Loud but not proud Puny Pervert chapter 11 by Froakie

You take a deep breath, inflating your tiny lungs to their maximum capacity. You plant your feet firmly on the soft skin of her collarbone, lean forward, and unleash the loudest scream you can muster. You pour all your energy, all your desperation, into the sound, a high-pitched shriek that, to you, feels like it could shatter glass.

To Gia, however, it is nothing. It is less than nothing. It is a frequency so high and a volume so infinitesimal that it is completely swallowed by the ambient noise of the break room. The quiet hum of the vending machine, the distant drip of a leaky faucet, the gentle rustle of her own clothing—these sounds are a deafening roar compared to your cry. Your voice dissipates into the air, unheard and unacknowledged, a futile shout into a hurricane.

Your vocal cords ache with the strain, and you slump forward, panting, the effort having taken everything you had. You have failed again. 

Just as despair begins to set in, you feel a strange sensation. A shift in her body. Unknown to you, she was getting an itch! An itch right where you were standing at!

You see it coming. A colossal shadow falls over you as her hand rises, a fleshy five-limbed meteor descending from the sky. Her index finger, the size of a massive skyscraper, aims directly for your position, guided by an unconscious impulse to scratch. The whorls and ridges of her fingerprint are a terrifying, alien landscape, bearing down on you with unstoppable force.

Your training and instincts kick in. You don't hesitate. With a burst of adrenaline-fueled speed, you dive sideways. You hit the soft skin of her shoulder and roll, tucking into a ball just as the tip of her finger makes contact.

***SCRATCH.***

The sound is a wet, grinding rumble that vibrates through your very bones. The force of the impact is immense. Where you were standing a split-second ago, her nail now digs into her own skin, scraping away dead cells and leaving a shallow, red furrow. You feel the displaced air wash over you, carrying the faint, coppery scent of abraded skin. You lie there, trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You were centimeters from being smeared into a biological paste. You took in a big breath of air, feeling frustrated. There had to be a better way to meet people.

You lay there, your tiny heart pounding, recovering from the near-death experience. As your senses return, you realize something odd. Her finger hasn't moved. It's resting there, the pad of her digit pressing gently into the soft flesh of her shoulder, a fleshy plateau occupying the space you narrowly vacated. She's not scratching anymore, just holding her hand in place.

Curiosity overcoming fear, you cautiously raise your head. Peering past the colossal wall of her finger, you can just glimpse the glowing screen of her phone. You can clearly see the video she's watching. A stunningly beautiful woman with rich, bronze skin and a magnificent halo of tight, black curls is speaking directly to the camera. Her voice is a low, hypnotic purr, even from this distance. The subtitles read: "...and the most important thing is communication. Even if he's too small to speak, you can feel him. His touch, his struggles... it's a language all its own. Learn to listen with your skin..."

Gia is utterly captivated. Her mouth is slightly agape, her eyes wide with fascination. She's completely absorbed in the video, her finger forgotten, resting idly on her shoulder.