Love at First Slice (IN SERIOUS EDITING)

Here's what Happens When You Keep a Baseball Bat Under your Bed

ch. 3 Here's what Happens When You Keep a Baseball Bat Under your Bed.

The hunger started after about three episodes of FRIENDS reruns. It took about two more episodes to decipher what my stomach craved. I already knocked chinese off the list, we were fresh out of Ramen, and I just was not in the mood to cook. Not that I could.

Dialing the number to the pizzeria, I drop the phone. Considering I was alone, I would have to talk on the phone. Me. I. On my own. By myself. Alone.

Which would be absolute chaos, considering I could barely take the order of the costumers at the cafe. So I pondered ways that I could possibly order the pie without having a mental breakdown. After three commercial breaks, it was clearly impossible that I, in fact, could not.

"Why is this so damn difficult for me?" I cry. Groaning, I collapse onto the couch, dialed phone still in my hand. I lay as I did before, legs in the air, hands and phone hovering over my face. I stare at the phone. My eyes scan over the number a hundred times as I try to collect the courage to call.

It didn't come.

What DID come was my phone falling towards my face. And my nose just-so-happened to click the little green call button, immediately sending a little buzzing noise into the air. Panicked, I press the phone to my ear. No turning back now. Well, of course I could turn back. This is just an opportunity for me to call without actually having to click the button on my own, because doing so would give me the option to not call.

You get what I mean.

"Don's pizza, how may I help you?" A forced perky voice speaks through the phone, suddenly interrupting the constant buzzing, which causes me to jump.

"Right!" I cry. "Um, Can I have a medium, no! A large pie and uh, cold wings. Hot! I mean hot wings!" I mentally slap myself. "And mozzarella sticks. Please."

"O-kay," The worker responds uncertainly. "Is that all?"

I say yes.

"Okay," She replies. "Just tell me your address and your order will arrive in 20-30 minutes."

I tell her my address, then hang up.

And now we wait.

-----

I'm completely absorbed in Paper Towns, a book which I've read cover to cover a thousand times. John Green, being the magnificent writer he is, makes it so that even the thousand-and-onth time you read it it's still refreshing and captivating.

I'm right at the part where Ben calls Q, completely waisted, blah blah blah, when I put the book down and pull out my laptop. Tumblr dot com is the first thing I type in as I begin scrolling aimlessly through my dashboard.

I soon find myself immersed in a blog consisting of bone-chilling pictures and heart-stopping stories. Nonetheless, I despise horror but the whole thing is so addicting and interesting I can't help but torture myself with it.

Just as I was reading about a teenish girl all alone in her house, the doorbell rang. And as you could imagine, I was scared shitless.

Closing the lid of my laptop, I reach under my bed and feel around for my baseball bat. I don't play. Safety precautions, you know? Don't judge me, I can barely rip a marshmallow in half. Gripping the rubber encasing around the narrower part, I hold it over my shoulder and creep out of my room.

The apartment is still dead silent. Everything remains unmoved, which is probably a good sign. Nobody broke in. I make my way towards the door. I stand in front of it, bat positioned. Terrible thoughts run through my mind. It could be a robber. Murderer. Rapist. Psychopath.