Stay calm, and figure out what's going on.

Panic continues to pound in your chest as you stare up at Janice. Normally, you'd want nothing to do with her, but you would be the first to admit that the foggy, all too realistic memory of that daydream you'd just had encouraged you to stay put. It's not like anything you could say or do would change the opinion the blonde had of you, anyway.

And so, clearing your throat, you take a slow, steady breath. Ignoring the pulsing pain in your chest, from the fall, you put your arms underneath you and push yourself up, all the while unable to keep your eyes off of the woman's feet. In this unfamiliar moment of silence between you two, you manage to tug your gaze off of the manicured toes and take some time to look around. The generic hum of a somewhat busy mall begins catching up with your ears. With another deep breath, you finally move your gaze back to the smug, emerald eyes of the blonde skank.

"Janice," you begin, choosing your words carefully, "Why... are you talking to me right now?"

Snrk. Janice rolls her eyes with complete disregard for your confusion as she pushes her shades back up onto her face.

"Uhhh, why else? You don't come to the mall this early unless, like, you want a footjob or something."

It takes more than a moment for the words of your former sweetheart to fully register in your mind. Your head begins whirring with thoughts trying to rationalize the situation, but you can't think of any word that could be mistaken for 'footjob' in this context. Slowly averting your gaze back to Janice's exposed toes, you see her actively wiggle them, before striding past you, brushing her shoulder against your own. Quickly turning around, you see her take a seat on the same bench you'd just recently tripped over.

Turning to look at you with a vacantly smug expression, Janice folds her torso forwards as she glides her painted fingernails softly down the side of her leg that was furthest from you, before ending her hand's descent at her flip flops. Casually tugging the first footwear off, she places it next to her on the bench, her freed foot swiftly being moved up onto her other knee. Resting in a semi criss-cross applesauce position, the sole of the blonde's dainty foot is pointed directly at you, before she flexes her toes at you, as if trying to entice you to come closer.

Pinching your arm, the pain makes you come to terms with the fact that there's absolutely no way this is fake. As she leans down to begin removing the other shoe, you're faced with another assortment of choices.