QUARANFLING

Chapter 3: 911 Was Not Working

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C A R S O N

"I know you're lying, Bish," I deadpanned at him. "Again!" I demanded in the most forceful tone possible, and to my astonishment, he listened.

"Rock, paper, scissors, SHOOT!" his voice boomed loudly down the narrow stairwell.

I drew out paper while holding my hand behind my back. "I'm drawing a rock," I confidently stated, hoping he didn't notice my psychological tactic.

"I got paper," he declared confidently. At the count of three, we revealed our hands and were both taken aback to discover both of us were lying through our teeth. His fingers slashed the paper I handed out, immaturely.

"I freaking knew it," I grumbled, instinctively bending my head and displaying my nape. I prepared for the powerful flick he was about to unleash on the back of my head. "f**k," I mumbled. Despite my knowledge of what was about to happen, I am still unable to get accustomed to his raw strength.

He certainly wasn't restraining his flicks, since that ached like a b***h!

"My turn," I frantically yanked on his sleeves, attempting to reach his head, but he only grinned and placed his enormous palm on my head, restraining me.

"What are you referring to? You continue to lose, girl. Not my problem!" He cackled and clutched his sides.

I ignored him and hurried up to the 26th floor.

I had 15 floors to go and my lungs were hardly functioning.

"Here. Please do not pass out on me. I wouldn't be able of carrying you," He extended a bottle of water to me. He unscrewed the cap and held the bottle's mouth against my lips. He gradually tipped the container, allowing me to drink from it, and before I knew it, I was swallowing gulps after gulps until I was nearly through with the bottle. I shifted my head back, telling him to remove it, and he quickly followed suit, screwing the lid on and sliding the bottle back into the pocket of his jacket.

I just convinced a celebrity to assist me in drinking water! Yay, what a feat.

"You mean I am as light as a feather?" I pretended to be in pain.

"Yeah, yeah," he merely nodded. "I told you I could make you loosen up with me even before we reach our floor," he said, nudging my shoulder with his.

"Sure, yeah, whatever you say," I mimicked him playfully. "You're not nearly as awful as you appear." I proudly patted him on the back.

This young man is a tower! I anticipated him to be tall, but not Jack and the Beanstalk-tall! He is also slightly skinnier than how his body is portrayed on television, yet this physique gives him an advantage over the majority of supermodels. He appeared to be capable of making even a sack look fashionable.

Celebrities are unlike your typical everyday person.

I gave myself a knowing nod.

That is quite impressive.

"Hey," I called for his attention.

He immediately came to a halt as he stared down the railings, "Yeah, what's the matter?" he wiped his eyelid innocently. He appeared fatigued already, but he does not sound exhausted. He is more adept at concealing his exhaustion than I am. Is this also one of the qualifications for becoming a class A celebrity?

"Would you like to take a brief break?" I inquired, already seated at the top of the stairs on the 30th floor, as he approached the 31st floor. He climbed down quickly and sat next to me.

"Can we truly relax here?" he asked cautiously. His head jerked around as if he were searching for something—or more accurately, guarding his surroundings.

"Of course," I said as I touched the tile, beckoning him to approach. I retrieved my wet wipes from my jacket—I always have one with me because I'm the biggest klutz you'll ever meet—and gently dampened a sheet on his forehead, pushing up his curtained bangs and placing the wipes beneath them to prevent his sweat from rolling down his eyes.

I've observed he's wearing a full face of makeup, and his attire suggests he was planned to be somewhere spectacular had it not been for the unexpected change of events.

"Thank you," he softly said shortly afterwards as he cleared his throat.

"I could locate another room to stay in once the 'lockdown'—" I raised my fingers and made a frisky air quote, "—is over. You are not obligated to do so."

"What?" he asked; his cute face contorted with confusion. Norman does, after all, have an excellent sense of taste in guys.

"Fret not. Tonight, I am volunteering to sleep in the living room," With my elbow, I gently poked his side.

"Aw, can't wait to get out of here now, can you?" mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I was taken aback by his unusual sense of humor. It made me believe he was a normal person who got caught up in the wrong field. We may have been buddies if I did not know him.

However, who am I to argue? Gun of Black Chives is his moniker.

"Yes," I mockingly rolled my eyes at him, which elicited his own sarcastic eye roll.

"You appear to be possessed," I cackled, surprising myself by slamming him in the back. I felt compelled to watch my conduct and repent from my sudden confidence. I have to break this ridiculous habit as soon as possible. When I returned his gaze to whisper a brief apology, his dazzling teasing face diverted my attention away from the trail of apologies and saw him amusingly wriggling his brows.

"You look... lovely," he said with a smile. I gave him a look that begged the question, "Was he insane?" "Are you now a fan of mine?" He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed my arms playfully, enveloping my frame in his body. Too close, too close.

"Get off of me, you filth!" He has an indescribably pleasant aroma.

"There is no reason to be shy now!" he exclaimed, laughing.

It was a near-death experience being suffocated in a hug by a man who couldn't control his own strength. I badly failed to force him away, and I reasoned that there was nothing that could possibly cause him to flee off of me.

Until the loud, heavy emergency door pulled open, revealing a bunch of women my age panting desperately as if they'd just escaped death.

This is not going to go down well. Shite, shite, shite.

I cursed silently in my brain. I leapt to my feet, prompting Gun to stare at whoever was at the door.

"Oh my gosh, Black Clover's Gunner?!?" the lady said. Then, as her group of friends identified the man standing behind me, a succession of fan-girling noises erupted. My survival instinct prompted me to sprint up the stairs while I reminded myself that I had nothing to do with him and had no stake in what was occurring, allaying my guilt for leaving him behind.

I felt like the most heinous person on the planet for opting to flight than to fight.

However, my legs came to a halt on the 33rd floor. My body was washed over by a tsunami of guilt. I was unable to take another step, yet I resisted my guilt. I should not feel guilty for anything! I should not feel sorry for anything, yet I do.

I suffer from a slight form of agoraphobia. For me, the staircases are enough of a nuisance. I was incapable to addressing two triggers concurrently. There is a reason I preferred to hang out at tranquil yet semi-crowded establishments such as the bingo club. I get to enjoy mingling without too many people prying into my affairs. The only bearable noise I hear is the club emcee monotonously calling bingo numbers. It served as a form of therapy for me. Additionally, I am eligible to win prizes!

When I reached my floor, my breathing gradually slowed. I dragged my weary legs to my room and used muscle memory to tap the key card. I pulled the door open quickly and dashed to the kitchen for water.

"Welcome home, cheater," a voice behind me growled fiercely.

I choked on my drink and spat it out of my lips as soon as I saw his face dangerously close to mine. I snorted with laughter as he didn't even flinch or wipe his now-wet face.

"You're sleeping on the couch," he said, staring straight into the depths of my soul. His gazes were hushed but lethal. He softly turned around and began walking away, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

I silently followed his trail and discovered him seated in the living room, fiddling with the remote controller on the glass coffee table. "How did you arrive so quickly?" I casually asked as I sat next to him.

He grumbled as he went further to the end of the couch, as if a child having a tantrum for not obtaining what he desired. He scoffed, "Elevator."

My eyes widened, "So, you're saying I could have used the elevator?" I spat violently. He was the one who insisted on taking the stairs! I would never, under any circumstances, take the darned staircase if not for his adamant refusal to use the lift! I jeopardized my meager stamina and frail heart for what?

"You're unbelievable," I disappointedly shook my head and grabbed a throw pillow for comfort. I hugged it in anger, pretending that it was him. No, that actually seems wrong.

I saw him grab his phone from his pocket out of the corner of my eye as his other hand lazily flipped through the stations on the television. I pulled the controller from his grasp, as he was dizzying me. He gave me a silent glance before refocusing his attention on his phone.

"Stupid boy," I whispered to myself as I turned through the channels in search of the information I sought.

Breaking News

Covid-19 has invaded the country, causing 147,350 deaths as of last week and a further 45,300 cases as of today. It is considered to be the world's most contagious virus, capable of killing hundreds in a single day. The Royal Palace had imposed a statewide lockdown on all modes of public and private mobility.

I flipped through the channels. I didn't enjoy unpleasant news nearly as much as I am obligated to be aware of it. I promptly switched to another new station to discover that every piece of news was about this Covid-19. Goosebumps rushed up my spine, causing chills to run through my entire body.

It is estimated to have a 34 percent negative impact on the economy, but only with everyone's assistance in remaining indoors can we tackle this cataclysmic crisis—

The television abruptly went black and all channels were replaced by static. I took my phone from my back pocket and began scrolling through my contacts. I rushed to click on Norman's contact information.

Calling Wifey?...

Thankfully, she responded on the third ring. "Yellow! This is Norms—wait a minute, b***h, this is you! Finally, you've decided to return my calls!" In a sing-song tone of voice, she stated sarcastically.

"I'm the one who phoned you, girl."

"Oh, that's correct, shite!" On the other end of the line, I heard her laugh, which never fails to soothe my anxiety. "I was about to phone you to inform that you had forgotten to bring your suitcase!"

"What kind of bag? I got my bag," I watched over my luggage, which was strewn about on the floor. I really should pick up my belongings off the floor.

"Listen, are you safe right now, wherever you are?" I talked in a hurried tone, anxious to get to the point or else I would miss the perfect moment to cut off this chatter box in the middle of her sentence.

"Naturally, I am, but are you? You have the wrong luggage, sweetheart. My stash is the one you're holding," she cackled, perplexed. I could already picture her sarcastic expression. Gosh, I already miss her.

"I'm not sure," my gaze shifted to the man who appeared to be on his own phone call. "Yes, I'll be OK," I exhaled, disregarding her confusion.

"Okay, if you say so. Simply refrain from crying bloody murderer when you discover I am telling the truth and you have the wrong bags. In any case, how was your stay in a seven-star hotel? Isn't that lovely?!" she perked up eagerly, her voice brimming with pleasure.

"It's wonderful. You'd be quite at home here. You should have joined me, you know," I let out a sigh. My fingers fiddled with the hem of my shirt as I noticed Gun walking in circles in my peripheral vision.

"Take care not to miss me too much! Ugh, my colleagues already believe I'm going scissor-to-scissor with you!" She blurted out carelessly. Such a quintessential Norm. "To be honest, I blame my love; I went to their fan site because they advertised a surprise concert near our flat, only for them to cancel it at the last minute due to my love's disappearance. To be expected of Gunner. I'm currently enroute to my family as a result of this Covid virus. I failed to inform you that I'll be visiting family for a week or two while you're away. I'm not interested in being left alone in the flat!"

The mild adoration in her voice whenever she talks about him. She is referring to Gunner. My mind was instantly filled with an idea. She's about to flip!

"Can you please park your car first, Norms? I'd like for you to hear something "I spoke in hushed tones to the phone.

"I'm not interested in having phone s*x right now, Conrad!" she sparked a joke.

"Cut it out!" As I drew closer to Gun, I whispered. I found him currently smoking on the balcony, instantly, my confidence faltered. "Oh, I don't believe this is the time."

"What are you referring to? I'm parked."

"Nevermind. Call me when you return home, all right? Take care and drive safely! Tell my regards to your mom and dad." We both exchanged our farewell rituals, and she was the first to hang up.

I stood next to him as my eyes wandered off around the beauty of the skyscrapers.

"What are you referring to? Avoid canceling them! I got the instruments. You are welcome to send your henchmen to my room to get them," he puffed angrily as he lit another cigarette. I noticed him fumbling with the lighter so, I stepped out to light it for him.

He was initially taken aback to see me, but soon calmed down when he saw I had arrived in peace. "Nevermind. Simply contact me when they arrive. Maintain the schedule. Do not wait for me to return. The boys are capable of handling the tour without me." He then quickly reinserted his phone into his pocket.

Without saying anything, I snatched his cigarette pack from his grasp and took a stick. He kept a silent eye on my every action. I was ready to light the cigarette when his hand pulled it away. "What—" he interrupted me by flinging his lighter open and lighting it for me.

"Truce?" he puckered his lips, blowing a thick cloud of smoke as he lifted his fist.

I took a single long breath through pursed lips before pounding my knuckles against his balled hands. I smirked, "Truce."

That was the way we resolved our disagreements and miscommunications.

"Might as well be friends while we're imprisoned together," he whispered gently with a faint smile. As we stare at the sea of tall skyscrapers in front of us, I nod in agreement.