The Babysitter

Spider-Man

Samantha

I awoke to the banging of a high school drum quartet playing the ode to pots and pans with hammers and bats in my head. This is one of those hangovers that only greasy food, Gatorade and time can heal.  The morning slit my eyes to ribbon as I force them open.

Where am I? I am lying naked in a bed with a sheet half covering me.

I don't remember blacking out nor consuming enough alcohol to do so but the fact remains, I am confused as to where I am and how I arrived. It's a strange notion going from essentially dead to wide awake. It's as if being reborn and your mind is all at once alive with consciousness where nothing preceded beyond the velvet void of emptiness. I can't explain the feeling because it doesn't have one.

I look around and the room appears to be that of a young boy. The spiderman bedsheets and Marvel Posters dead giveaways. The night begins to reveal its mystery in a procession of familiar vignettes as if watching a film one had seen but couldn't recite in length. I was at the Lake House. I remember beer pong, smoking a blunt by the fire, the guitar guy, then it goes black. I discover my arms and legs are still attached. No significant injuries. That's good. The prospect of a career involving touching things with my hands hadn't been stripped away.

The arm across my chest slides as they clutch a handful of my breast. I'm surprised, to say the least, for up until this point I was under the impression I was alone.  I feel the small mass press against my leg and I nearly scream but refrain. I realize my initial reaction is somewhat unfair and I try to counsel myself out of the surprised bias. They squeeze and rub my areola between their fingers, tracing my nipple and gently pinching. He pauses between the action which leads me to believe he is in the half-awake, horny-drunk stage which we all know leads to the horny-hungry stage then the horny-horny stage. I want to swat his hand away but again, constrain my reaction. I have to be logical as he is only acting off the previous evening's assumption and after all, I did spend the night rather open and welcoming. I need to get out of here before he fully wakes. I slip underneath his arm and slide out of the bed. My clothing articles are strewn about and I quietly collect them. On goes my bra and panties as I sneak out of the door. I dress on the move, walking through the house which to my surprise is in remarkable condition having hosted 50+ drunk high schoolers. I'm missing a sock but it doesn't matter. I get my pants on and the shirt goes over my head. Shoes next as I reach the front door.

The handle twist as the door open in front of me and I stand in front of two figures who I assume to be the owners and parents.

"Good morning," I say with as much cheer as I can muster.

"Well, aren't you a sight my dear?" The woman says. Her face wore a look of disgust.

"Hello, young lady," the man says with a smile. "What might your name be?"

"I'm Samantha," I say, "you have a lovely home. It's really, very nice." I hate small talk but I need to polish up these stiffs and get out.

"Nice?" The woman says rolling her eyes as she walks past me. "Harold, who is this girl? It's exquisite. Based on renowned designer Joseph Eichler, this home is truly one of a kind chef-d'oeurve."

"Oh," I say with a smile.

"Hello, my name is Harold." He says and shakes my hand.

"Do you need a ride somewhere? We can have a car called for you, surely you Uber." The woman says from across the downstairs.

"Stop it, Angela, the girl will be staying for breakfast," Harold says and turns to me, "please stay. It would be an honor."

"Fine. Stay," Angela says, "Where is Mitchel? Is he awake?"

"Is that Michael's room? The spider-man-"

"Oh yes, Mitchel loves spider-man. we get him new sheets every year."