The Exception Pt. 00: Prologue

It was your typical U-shaped restaurant kitchen with the centre aisle reserved for cooking and preparations. Even though not quite match the high bar set by the other side of the wall, it was clear the designer's idea was practicality over beauty.

A chef in white was crouched down beside the open door, fiddling with the machinery. "Well that looks new. What's it called?" the waiter asked, bending over and looking at the chef's latest innovation.

"Soufflé au... Frohmage," he replied distractedly still attempting to get the jammed tray out.

Connor stood up straight and frowned. "You mean a cheese cake?"

"Alright wise guy, you have no place stealing my thunder just because you took a couple of language classes back in high school. It's called Soufflé au Frohmage and it's a bitch to make." He finally managed to dislodge it and pull out the tray. "Is good, no?" he finished with a French accent.

'I haven't even tasted it...'

The waiter back pedalled two steps and leaned on the central counter.

The cake was placed down just beside him and the mittens hung back up on their hook. He then felt a concerned hand drop onto his shoulder prompting him to look back up to its owner.

Kyle R. Graham by profession was one of the four cooks that gave this branch its esteemed reputation. Hard working with the constitution of a well-bred ox making him pretty much the most reliable person Connor knew.

Their water-tight friendship dated way back to their freshman year of high school. Since then, they had built up a barrage of memories together. That was almost seven years ago.

At age twenty-three, Kyle knew exactly where he was headed and got there fast. It was because of him that Connor landed a job as a part time waiter here. No, it was nowhere near his field of study, but as a student still in the works, you take what you're given right?

"What's with the dazed look?" he was asked.

A shy smile found its way back onto Connor's features as he concentrated on the tiles before him. "I think I just found out what an anime girl looks like in real life."

"Right..." Kyle let go of him and made a beeline for a nearby sink. "I take it by that you mean someone brought life sized models of the H.O.T.D cast into the restaurant. Shortly after, you fell in love, no?" His forced accent was back in droves, mocking him to no end.

"I mean..." he threw the towel he was holding at the clown, frustrated how there wasn't something a tad bit heavier within reach, "there's a girl in there and she's flipping gorgeous. I swear it's the kinda stuff you'd get in wet dreams or..."

Water droplets splashing on his neck cut his sentence short. "You can spare me that bit. What was she wearing?" And now he was using his towel to dry his hands. Typical.

Connor closed his eyes for the most vivid recollection. "Silky blue dress. Kinda like her eyes. It was low cut all around the shoulders and down to her cleavage. Tight at the waist and flared out at her hips. Short enough to be sexy and long enough not to be..."

"So it was designer," he interrupted again. "Was she with anyone?"

"Not that I saw," Connor gave his friend a curious look. "Why, you might know her?"

Graham laughed that infectious snigger of his while removing the plaster from his work. A bowl of what looked to be icing sat next to it. "No chance, but from what you told me, she's classy and can afford her own meal. You'll wanna let this one go," he explained.

"Gee thanks man," Connor said with virtually no enthusiasm. "Nice to know someone has faith in me."

"I do!" The chef confessed defensively. "And one day, you're going to be a great engineer and design a train that spans Mount Kilimanjaro, just because you can. At that time, you'll be able to afford that kinda girl, or any other for that matter."

An annoyed Aleck came over and dug out the order notes for tables sixteen and forty-one out of his right pocket. Connor smiled sheepishly which earned him an elbow in the ribs.

"It'll probably be a midlife crisis or something but you'll have women, alcohol and you'll waking up with an empty set of balls - along with an evil hangover the next morning," Kyle continued with a dodgy smile, seemingly directed at his cake that was now sitting on the turntable. He fired it up, and with a low hum, it started to spin. "However, right now, that girl is way outta your league.

"Hell, assume she already has a wealthy as fuck boyfriend who's air to some corporate monolith, stays in a thirty acre estate and has a surgically elongated penis to boot. You have absolutely nothing you can offer her."

By now Connor's face bore a flat affect. "You're a real dick you know that?"

Kyle shrugged his shoulders. "I'd be an even bigger dick if I let you get your hopes up." Paying every detail the utmost attention, he started decorating the desert. He preferred to go about it the old fashioned way; using a flat wooden spatula and a knife for the finer details. "Besides, if you get your heart broken again, I'm the one who'll have to deal with the monster finishing my 'all things dairy' supply."

Connor took off the white gloves and bunched them up. "Exaggeration much. That was one time man, one time! You just won't let it go will you?" He wondered if she was still there and which one of these lucky fuckers were tending to her. Would it hurt to just try and get one last peek?

'Probably. Should just let her be.'

"Think I'll call it a night."

The chef looked up. The smile hadn't gone anywhere. "Back to your torture cell huh?"

"Everyone has their skeletons, Kay," came the response. He went around the counter, over to the register to sign himself out.

The beating of a bowl's contents was heard to his right. "Yeah but not everyone's a masochist. However if she keeps you from attempting the impossible, then I'm not complaining."

Kyle made no secret of how much he hated Ivy. Truth be told; Even though his time was up for the day, he just wasn't sure home's where he wanted to be.

Connor made the routine rounds of goodnights and asked a workmate to cover his last table of brats for him before heading out the back exit.

**********

Provided his bike was unavailable, then his way home consisted of taking a cheap taxi through the traffic, to the subway station. Or if he was in the mood for it, he'd simply stroll there. The night lights made for quite the view too.

All those lit up billboards and hung up screens, the flashing signs, the shop displays showcasing their merchandise - sure they were just adverts but they played their role in livening up the wet streets.

Despite being this late, it was still pretty lively. People looking for a fun night out were dressed for the occasion. You could still hear young couple's laughter in the air, mixed with the splash of recent rain water as cars sped on by.

Once through the subway entrance, he jogged down the stairs, a hand hovering above the bannister. It was cold down here. It seemed like there was a constant gust of wind always rushing to the surface.

The platform below was a sharp contrast to the streets above. It was barren, save for a couple of homeless beggars wrapped in torn blankets. He used to pity them. Now he'd learnt it was not his pity they wanted.

Here he would board a rickety old train. He always chose the fourth cart, and instead of sitting, he stood. It was only a two stop journey after all. But when you got off and stepped above ground, it might as well have been a different city.

Connor lived in a small part of town, where respectable folk wouldn't like to be seen. Ironically it was also where many of them found solace. This place is known as the red light district.

At least five nights a week, he'd walk through these pink tinted streets. Brothels, strip clubs, sex shops, among other establishments, lined up the avenue on both sides.

Every single corner was decorated by different brands of escorts. It never ceased to amaze him, how they appeared so comfortable wearing bare minimums in this kind of weather.

Yes. Living here demanded an impossible amount of discipline. Especially on the days when they were feeling particularly provocative. He just figured they got a kick out of teasing him.

'If my parents had any clue where I lived...'

He frowned at the look of disappointment he knew he'd get. This little detail would only serve as more ammunition his father could use to belittle him. He shrugged the thought off as his legs carried him up the stairs to his apartment building's front doors.

All in all, it was really just a fifteen minute journey. In fact you could just make out his home from the top of the hotel Panorlite was nested in.

So really. Why not just take the damn bike? Oh, oh right. His darling of a housemate ripped the chain. And by housemate, what he really meant is the girl that stays with him. The one who's really supposed to be his girlfriend but broke up with him and forgot to move out.

Talk about awkward living conditions.

"Is she home?" Connor asked the concierge after letting himself into the foyer. The man simply smiled an evil smile and nodded in way of reply.

'What, no witty comments or sarcastic lines today?'

The time read just after ten. It had been the same the day before. And the one before that too. Deliberating between a weekday and weekend was getting harder by the second.

What was it today? Tuesday? Wednesday? If it was Wednesday then wouldn't that mean he missed dinner with his family? But if that was the case then they would have called right?

'Damn. All this confusion without the use of beer. Seriously, what day is it?'

The lift door opened up with a clatter, goading him to step inside. These would be the death of him. Stairs would be easy if the twits he called his landlords would change the dead lights for working ones. Or at the very least just let him do it for their incapable selves. The elevator violently jerked upwards before his finger even left the dial.

'Yesus! Note to self. Get myself a damn...'

His view went down to the smartphone he'd just checked the time off and rotated it onto it's back to see the flashlight there.

'Never mind...'

The lift came to an abrupt stop and the doors pulled apart to reveal a knees bent Connor with a vice grip on the supporting rails. His phone lay discarded on the floor. Only the good lord himself knew why he tortured himself so.

Collecting himself, he escaped the ungodly machine and made his way down the passageway to door 1208. He held his breath.

'Here goes.'

This used to be his happy place. When he'd first come here looking for a place to rent, Willard and his wife had politely told him to scram since all their rooms were taken. He however made a nuisance of himself and insisted on that one room that they thought was uninhabitable.

They showed him up here. To the top floor where all the junk was thrown. Broken beds, stoves, tubs, room dividers, it was all here. A bargain was struck. If he could fix these and get them working again before the next month's auction, the place was his to rent at two thirds the price.

What desperation does is show people just how irrelevant self-designated limits really are. He'd finished in less than a fortnight using nothing but his hands and a toolbox.

Today he had one of the largest spaces in the building renovated into a neat bachelor pad by yours truly, and it barely made an impact on his wallet. Thing is, as of late, calling it a bachelor pad would have been pushing it, and not by a little.

Connor Shut the door behind him and stared into the lounge space, then across to the kitchen counter. Clothes littered the furniture. The one's belonging to Ivy he recognised. The others, not so much.

His feet walked him to the sofa where a ripped pantie lay discarded. He bought her those along with an entire pack of lingerie during last year's valentine. Apparently just for someone else to appreciate then vandalise on a whim. A fist clenched in attempt to control the hurt crawling through him.

So her and her muse had come in at the front door, chucking their respective jackets on his floor, just shy of the coat holder. They came over to his DVD collection, dropped a few before picking out the lone ranger seeing as it was still playing on screen; forty minutes in.

At that point they decided to hell with the movie and ripped their remaining clothes off. Hers went first and her boyfriend for the night's were removed on the way to the open kitchen. There they stole a bottle of wine, leaving the fridge open and breaking a glass in the process.

His eyes followed the trail of the spilt beverage around the dark wooden counter, down the short corridor to...

'My room?'

He stood staring at the wooden door in disbelief. True enough, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh was heard through the door.

Anger churned through him in droves as he picked up on her familiar cry. Where did she get such rampant nerve to go this far?

Right now, these assholes were having sex. In his room dammit! All she had to do was turn right but no... She just had to have his room too.

This, he did not have to tolerate. Not by a long shot.

**********

"So then what happened?"

"I knocked."

"You knocked?! This is you room bro and you knocked?!"

Connor felt the strong urge to throw the empty bottle as far as he could over the protective railing and into the river. Instead it found its way onto the pavement with the first one. The alcohol had already started to kick in. "It was locked. She always locks when she has someone over," he stated with a raspy voice.

The water they stared at reflected the bright lights of the buildings on the other side. The fountains would come on periodically along with their lighting, bathing the water in a rainbow of colours. He thought the view would help put him at ease. He was wrong.

It was almost midnight. Currently they were standing by the edge of a tree inhabited park, adjacent to the duplex Kyle lived in. It was quite the view from up on his roof too.

Kyle Graham pursed his lips in irritation. "I'm not amused. Please tell me you made some effort to save your dignity. You broke the door down, you took it off its hinges, you... did anything. Anything at all."

"I assumed the spare key would be an easier option." Connor called to mind the shock and horror on her face as she scrambled for decorum, ripping his orange sheets from the bed.

And the anger her partner portrayed at being interrupted before finishing. Not to mention the slew of insults thrown his way as the bastard insisted he get out of his own room and shut the door behind him.

"I told them both to leave. Her lover may have required a bit of inspiration first."

His best friend turned his head and looked on with hope. "You popped him?"

Connor shook his head. "I shoved his phone and wallet in a pillow and tossed it over the balcony. Figured he valued whatever was in there more than his precious ejaculation."

The chef nodded his head. "Smart. Not the route I would've taken personally but smart." He pushed off the rail, wrapped a hand around Connor's shoulder and pulled him to walk along the walkway as well. "So what's gonna happen to Ivy?"

An exasperated breath escaped Connor as they strode along. "She's obviously not going anywhere. You know that from experience."

It was almost hilarious how someone as stable minded as Kyle had such a powerful dislike for bad omens. He avoided every crack in the slabs like the plague. It also made him look homeless and bored, especially with the way he hopped about when walking on concrete. "Does she pay rent now?"

"No."

"Does she... dammit." He swore as he stepped on a crevice. "Does she cook?"

"No again."

Kyle opted for the lawn instead. "Jesus friggin' christ, does she at least do the laundry or help clean up?"

"Just her items," came a tired reply. "It's not like I actually asked anything of her though."

The other set of footsteps went silent abruptly. Connor however refused to stop. He was not looking forward to the interrogation that was soon to occur. Maybe calling this guy wasn't the smartest of choices right then. "Dude, you know where I'm going with this."

"Oh, I do. Believe me, I do," he confirmed, turning around to face his makeshift therapist. "But what do you want me to say?" His feet started reversing at the same pace his best friend approached. "That I'll go home, pack all her belongings and dump them on the street after taking a steaming shit on her favourite dress?"

"Only if it's true! Imagine how satisfying that would feel?" There was no one else in the park to hear him yell anyway. Let him shout. "Your wallet. Hand it over."

"What for?"

"Just throw it man."

A second later, a striped wallet flew through the air into Graham's hand. He opened it and pulled out a tiny grayscale photo. Connor rolled his eyes. More at himself than anything else. He just walked into that one didn't he?

"See? I haven't even seen this one before but I just knew it had to be in here. This right here is your problem dude." The photo was waved in the air before being discarded carelessly without a second thought. "You don't. Move. On! It's one thing to breakup. It's another thing to hear your ex whore herself to a different guy, every single night!" He finished throwing the wallet back.

"Um... It's not exactly every..." The look he got for the correction was interjection enough. Kyle had a point, that much wasn't disputed.

But it's not like you just wake up one day and decide not to love someone anymore. Feelings don't just disappear when someone ups and ends a relationship. No. Instead they haunt you like a reoccurring nightmare.

He had Ivy for an entire year. In that time they'd done everything humanly possible from Cape to Cairo.

We're talking hundreds of dates, two road trips, intercourse in every position they could look up online. They made numerous trips to the cinema and clubbing directly afterwards.

He had scores of hangovers in the mornings to show for it and every time, he swore he'd never go that hard ever again. She had him right back at it the next Friday, Saturday, and if he didn't put his foot down, then Sunday too.

The bitch had him love sprung. Not that he minded. No. In fact so much of his life, both present and future revolved around the heart ache in good faith she'd still be his for decades to come.

So imagine the damage when she tells him that the only reason she stuck around, had all that sex and told him all those sweet things he loved to hear, was because she needed somewhere to stay.

That as a foster child who failed the system, she had nowhere else to go. No parents, no siblings, no qualifications one could speak of to get her anywhere in life. Just public homes with one meal a day.

He didn't believe for a second that she wasn't more resourceful than that. That didn't go to say he liked the alternative either.

So the best three hundred and eighty-four days of his life turned out to be a total lie.

When you receive news like that, do you just kick them to the curb anyways and confirm their fears? Or could you live with yourself, trading a roof and food for sex and counterfeit love?

His feet spun him around to look where he was going. They were approaching the end of the trail by the main road.

Kyle caught up with him and kept pace at his left. "You're really gonna need to make up your mind on this one 'cause it's not going to stop bud'," he stated sombrely before giving him time to ponder. They walked at their own pace in silence and stopped by the asphalt, waiting for the road to clear.

The biggest issue Connor had with Kyle was his honesty. He never minced words or beat around the bush. His appreciation for how other people took his words was virtually non-existent.