It's Getting Hot at Night

[Do us a favor and leave the Internet forever.]

[You're disgusting.]

[How does anyone even like his shit?]

[If a fat person said half the crap he did, they'd get cancelled. This guy's been doing this for years and only gets away with it because he's pretty.]

[Hah. Cringe.]

It happened so fast I hadn't gotten water to clench my thirst. 

On that faithful day, the number of haters bombarded my page and started wars within the comment section. 

In the beginning, it was hardly noticeable. Jealous people remain jealous and there was nothing to fret about the occasional trolling. Heck, if I was born at the lower half of the ladder, I'd be pissed too. Life gets unfair, I understood this much earlier than everyone else. 

But like everyone else, it doesn't matter what hardships a person goes through. 

Imagine someone alone, miserable, and average, creating a social media account for the sake of creating one. Most people hardly post things unique to them other than experiences throughout their lives. With the influx of people using social media, nothing was special anymore. 

The only trait that stayed consistent was that attractive people tend to get higher ratings.

And as much as nobody wants to admit it, that was the way of things.

People are sheep; they follow others for the sake of convenience. Stripping away their individual self, in fear of getting judged even though the act of being judgmental is inevitable regardless if it's weird or normalized. 

Until I became an influencer, people were on my side. I was a victim, they'd say, raised in poverty and fed by mice. The rich were our enemy, they'd continue, for the fact that being poor is a thing meant someone's taking advantage of us. 

But once I grew into my looks and puberty hit like a truck, their faces soured.

For as long as problems aren’t considered first world problems, you don’t matter to them. You don’t matter at all. 

Not even to yourself.

*******

“Ace?”

Gasping for air, I sat up and cursed myself for taking a nap. 

Not again! I do this every time!

The knock on my door continued.

"Ace, please open up!"

It was Emma. Groaning, I nearly reached for the doorknob when I remembered the interaction from earlier this evening. 

"What do you want?" I called out.

"Ace, just-open the door!"

"Ugh."

And so I opened it; almost immediately she tackled me down to the floor our faces were merely a finger's width from each other. It got pretty tempting, admittedly, to forget about the conversation earlier and kiss her right then and there. 

Her silent lips wavered near mine, her eyes reflected my own after all that obvious sobbing.

"Did some random guy follow you home again?" I smirked.

Emma stuttered; clearly, she hadn't expected my response to be a tease. 

"Wha-I- what are you saying, Ace, stop that!"

"Well, would you rather that or I a pissed man?"

"I'd rather you piss yourself after you get slapped!"

Lo and behold, she actually slapped me. That frickin woman. 

The power of a thousand winds her hand carried smacked my cheeks, spiraling my body into the wall. I landed hard on my rear end, along with my dignity.

"What the heck was that for!" I rubbed my back. After that unfair punishment, she could've given me scoliosis. 

"For insulting my grandpa. Seriously, how could you! I know I was raised in riches but you could've at least explain your reasoning before throwing names like a kid!"

"Hah, look who's talking."

"I'm serious!"

"And so am I," I lowered my gaze, "I'll apologize for hurting your feelings, but I'm not going to pretend like your grandfather's a good person."

"Alright then," she sat across from me and leaned in, "we have all night. Tell me your story. You said I'm more than a fan right? As your neighbor, I'd like to know who I'm dealing with."

"Oh? I didn't know you were interested in staying the night again."

"ACE!"

"Chill. You don't have to ask, dear. Whenever you feel like it, just knock on my door, alright?"

"D-did," her face reddened, "you j-just call m-me d-d-d-d-d-d-d-de-de-dea-"

"No, I called you a dumbass. Now, are you gonna stop freaking out or do you not want to hear my end of the bargain?"

Surprisingly, she didn't slap me for the insult. I suppose when it came to insulting her it's fine, but her son of a gun grandfather's off limits. That's a tough assignment to remember. 

"I don't know how much your grandfather tells you about how he runs his business," I began, "but he's what I call the scammer artists need to watch out. Finding a stable career in the industry is already an unpaid part time job, but him? All talks. Sweet words, might I add."

Though the majority of the living room had been organized, Emma had left my stack of sweaters on top of my wooden chair, folded.

"Those designs?” I pointed, “Rightfully mine. Had I collaborated with your grandfather, I would've lost them."

Emma's gaze hadn't changed a bit. In fact, she was beginning to look a little disinterested. Feelings of irritation began emerging, but I took a deep breath and continued.

Good thing she’s hot, and one who trembled on the sight of me, for I knew an easier way to get her going.

"I know it's been a hot topic lately," I furrowed my eyebrows, "As artists, we're always grateful to people who are willing to take a chance. But others steal work. Then there's your grandfather, who knew his way around the law because your relatives are the law. You told me yourself- multiple businesses, and even your cousins working in the government. In fact, it bothers me, actually..."

I stood up. She sat on the floor not reacting at all, as if she's deep in her thoughts. Without glancing at me, I took this opportunity to approach her. 

Squatting, I pushed Emma gently. She looked extremely surprised, gasping as she fell. However just as her entire weight fully landed on her elbows, I caught her by the waist.

I set her gently on the carpet. The night was silent, and as if some deity had watched all along, it was at this moment a streak of glorious moonlight shone into the room.

Caressed her hair as I leaned over her. A tease, perhaps, her eyes widened and her face noticeably redder. If silence couldn't get more noticeable, our heartbeats substituted for noise.  

"So dear," I bit my lip, "why is it someone like you renting an apartment when you could live life anyway you want?"

"I-" she fluttered her eyes. Perhaps taken off guard, the shock was so imminent not even her panic attacks set in. 

I closed my eyes and giggled. Slowly, I got off the poor girl, and began laughing even louder. Bellowing even! 

"W-what's so funny!" She finally made out a sentence. Ashamed was written all over her face.

"It's so silly," I winked and snorted simultaneously, "that even though I was rightfully pissed at you I can't help but get a reaction."

"You're just a bully!"

"And you a fan."

"Ahem, neighbors."

I softened my gaze and smiled. Lifting my hands, I cupped her face and leaned in.

If I'm going to get to the bottom of this mess, what better way to grasp a woman's heart by making her squeal?

"Friends," I whispered.

She fainted out of embarrassment and the whole conversation about getting scammed by her grandfather remained unspoken for the rest of the night.