Stop the World

Chapter Two

When Alex Motherfucking Turner has marched his naked ass out of the bedroom in order to make tea, I take a moment to try to figure out what the fuck is happening right now. I'm sitting on the edge of a gigantic bed with the softest bedding on it I've ever encountered in my life, looking at a beautiful bedroom that's approximately three times the size of my entire apartment.

There's a thick white rug under the bed, soft and plush under my bare feet. The floor is shiny hardwood, and there are several rugs in shades of muted pinks and grays throughout the rest of the room. A set of French doors to the right are covered by filmy white curtains and open onto what appears to be a balcony of some kind. There are three other doors in the room, one opened slightly that leads into what I assume is a bathroom, the second is the one Alex just disappeared through, which presumably leads into the rest of the house, and the third is a mystery.

There's a plush velveteen settee across the room, a crushed berry color, and a pair of chairs matching it sit at the foot of the bed with a small table between them. Looking around I see that there are several white framed photos and posters adorning the pale gray walls. I stand up, naked as I ever was, and walk closer to the wall nearest me. My stomach lurches when I see that the photos are of Alex and me at various ages. The youngest appears to be about fifteen, and I look exactly like I looked at fifteen. My head spins and I smack myself in the face suddenly, apparently trying to catch the dream off guard. All I actually do is slap myself, which fucking hurts and makes my eyes water.

Panic starts to build in my chest and I look around the room frantically. I spy a pack of cigarettes on the table by the foot of the bed and run to snatch them up. The Chantix hasn't completely cured me yet and if ever there was a time in my life that a cigarette was needed, this would be it. I see a thin purple robe draped across one of the chairs by the table and slip into it, the fabric insanely soft against my skin. Something in the pocket bumps my leg and I pull out a lighter, which is a stroke of good luck.

I walk out onto the balcony, pulling the door mostly closed behind me. There are two padded chairs out here and a table between them with an ashtray on it. I step to the railing instead of sitting down, my stomach bubbling with butterflies and straight up panic. I have no idea where we are and there's nothing I can see to give me a clue. There's just a big open yard with a line of high bushes lining it all the way around, tall trees surrounding them. I light the cigarette and inhale deeply, my eyes fluttering closed as the nicotine punches me in the nervous system.

"What is happening right now?" I mutter, English accent still firmly in place, which is potentially the weirdest fucking thing about this whole shebang, to be honest.

I think back to last night. What the fuck was I doing last night?

"Hey bitch," a voice says from behind me. I spin around, stifling a scream, and see my best friend, Jemima, sitting casually on one of the chairs."What the fuck are you doing here?!" I hiss at her. "What the fuck am I doing here?! Where is here?!"

"Will you shut the fuck up for two seconds?" she asks, amused.

"Ok but seriously, like what the fuck?!"

"We only have like two minutes, so just listen to me for once in your life," she says. I nod, hitting the cigarette again. Despite the fact that my best friend has evidently materialized out of thin air, seeing her face makes me feel calmer than I have since I woke up. Or fell asleep. Or whatever the fuck.

"Ok good," she says. "So, apparently there's some merit to the alternate reality theory and you're in one. You just woke up in one. There's no reason, no secret ancient magic you fucked around and messed with, nothing like that. You just woke up here. In this reality, you're still Isobel Watson, your parents are still Charlie and Madge, and your best friend is still Jemima Wilkins."