Obey

Chapter 1: Motley Crew

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Inside a small suburban home in upstate New York...

"You're crazy! Get away from me," the terrorized 18-year-old Tina shrieked with widened brown eyes. The slender 5'6'' woman shook her head in denial, her black curls dusting her shoulders in the process. As she hid behind her living room's big, cozy couch, fear swam through her veins, flushed her healthy, pecan brown skin of its color.

"Idiot Woman, it's only a worm." In his outstretched white hand, the amber-eyed Brandon, Tina's cause of distress, dangled a slimy arthropod wiggling for dear life. From behind his dark brown bed hair, the ghostly 20-year-old flashed his signature look, a shiny toothed smirk revealing a single pointed canine tooth and deep twin dimples.

"Brandon, I'm not joking! Stop!" Tina howled in disgust as she tried to force her body to meld with the blessing of smooth leather.

The creeping male ignored his target's pleas. With writhing creature in tow, he continued his trek.

"I said STOP!"

With the teen's command, her tormentor immediately halted his actions. Brandon stood completely still as if placed on pause, stuck in an awkward position that couldn't have been comfortable. The irritated Tina eyed the treacherous hand.

"Jesus! You're fucking ridiculous," Tina grumbled with puffed cheeks. "Now walk away, toss that disgusting thing outside, and remain silent," she ordered.

With a look of agitation, the older in the pair unwillingly, and almost mechanically, did as he was told. He opened the sliding glass door that connected the living room and back patio.

When Tina saw the 6'2'' male toss the wriggling animal a good way off with those lengthy appendages he calls fingers, she found that she could breathe again. Her arms crossed in annoyance and her eyes drifted to her new home's favorite spot of plush carpeting.

As she got up, Tina took notice of her friend, Roscoe, and his poor attempt at stifling an amused, gravelly-voiced chuckle. As she took up a half prone position, supported her upper body with her forearms atop a decorative pillow, she glared. "Don't you dare start. Everyone knows how I feel about bugs."

From his spot on the couch's matching recliner, Roscoe sat snuggled with his lover, his Ashley.

The couple's constant hanging over each other is nearly insufferable. Even at a time like this, with plenty of places to sit, Ashley curled in her beloved's lap like a common house cat.

With a playful pout and squint of his storm-like gray eyes, Roscoe just couldn't help himself, "T, you just met the man two weeks ago and have barely spoken to him since. How would he know that you despise bugs? Not to mention, worms are not bugs."

Tina glared at her friend.

"What?" he inquired in his rough Brooklyn accent. "I find it difficult to hide the fact that you amuse me by using your power in such a trivial way, getting Brandon to cease the action of grasping an annelid... I say the following because I care, that is quite pitiful."

The well-meaning but overly analytical man strained against another chuckle when he saw his friend turn quite red. Unsure whether the change was triggered by anger or embarrassment, Roscoe decided to play it safe. He swiftly composed himself, clearing his throat and rubbing the straight, sandy brown hairs at his nape.