Jessica Pt. 01

"I don't have a home. I don't need a home"

"Uhh," she does a perfect imitation of Ross when he's confused, "everybody's gotta have a home, and this one isn't yours."

"I am only following Ross." I say.

"Well, hows about Ross, takes you back to wherever he found you, and you just play it by ear from there."

"Play it by ear. I have never played an instrument before. Or a game for that matter. I have done very little, aside from follow Ross to this place."

"Okay, Ross," Ashley puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head, "I can't deal with this. I'm like, tripping out right now!"

"She's like, tripping out right now, Ross." I concur. He closes his eyes as though I've just made a mistake. These people have apparently never heard of a conversation before.

"Get her OUT OF HERE!" Ashley screams to Ross. I smile.

"She's got no where else to go! Let's give her some clothes and figure out what's going on."

"I don't care what her problem is."

"I haven't got a problem." I interrupt. "You do though. And it sounds like it's about little old me."

"Jess," Ross pants, "please stop! Ash, she's not a whore-Jess, keep your mouth shut or so help me God-I wanna figure out what's up with her. I don't want to just let her go out there where she can get hurt."

"We're not her parents. She's a grown woman, she's gotta know how to take care of herself."

"Yeah, but listen to her... you haven't heard some of the things she's said. She's not all right in there." Ross says, pointing to the side of his head. Ashley considers me. She's wearing remnants of eye-shadow. I can see from the kitchen light streaming in behind her that she has green eyes. I find this, more agreeable Ashley, to be less attractive than the critical one. "Let's just give her a chance, like, two-three nights. Give her that much, please. I put my ass on the line to keep that sack of shit, Wally, from hauling her down to the station."

Ashley swallows and purses her lips. "Let's figure out what's going on, but that's it!" I give Ross a thumbs up and he begins to perspire once more. "So, your name is Jessica." Ashley mumbles. I detect a hint of... jealousy? Envy? A bittersweet lifting sensation in her tone.

"Ross suggested Jessica." I say. Part of me wants to insight anger from Ross's beloved, for simple observation of her emotions. Her being upset arouses me as well. I cannot explain why. Perhaps it is the smell; the thick body odor of discomfort and rage.

"I told you she was off her rocker." Ross grins.

"I am no longer on the rocker." I acknowledge, causing Ashley to giggle.

"You know what I think," asks Ross, and he somehow leads his woman into the living room with a single touch of the shoulder. "I think she's an alien."

"An alien." Ashley repeats, jokingly. They speak as though I am not here, or that I have no ears with which to hear. Still, I don't mind. I haven't the foggiest whether or not I am this extra-terrestrial they think I am. My preformed knowledge of these things, phrases and alter-phrases, and interesting turns of speech suggests that I have learned them before in some time or place that I am no longer capable of remembering. "She probably hit her head and got amnesia." Ashley confirms my most probable conclusion.

Amnesia: the loss of memory, temporary or otherwise. Suppositions of reclaiming these seemingly invaluable former occurrences have been told throughout human history, usually by the mining and understanding of some relic or artifact keying to the past that said person has lost. I have no recollection of the events that have supposedly taken place before my waking up precisely twenty-two minutes and forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven-seconds ago, aside from a short flash of the storm drain where I initially found myself this evening. Therefore happenings that have occurred before my realization of being are, in essence, irrelevant.

"I don't think it's amnesia." Ross ponders aloud, as though the product of discussion may lead to some use. "With amnesia you might not know who you are, but you sure as hell wouldn't have that out-going confidence. And I'm sure you'd be smart enough to wear clothes. Unless she got a nuclear case of-no... no, I don't believe it. Couldn't be." Ross shakes his head. He's excited at my staying in his house though. He thinks of me as a science project.

"Who knows?" Ashley frowns and sits on the couch.

"If you have any clothing that I might acquire charitably, then I would not oppose." I state.

"Oh, right!" Ashley jumps to her feet quicker than when she sat down. She is as excited as Ross to doll me up; another phrase whose source I am unaware of receiving. "Right this way, Barbie."

Ashley proposes another American icon, directed to me, comparing me to the blonde middle-aged woman who is filled with mythology as to whether or not she is married to a man named Ken and living life out with purchasable housing upgrades, vehicles, children, or if she is simply dating this dreamy man with perfectly brown hair and a collection of clothes rivaling his match.

The product is a tool used to direct the minds of young girls to the superficial wealthy conservative female stereotype that the majority of young girls naturally dream of, aiming and controlling their attention with additional merchandise available to increase lenience within the mythology, giving the interactive imagination that only a child can produce a sense of fate over the life and story of this magnificent woman with torpedo breasts and a vagina-less crotch.

"Hey, Ash," Ross stops his wife in mid-stride and points at me. I swap my gaze between them curiously as they observe a strangeness in my nature that is very unlike their own. Ross is good at this sort of attention to detail, I have noticed. "When I found her earlier, she smelled like ass and had crap in her hair."

"So?" Ashley studies my mane of blonde hair, most of which I cannot see.

"So, her hair is not only dried and cleaned now, but styled." He drags a lock from my shoulder. Sure enough, it is a shiny, silk curl, glistening in the kitchen light. "And I'm smelling perfume too." The aroma he's smelling is an exuberant model from Chanel. I have noticed, since my awakening, that I have a precise and savvy sense of smell, all of which is defined by a dictionary that is unfamiliar to me-but defined, sure enough.

"Is that eye-shadow? And blush?" Ashley squints at me. She is interested, not upset: curses.

"Curses." I frown.

Ashley and Ross exchange a worried glance.

"Dude," Ashley steps away, "this is really starting to freak me out, Ross."

"Hey Jess... do you know what's happening to you? Can you tell us?" Ross inquires. His tone insinuates that I am too slow to comprehend what he would say in a regularly paced conversation. Irritating as it is, I am inclined to respond.

Random message: "Curses, you have swindled my evil plan!"

Random action: I give the two of them a thumbs up.

Random emotion: I cry. Tears spill down my cheeks.

"Oh my GOD!" Ashley shrieks, clutching at the hem of her undershirt. This is an anxious or unnerved motion. I do not find it attractive or intriguing in the least-in fact, I am afraid I might have upset these people. "She's possessed or something." I have turned Ashley's mood upside down

"Regardless, I am feeling very randy just now." I hear the words aloud and wonder why.

"What?" Ross laughs and lifts his hands, in what seems as protest. Humor is a feat I simply don't understand with these people. It stems from nowhere at all and for no reason whatsoever. That there is a whole career dedicated to such a random art is miraculous.

"All right, Ross," Ashley narrows her gaze upon her husband. "This girl is dumb as hell, half-naked, and horny: she's a fucking hooker!"

"I don't-think-that's-how," Ross retaliates as though his wife's words are weapons, "it is. Look at her! She's the prettiest woman in the world!" Spark. I feel something... perplexing in my chest: an overwhelming sensation of joy, happiness, and ecstasy-something that is only ignited by very drastic emotions.

"Ross," Ashley is furious. Her husband is in love with me. I am fine and dandy-randy, pandy. "If I wasn't so stoned, then I'd think you were out of your mind." Ashley is stoned. I will remember this turn of phrase for someone whose emotions are extremely unstable and easily manipulated by his or her surroundings.

"No, you're missing the point, Ash." Ross says. "She's perfect, in almost every way. Don't you see anything wrong with that?"

"I am perfect in all ways." I critique.

"No one's perfect, Jessica." Ashley appears to be on the verge of tears. She is very stoned.

"I am perfect." I repeat, for lack of a better, more logical response.

"See," Ross continues, "she's the perfect sex object. Blond, blue eyes, great tits, an ass that is so poppin' I get dizzy looking at it for too long. This bitch would look sexy in anything." I am unsure as to whether I should be ecstatic or upset about this. The two weigh equally.

Random message and action: "That's right baby, yeah!" I swing my bare bottom toward the two and slap the left cheek with the curve of my palm. Ross's eyes glaze over before they roll back into his head. He falls backward and I hear a distinct crack as his head connects with the plastic tiled kitchen floor. Ashley shrieks. A flash of pleasure ripples through my spinal cord at the sound. I am smiling.

"Shit!" Ashley mops her forehead with one hand as she kneels over her husband. "Not again, Ross. Not now. Don't leave me with this crazy bitch!"

"He appears to have suffered a panic attack. Such is not entirely uncommon during very intense intercourse. The stress level of the environment was very hot when Mr. Ross lost consciousness."

"Would you shut up, please?" Ashley pampers Ross's left and right cheek with her hand, as though this act might bring him back around.

"Judging by the blow he suffered-approximately one-hundred and seventy-two pounds swinging downward to a plastic floor, reinforced by a concrete support underneath-he has a two in five chance of having suffered a concussion." I say, intentionally defying Ashley's instructions. I wish to inspire madness from her before she inevitably sends me on my way. My comment was to no avail as Ashley ignores me.

"Dude," Ross has awakened, "I did it again didn't I?" Ashley nods to this. She helps her disoriented spouse to his feet. She feels sorry for him. Ross sees me and lays a hand over his chest. "Get some coats on her, she's making me crazy."

"I make you crazy baby!" I cry in automatic response.

Ross plants both fists on either side of his forehead and shakes himself back and forth, while Ashley hurries into another room to retrieve my coats. A moment later, Ashley is putting a large furry jacket that smells heavily of minx urine over my shoulders.

"Pants," Ross points at my smooth, tanned, bare legs, "those big baggy sweats my uncle gave me a long time ago."

"I threw those out!" Ashley calls as she disappears into the hallway. "I'll see what else I have."

"Bagged sweat-sounds uber-super-duper disgusto, el chacko." I say.

Ross groans and looks at me the way one would look at a time bomb, ticking closer to its end.

"What did she say?" Ashley asks from the hall.

"Forget it, honey-just get the pants, and some shoes too." Their combined tones suggest that this is an emergency situation. Based on the waves of stress and unpleasantness coursing between the walls of this apartment, they would both appreciate my absence. I'm staying for the sake of research. If I am ever to understand what these people believe in and how to act amongst them, I will have to study every aspect of their odd and perturbed lives.

The more I discover about these two fascinating human beings who are both very stoned all the time, the more I see how deeply bizarre their programming is. They are clearly animals and yet they treat felines to their identical sheltered, indoor lifestyle, making its pathetic existence as helter-skelter as the human beings themselves. I watch Ross and Ashley's pet cat bound into the kitchen and stare at me from under the food-stained pink table-cloth. It purrs for a moment before disappearing under the table.

The creature leaps onto the counter and begins to paw at something in the sink. A yellow light hangs over its head, buzzing with flies and moths before the open window to the city beyond. I have a strong desire to destroy this cat as it is a rodent. Yet, I cannot bring myself to act on the thought for it would be... unacceptable under the conditions.

Ashley finishes dressing me in a pair of gray sweatpants, and a pair of old sneakers. I'm still wearing Ross's plaid red and black shirt under the minx jacket.

"She looks like a soccer mom out for a run on a chilly morning." Ross comments. His five o'clock shadow is getting severe.

"SHERRI!" Ashley screams at the cat. It races into action across the floor, zigzagging between the table-legs where it darts down the hall and out of sight. Watching it flee felt wonderful on a primal level of my brain. It is almost sexual.

I see knives on the kitchen counter. Knives are very dangerous and lead to naughty things. The room is draped in gold from the bulb over Sherri the Cat's crime scene. Ashley lifts a tube of defrosting ground beef from the sink, trickling its oozy pink goo like human innards. A drip of beef juice slides down her wrist, coiling about her forearm to her elbow near where she has pulled back the sleeve of her over shirt. The bead of juice hangs-it doesn't drop; it hangs, swaying, threatening to fall with her ever frustrated movement.

"Hey Jess," Ross addresses me directly for the first time since his awakening. Funny, we've both had awakenings today. He is sitting in a chair at the round kitchen table, holding a bag of ice to the back of his head. "Tap your head for me, would you?" I place my hand on my head, eager to see where this request takes me. "Now, rub your belly." I shrug, and swirl my free palm over my stomach, still tapping my head with the other. "Jump up and down."

"Ross." Ashley's tone is testing.

"Just a second, Ash." Ross states as I bounce up and down on the toes of the shoes, which I now realize are a size too large for me. He's in science project mode again. His eyes get squinty, and his mouth hangs open a little. "Spin in a circle." I spin, hopping, tapping, and rubbing all at once.

"Tell her to stop, we're gonna piss off the neighbors again."

"I continue my awkward dance until Ross notions for me to stop. I stand, looking curiously between the two who appear as baffled as the air warrants, as though his experiment has hailed nothing more than irritation.

"All right," says Ross, "I have one more hypothesis."

"I hope it's better than your last one." Ashley rolls her eyes and dries her hands on a towel over the sink. I cannot decipher the seriousness in her statement.

"It's really simple and all I ask in return for the clothes, Jessica, is a blowjob." Ross smirks and kicks his chair back as though beckoning me to service him.

"Uhh..." Ashley cocks her brow and crosses her arms as she looks at me. I step forward, licking my lips. This is a subject in which I have vast knowledge and skills for reasons I am unsure of. I bow to one knee between Ross's open legs. He's wearing blue-jeans. I see from the tent at his crotch that he is erect and well prepared for this endeavor. I place my thumb and forefinger on his zipper, and then Ashley steps forward and wrenches my wrist backward.

"I was given a direct order. Please release me lest I will be forced to insure that you do not intercept my task again." I state, receiving apprehensive looks from each of them.

"It's okay, Jess." Ross resides. "Let her go, Ashley."

Ashley lets go of my hand, glaring at me. She is so very sexy when she is mad at me. I wish we could loathe one another for all eternity.

Ross smiles. "She does whatever you tell her. Ask her anything; I bet she'll do it."

"Anything? Like a slave?" Ashley inquires.

"I do engage in limited masochistic activity. I must be careful though." Humans are very fragile beings, often enjoying their emotion of pain both sexually and physically. I don't understand why indulging in such a brutally self-mutilating sport is so pleasant and or crucial for so many of these creatures, but I will perform as I am bid.

"I don't remember anyone saying anything about S&M." Ashley chuckles nervously.

"Your husband specifically requested that I give him head." I state. Ashley is plagued by jealousy in light of my words. I wish to make passionate love to this human woman, more-so than I would enjoy engaging sexually with her husband, though I would not oppose his coming inside me for the simple convenience of his attachment and interest in myself.

"She is the strangest person I've ever met." Ashley confirms her disposition of me.

"If you weren't so close to your husband then I would suggest a wide variety of foreplay scenarios for you and I to perform as a warm-up to our eve of passionate love-making."

Ross's jaw drops. "That was to you, Ash." He says, grinning stupidly. One of the most common erotic quirks in male human beings is the viewing and execution of woman on woman intercourse, and often the taking part in: a situation I can easily bring about, particularly in this socially fubared moment. Calculations suggest that these human beings are both aroused and disturbed to the point that all propositions and possibilities are up for discussion.

"Might you both enjoy a threesome with myself?" I ask this as a mother would offer her children cookies and milk on a slow Saturday afternoon.

"How about, no?" Ashley... inquires. I am confused as to how such a proposal can be transformed into both a suggestion and a query by simple composure and inflection. "Maybe she's not an alien or a whore, she's just a crazy sex addict. Ever think about that, Ross?"

From his chair, Ross grabs an edge of the table and swings himself to a stance. He stretches, yawning as he does. "Well, with that, I think it's time for you to go, Jess. But we got you dressed, and that's all that matters."

"It's been a pleasure meeting you." Ashley mechanically lifts her hand and gives me a half-hearted wave as Ross guides me to the front door. He opens it, and I find myself in the hall surrounded by the blue doors.

"It's nothing personal, Jess. Good luck!" He shrugs and then closes the door on me. I stare at the blue painted rectangle for a long time, trying to process what to do next. I am clothed. That's good. According to Ross, that's all that matters. I fear I have damaged my two friends. They do not wish me to stay for who I am. I feel... sad.

End of Part One