Chapter 1: The Dinner Invitation. (<William>)

November 7th, 202X

7am

I awake, as my head spins after the dream I just had. I couldn't describe it even if I wanted to. I know that dreams don't have to make sense, but, when the rules of reality break in your dreams, I am certain you wouldn't wake up nicely either. These types of dreams usually consist of a quality I lack or want to have, such as, being a social butterfly, or to have a conversation without stuttering or tripping over myself. I want to be better, but I can't, with the life I was given. I wish I could just do these things, but I'm different. I reluctantly get out of bed, readjust my boxers, and floof my long hair and walk to my closet. Although most my friends have amazing three or two story mansions, I have a cozy and simple house. One bedroom, one bathroom, with a massive room for artwork and I still have enough cash to last me a long while. I've worked so hard for everything I have earned. I work at a coffee shop, as a side job, and help my friends out by doing diplomatic stuff when they can't. I get paid a lot for the make-up on the diplomatic front as well as selling my custom artworks. I slip a pair of socks on, followed immediately by my cargo pants. I always hated mornings. Everything's always so groggy and slow. I pull my long-sleeve shirt on, throwing my jacket on after I shove my keys, phone and wallet into my multiple pockets. I run my hands along my jaw and chin, a small beard reminding me that I haven't shaved in forever.

I make my way towards the kitchen. I am a big fan of cooking at home, so I keep fresh ingredients circulating through my kitchen continuously. I never have leftovers, because I make what's suitable for me, and never make more than I can eat. My friends always gawk at how clean my kitchen is. Although, they would never know what doing dishes is like, with their butlers and maids cleaning up after them all the time. I pour some coffee grounds into the coffee machine and some water, with a cup at the bottom and start it. I love my coffee black, it's the best and only kind of bitterness I need every morning. I go for a sweet coffee ground blend, so the bitterness is raised after it's brewed. I walk over to the cabinet and pull out a skillet, setting it on the stove top before getting some spices out of another cabinet, and eggs and milk out of the fridge. I set the ingredients on the counter and grab a bowl from the top shelf of a nearby cabinet to mix them. I crack the eggs into the bowl, discarding the shells with a yawn. I pour a bit of milk into the eggs and start mixing. Once the mixture is well combined, I turn the burner on, and throw the eggs into the pan. I love scrabbled eggs, if their cooked to my choice. I enjoy mine when they're a little less than fully cooked. I begin moving the mixture around, the way I've always made scrambled eggs.

I turn on my TV, switching it to the news. I return to my cooking, overhearing the effects of my last night stand-in for my friend, Niko. "For the past few years, nothing quite like this has happened in this state. The tax policy was approved and will be taking affect within the next week, and it will improve the lives of all the lower and middle class." The newscaster rambles on. I remove the skillet from the burner and lay the eggs onto the nearby plate, as I begin cooking some bacon. My coffee is ready, so I take it over to the table. I am most certainly a progressive person, but I also care about the public's power. That's simultaneously my best and worst quality. When in a diplomatic situation, I usually make sure it's for the people, not just for the greedy, rich people sitting in their hot-tubs. This tax policy was supposed to lower tax for the extremely lower classed, lower it by 20 percent or so for the middle class and only increase it softly for the upper one percent. I convinced people at the debate for this policy to be pro-people in order the improve both the likelihood of them getting reelected as representatives but, to also appease the people. The tax policy I convinced them to agree on, made tax for the rich go through an equation that sums up to: "You get this much in income or savings, divide that by a fourth and that's your yearly tax." Best thing about all of this? No one outside the conference room knew I was not the correct representative. Niko, for some bizarre reason, has been asking me to substitute at major meetings for him a lot recently. At least the council knows I'm a better representative than him. Last time he made an offer, it was to lower the size of trash canisters amongst neighborhoods, I have no idea why the council doesn't remove him.

I finish making my breakfast, serving all of it on steamed tortilla with the bacon, eggs and cheese combo, pinning the entire delicious kerfuffle together with a toothpick and laying it on a plate. The news continues with the weather in the living room, "Expect a lot of cold air and wind, with little to no rain. And here's our seven day forecas- " The weatherman states as I shut off the television before he finished talking. I carry my plate and coffee over to a table. Once I set the plate down, I remove the toothpick before digging in to my breakfast, enjoying just about every bite. I take a sip of my warm, black coffee as I look around at the walls. Some of my paintings and artwork hanging amongst the walls in my house; I sell just about every other piece I make. It grants an amazing profit, despite the small fact that I'm slowly selling my legacy away. However, that doesn't mean much to me, because I can continue painting until I simply choose to no longer paint, and just float on my remaining money. My mind drifts like the wind; I open the window to look outside at the orange and yellow trees, as they tell me that Autumn is soon upon us. If I could live in a secluded house I would, but, I need company or else I'd lose my mind. As I finish eating, my phone vibrates, the noise echoing in the silent room. It's a notification about the party this evening. My friend Niko, the council member, has invited me and six to seven others over for a party. Which is odd because he usually doesn't host parties, he goes to them. I take my plate to the sink and begin washing it. I hear a knock at the door as I dry my plate. I didn't ask or want anyone to drop by, so I grab a firearm from under the countertop, and approach the door. "Who is it?" I ask, leaning against the wall near the front door, as I check my gun to make sure it's loaded. A female voice comes from the other side, "Hello, William? It's me, Jessica." I set the gun on to a nearby cabinet, away from the prying eyes of the new guest. Jessica is Niko's lady, but she willingly magnetizes to me, and I don't fully know why. I feel left out on information most of the time, but when it comes to her motive for secretly going out with me instead of the man she lives with. I know almost every different perspective, but come up empty handed when I try to grasp at an answer. It's not my physical attributes because I am not fit, and I don't exercise. However, I'm not fat either.

Jessica walks though the door, her boobs juggling softly and her high heels clicking against the tiled entryway as she enters. Even though she's in high heels, she stands a few inches shorter than me. And I am a few inches short of six foot, so that's saying something. I close the door as she suddenly hugs me from behind. I gasp, locking the door and turning around to hug her. I never wanted a relationship for years, but, when she came to me, I saw she wanted me to be with her. As bad as the circumstance of her already having a man is, it's a lady's choice to leave or stay in a relationship. "How are you William?" She asks, derailing my train of thought as she stops hugging to look at me, stroking my lightly bearded jaw with her hand. "You look terrible." Well, she's mostly right. I don't usually mess with my long hair or face once I wake up, I leave it be and let it do whatever it wants to. "Yeah, I didn't comb my hair or do much of anything this morning." I try to be as brutally honest as I can be around her, to prove to her and myself that this relationship is worth something to me. She sets her purse down and takes off her heels, before running a finger out to my arm and moving my hand to her beautifully rounded butt, "How about we take a shower together?" My mind rushes between my priorities and consequences while greed and lust gamble and dilute every single one. I stand there, almost completely still, like that of a statue. Jessica breaking my stoic look with a, "Hello?" My mind bounces back and I respond with a, "Yeah, yeah, I was thinking. I sadly have work within the hour, so, do you want to have one this weekend? I'll have time and we can spend it entirely with one another." She sighs with an obvious exaggeration. I give a hug, as a soft apology. "I'm sorry, Jess, I'm busy. I promise we'll be together this weekend, okay?" I say, while hugging her. She eventually hugs back, as I give her a kiss. I can tell she doesn't like me having to turn her sexual desires down, but I don't have much of a choice with a job that requires my attention. She eventually kisses me back and wraps her arms around my neck, as we share some tongue. I hold her cheek as we part from our intense kiss. "Will I see you at the party tonight?" I ask, with her response almost immediately after I finish asking, "No, I'll be there in the morning, because I have a, uh, meeting this morning." She says, with a small drop of sadness in her voice.

We walk out of the house together, holding hands. Before I get in my car, she pulls my head over to her, and gives me another long and sweet kiss, her lipstick staining my lips. "I'll see you this weekend" She says, obviously taunting me. I wave as she gets in her car before getting into my own and leave for work. Jessica's a good lass, but I don't need any sexual distractions before work. I drive the hour to the coffee shop where I work, listening to my random assortment of bands and music selections. I arrive at work, my co-workers no where to be found. I get here early and leave late, so I can clean or do maintenance. I step out of my car and wipe the lipstick residue from my lips as I enter the coffee shop.