© Antidarius 2021
*This is a work of fanfiction. The author, Antidarius, does not claim ownership of any characters or titles mentioned that are the existing property of other entities.*
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D.I.A.N.N.E.
Chapter 6:
P: 35 M: 36 S: 25
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--Tuesday, 25
th
May, 1999--
I awoke to late afternoon light streaming in through my bedroom windows. Almost full-length floor to ceiling, the tinted glass panels looked out over the smaller buildings nearby and out to the rivers in the west. From my bed I could see boats out there on water that glimmered gold with the lowering sun.
Yawning, I stretched languorously, tightening and loosening my muscles as I considered getting up. The clock on my bedside table read four-fifteen pm, telling me that I'd slept most of the day. Not that it mattered, really.
It wasn't until I had my feet on the floor that I realised how
buzzed
I felt. Smiling, I twisted my body this way and that, feeling new strength and flexibility in my muscles and a welcome new alertness in my brain. A sharpening of the senses. Colours were brighter, more vivid, and I could dimly hear cars on the roads outside.
Heading for the shower, I stopped at the frameless bathroom mirror next to the vanity and studied myself, grinning. I had slimmed further and added some more muscle to my frame. I was no underwear model, but I hadn't looked this healthy in a long time. I wondered if I could make the process go faster... Lost in my thoughts, I showered and threw on some loose shorts and a shirt before hitting the kitchen. It was a routine I saw myself getting used to: Dianne, shower, eat, sleep, eat, repeat.
My phone dinged as I prepared a snack. I checked it while I waited for the toaster. It was from Debbie.
'
Looking forward to tonight. Pizza?
'
Grinning, I quickly replied in the affirmative. My body was demanding calories in a big way. Whatever had happened in
Diablo
had given me a pretty significant boost. Was it the game? Or the intensity in which I'd played it?
I'll ask Dianne and see what she says.
'Cool!'
Came Debbie's reply.
'See you soon!'
I ate my snack -- eight rounds of toast with peanut butter and jam -- and then bummed around the apartment a bit, tidying up before Debbie was due to arrive. I didn't really have time for any more Dianne action, so I left her alone. Catching my reflection in the bathroom mirror during my tidying, I thought I looked a bit underdressed.
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to throw on something a bit nicer, and maybe some cologne?
From where that thought originated, I had no clue, but I decided it would be in my benefit to look and smell good for Debbie. Going through my wardrobe, I found a black button-down shirt with short sleeves and a crisp pair of stonewashed blue jeans that fit me as well as the other pair. To finish, I slipped on the black dress boots from yesterday.
Feeling much better -- it was scary how fast these new threads were becoming comfortable -- I opened a drawer in the wardrobe to see a few items neatly arrayed, each one lying in a custom foam cut-out: a bottle of Hugo Boss cologne, a leather belt rolled into a tight circle and a pair of cufflinks. There was also space for a watch, but it was currently vacant.
I guess they've spent enough money on me as it is.
Dressed, I went to the bathroom and made an effort to jazz up my hair a bit with some wax, but I really had no idea what I was doing, so I opted with making it look a little spiky and messy and hoped I was onto something.
An age seemed to pass before the intercom next to the front door chimed musically.
"It's me!" Debbie announced brightly when I answered.
"Come on up," I said in an attempt to sound casual as I pressed the button to allow her entry into the lift. Well, I
hoped
I sounded casual; I certainly didn't feel it. I needed two tries to press the button properly due to a shaking hand.
Why am I so nervous?
When I pulled the door open to admit Debbie, my mouth went dry. She was wearing a slinky black dress that moulded her curvy figure tightly and left a vast amount of her legs bare, legs that seemed all the longer for the strappy heels on her feet. Her hair was loose, hanging to just below her shoulders with a bit of a curl at the bottom. The dress was low cut, showing an excellent amount of plump, firm cleavage. When my eyes found her face, I saw she had makeup on, including a dark-red shade of lipstick that made her full lips look even more kissable, and she'd made her eyelashes longer. The way she looked at me through those lashes made my heart begin to race.
"Somebody order pizza?" she asked sweetly, proffering the two huge boxes she was holding.
I'd completely missed the bloody pizza. "Oh!" I said, quickly taking the boxes from her. "Here, let me." I stepped aside. "Please come in."
She grinned. "Don't mind if I do. And wow! You look great!" She eyed me up and down approvingly.
"Uh, thanks," I muttered awkwardly, not used to being complimented on my appearance. "You, too."
"Aw, thanks!" She looked down at herself and did that thing girls do where they tug at their dresses unnecessarily, then she walked a few steps inside and whistled softly as she looked around. "Wow! This place is amazing!"
I watched with a small smile as she hurried down the short hall into the main living area where the lounge and the big windows were. The sun was down, but there was a warm orange glow on the distant horizon. I stood there, transfixed as she leaned against the window frame to get a better look. The fading daylight caught in her hair, giving her something of a halo.
When she turned around, I was still standing there like an idiot, staring at her, pizzas forgotten in my hands. A long moment passed in silence. Christ, she was beautiful. I'd never seen her all done up before. She had gone from more-than-pretty to downright stunning.
"This place must cost a fortune!" She remarked as she gazed around in awe.
I shook myself out of my trance. "Hungry?"
Debbie nodded eagerly and I invited her to take a seat on the couch while I grabbed some plates and napkins from the kitchen. Soon enough we were all set up with the pizzas arrayed on the ottoman and the two of us happily tucking in.
"I don't know what it is about this place," Debbie said around a mouthful of pepperoni as she pointed enthusiastically to the box featuring the stereotypical moustachioed Italian man in a chef's hat smiling gleefully as he proffered his wares. "But they make the best pizzas."
"I've never looked anywhere else," I agreed. I kept wanting to stare at her but forced myself to be cool. She even looked hot eating pizza.
"So, what's the plan?" She asked me when we were finished. Well,