Morning Encounters

Funny thing about dreams is that no matter how pleasant they may be they do not change the reality met upon waking.  Thus, the woman that dreams of being beautiful still awakens to being plain and by her own estimation dumpy.  One who dreams of a pleasant time spent in splendid company will still rise to an empty bed and days of wondering how others interact so freely and so happily.  Those who dream of a carefree, painless existence still crawl from bed with the same old aches and cramps, reminders of a body destined to slog through life.

There lies no surprise therefore that Robyn grumpily trudged from her room to the kitchen, scowl set firmly in place.  She puffed the stray bits of dark hair out of her eyes to see Aaron beaming his flawless smile at her from the kitchen table.  Truth be told, the sight wasn't an altogether unpleasant one.  Aaron stood a manly six feet and two inches, and all his body bespoke a dedication to health and exercise, the very specimin of vim and vigor.  Even at this early hour, his surfer-boy blond hair was set perfectly in place, stylish and professional. 

The man was nigh unto a Greek god.  He was also her roommate's boyfriend, not Beth Ann's but Payton's.  The roommate in question came shortly, swishing out of the back hallway, emerging like a resplendent queen before her subjects.  Flowing blond hair rained shimmering over shapely shoulders.  She moved gracefully and effortlessly on staggeringly high heels, perfectly matched in color to her skirt suit that somehow managed to be both professional and alluringly clingy.  Her smile, ever the slightly lop-sided, sardonic smirk greeted Robyn with its usual level of condescension.

Robyn puffed again at the stray strands of hair in her face and considered her own frumpy, flannel pajamas, "If you're boyfriend's not going to realize he doesn't have to stay the night after you whore it up, the least you could do is frakking let a girl know the apartment's...infested."

Before Robyn made it two steps back towards her own room, Payton began, the smirk setting quickly into a thin line of indignation, "Where do you get off..."

"Shove it up your Tampax," Robyn shot back hotly, intent on escaping the glaring light of the common area, the morning sun streaming as it was through the sliding glass door to the balcony.

Having none of that, Payton positioned herself, arms folded and hips cocked in a stern stance, between Robyn and the doorway, "You and your mouth, Roe, honestly, some days..."

"Some days what?  Huh?  What, you might do something and risk breaking a smegging nail or mussing your hair?" Robyn challenged, folding her arms and assuming a similar pose.

"Not everything gets solved physically," Payton retorted coolly, though her voice was seething.

The End

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