The One That Got Away.

The Mild Room

The real surprise would be if The Mild Room didn't live up to its name. Kelly's mind regains lucidity after only a few moments in The Mild Room.

"You should have a little something to eat, Kelly," Marshmallow kindly urges.

Kelly nods thanks. To Jared she says, "This isn't like getting stoned or tripping or whatever. I don't feel like I'm on any kind of drug or anything like that. I- I can't describe what's going on."

"I know. I understand."

"It's not... bad things are not happening, just weird things."

"Enjoy it! This house is quite enjoyable if you give it a chance. You seem to be having a pleasant, though admittedly odd, experience. Your, uh, sensitivity has been much higher than most." 

"So you know what's happening to me?"

"Yes," he smiles, "And no. Everyone has a unique experience here in my home and- "

"What does that even mean?!" Kelly shrieks. "What is happening? Are you pumping goofy gas through the vents or something? WHY AREN'T YOU ANSWERING ME?!"

"I'm- I'm sorry, it's this -" he starts to sway, breathing rapidly, "we're in The Mild Room. The house affects me too, but differently. Give me a second, ok?"

Kelly sits, crossing her arms and legs as Jared catches his breath. He rubs his forehead then bends at the waist, nose toward the floor. "It's just so... mild in here. I function so much easier in The Clarity Room, especially under these conditions."

"What conditions?!" Her voice almost reaches a pitch only dogs can hear.

He doesn't answer, he just limps around, ouching, groaning, and massaging his lower back. 

"Who is Marshmallow? Why haven't I met her before?"

Jared groans loudly once more and straightens up. "She lives out here in Nevada. She doesn't like California."

"Is she your daughter?"

"No, I don't have any children. I promise you that."

"Why does she- you know. Look like she does."

"What?"

"You know. Why is she... how she is."

Jared screws up his face, completely offended. 

"Are you blind, dude?" Kelly's patience is reaching the breaking point.

Jared pants, "I'm, I'm out of breath, hang on." Kelly rolls her eyes, lacking sympathy. It's just like him to feign malady to dodge the question.

The door creeks open, "Oh!" Marshmallow squeaks. She drops the picnic basket of food in her arms to attend to Jared. Kelly again watches her in fascination. Marshmallow is so dainty and feminine and squishy but so strong and sturdy. No more than 5 feet tall on her tippy toes, she supports Jared's weight, lifting him onto the settee with ease. She retrieves the basket, and fishes around for something inside. 

"Oh, I like the cherry flavor," he croaks pathetically.

"Yessir." She pushes a red pouch into his hand and helps guide it to his lips. 

Awful precocious for a 19-year-old, Kelly thinks sourly.

The elixir brings him round and he thanks Marshmallow as she bows out once again. A wrinkle between Kelly's eyes is now so well fixed she most definitely will need Botox to release it after today.

"Oh, see? Obviously, you are starting to feel like yourself again. Angry and accusative," he mumbles. The wrinkle digs in deeper. "Sorry," he extends a finger in the air, "it's this room. I hate The Mild Room."