Author's Note: This was going to be a oneshot but I got lazy and decided that I'd break it up into a 2 or 3 very short chapters so that I don't have to write it all at once. Things are quite busy and I'm going on vacation soon so I figured that this would be the best way to go.

It's raining outside again and things start out the same as every other afternoon in the Shay apartment. Correction, the same as every other afternoon for the last two weeks. Sometimes it seems like it's been going on so frikkin' long that I forget that this only started on Carly's birthday . . .

Anyways, I walk in the apartment to find Carly sitting at the kitchen counter eating fruit on stick.

"She upstairs already?" I scowl.

"Where else?" Carly smiles, as if she thinks that the whole thing is funny.

It's not.

We both know what's going on up there. I can picture it vividly without even trying . . .

There she is, sprawled on her back, a blissful look coloring her face. Her breathing pattern is markedly different and every so often the smallest and most deafening moan inadvertently escapes her open lips. Her hands are clenched and occasionally she'll arch her spine, moving into the motion for maximal effect . . .

Unable to halt the images of her, I kick the side of the couch in anger and pull my foot back in pain.

And Carly has the nerve to laugh.

"Don't you think that the whole thing is . . . is . . ." I angrily sputter, trying to settle upon the right word. A number of possibilities cross my mind, including insane, infuriating, and obscene. " . . . unhealthy!"

Carly just raises an amused eyebrow and shrugs her shoulders slightly.

"It makes her happy," she says casually, as if that completely justifies Sam's behavior.

But as far as I'm concerned, there is no justification for what has been going on. Every afternoon is exactly the same. She's spent hours a day for the past two weeks wrapped in the arms of that . . . that . . . that thing!

The iJoy-300 Massage Chair with Human Touch technology.

And it's driving me nuts.