and shoots Tristan an accusing glare. 

Rolling my shoulder and clenching my hands to regain the circulation, I regard Tristan as well. "Why are you in my bed?"

He shrugs and rolls over onto his back, his head hanging over the edge. "We don't have a bed and you do. And it's very comfy." He flutters his green eyes at me, upside-down. "You're pretty comfy to cuddle, too."

I stare at him, head cocked to the side, dissecting whether the comment is rhetorical or if he expects a compliment as well.

My confusion causes Tristan to flip over again to face me and he mirrors my confusion with furrowed eyebrows directed at Jones.

Jones sidles beside me, stretching out his hand and I take the offer to pull myself up, glad to be off the cold floor.

"I got us coffee," Jones states, "we'll talk over coffee."

I can only nod, remembering yesterday and the predicament, so Tristan and I follow Jones to the kitchen where three take-out cups of coffee sit on the counter. Yesterday's mess is completely gone and the kitchen has been wiped down to a shine. Jones hands me a coffee, then offers Tristan one.

"Our plan isn't going to work," he says, picking up his own coffee and pointing it at me. "She's not going to be easily persuaded."

"I don't take lightly to being talked about when I am right here, so tell me what you are talking about," I interject, sipping the coffee. Tristan smiles and throws an arm around my shoulders, almost knocking my cup out of my hands. 

"Well," Tristan drawls, leaning himself into me. He's over 6 ft tall and his weight is starting to cause me to stagger. "We were going to use our charming powers to seduce you to move out." He flutters his eyelashes at me, probably to soften the manipulative plot. 

I don't sputter. Instead, realizing that this must be how they convinced Mrs. Truant, I nod my head as the pieces start to fit together. "Alright, I suppose now you can move out. I have not been charmed."

Tristan abandons his coffee on the counter to throw his other arm around me as well, locking me in a hug. "No, we need this place!" he wails. Jones perches himself on the counter to watch, sipping his coffee with mild amusement. "We have no where else to go! We came to his city with dreams! We promise to pay our half of the rent and we won't bother you or anything! We'll be lamps, I swear!"

My feet aren't touching the ground anymore and my coffee dangles from my trapped hands. Jones sighs and hops off the counter to pluck my coffee out of my hands. "Tris, put her down. Guilt-tripping her isn't working either."

Tristan gently lowers me back onto the ground with an apologetic smile. I collapse on the floor, sitting cross-legged to think. "Have you tried anywhere else?" I ask.

Jones joins me on the floor, sliding my coffee towards me. "Yes, but they're all full. Mrs. Truant says this apartment has two bedrooms and Tristan and I can share a room. We'll pay for half of the rent. We have the money, so that'll cover for a couple months before we start our jobs."

Tristan sits beside Jones and nods his head. "We just signed our contracts for a modeling agency and they have a couple photo shoots for us next week."

I take a moment to calculate the living arrangement and they have far better outcomes than living alone with my hectic schedule and the large space. They'll be able to be here when I'm at the hospital and since this would be a shared space, maintenance of the apartment would not be an issue anymore. Rent would be split, although money isn't the issue for me. So, reluctantly, I agree. 

Jones holds back Tristan from pouncing on me with a hand firmly on his nude chest. "Well, we'll start again with the formal introductions then," he begins, nodding. "I'm Jones Sedlack."

"I'm Tristan Kayle." He bends at the waist with a dramatic bow, waving his hands around himself as he dips his head. "And, since yesterday, we are officially male models."

I try to think back to high school for references of what a "male model" is and tuck away it away for something to research after work.

Work! I shoot up off the floor and march to my bedroom, realizing that I have to be at my new hospital today. Tristan and Jones follow me to my room, alarmed and curious to my sudden departure. They hang around my door, blocking my exit. 

Tucking my towel, change of clothes and toiletry bag under my arm, I attempt to squeeze through between their tall bodies. "I have to be at the hospital today and I would like to be on time on my first day," is my explanation when they refuse to move.

"Are you sick?" Tristan asks, concern washing over his face in an unfamiliar frown.
I stop to regard his concern for me as it is genuine. "No," I speak, calmly, recognizing devastation and handling it as I would with my patients. "I'm the new heart surgeon and I need to be on time to tour the hospital." 

They open up enough space for me to get through, as if in a stunned daze. I head to the bathroom down the hall, showering efficiently and quickly dressing. When I open the bathroom door ten minutes later, they stand in front of the doorway. 

"You haven't introduced yourself," Jones supplies, arms crossed. He attempts to use his height to intimidate me, but I'm used to the height disadvantage and ignore it.

"Chris Cahill," I state, and they open up a path for me between themselves like a gate. I deposit what's in my arms on my desk, deciding it's perfect now that it wasn't set up in the other room, and grab my messenger bag from my travel bag. I fly past them in the hallway, unfolding the bag as I scurry past the living room and straight out the door without acknowledging their wide eyes and gaping mouths.


I promise to properly fix these in the future, as these are just rough drafts and I will probably want to elaborate on details and such after I've shaped my characters.

Thank you so much for putting up with this, I'll definitely reward you all with something fun!


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