The Dramatic Spiel of Arthur and Chardonnay~ (7,147 views)

Arthur didn’t understand why she was so insistent he wasn’t fine – it was beginning to concern him. There wasn’t anything wrong with him was there? He stared at their connected hands until she removed hers from his and ran her fingers through her hair. He still watched her with glazed over eyes and blinked, expression undecipherable as she took in his request. That was all he wanted, and she’d do it, right? He waited for her to say something, he waited for her to say something and finally she did! She said fine and his face lit back up, his glazed eyes coming back to life as she assured him she’d be back and directed him to his sweatpants. He was still shaking, his heart was beating erratically, but he was fine. Probably. Didn’t this happen whenever he got drunk? He was usually giggly off his rocker for a few hours and then crashed hardcore, and that was beginning to happen.

When she mentioned sweats he was confused until she shoved him the grey sweatpants he usually wore to bed. Sometimes he wore a shirt with them, sometimes he didn’t. Usually when Chardonnay was over he didn’t. It was weird, to think he’d ever be comfortable enough around someone to sleep beside them without a shirt. Then again Chardonnay had touched and seen parts of him he had thought no one besides him would do either of those things to – and the thought caused him to giggle again as he allowed Chardonnay to put her hands on his shoulders and looked up at her. The light above his bed illuminated every curve of her face, every twitch of her eye in irritation, and he watched them with fascination until she excused herself to go and change? Was that what she was doing? Well, whatever she was doing, he had faith she’d return to sleep with him. Too much faith, maybe.

He stuck his tongue out at his sweatpants and jeans. He had to get them off. The jeans, the sweatpants weren’t even on. But he was told to keep sitting. He could stand for a second and try to change out of them, but he might fall, and then Chardonnay would be angry and definitely not sleep with him if he had to go to the hospital. So instead he flopped backwards and bucked his hips to undo the fly with shaking fingers. He slid the jeans down his skinny legs, flailing them in the air for a bit until his jeans flew unceremoniously towards the dresser. Close enough. Now he was in his boxers and had to figure out how his sweatpants went on. One foot... into the foothole. Then the other foot? Arthur got the sweatpants up to his knees before he experienced the opposite problem of getting his jeans off. And if he stood up he’d probably trip, right? And then Chardonnay would get angry. He could hear her footsteps coming back. So he leaned backwards on his bed and hiked his sweatpants up that way, looking at Chardonnay upside down as she entered the room, his hands still on the band of his pants. Even though being in the position gave him a headache, he grinned at her, and rolled himself over, pants now on though he was still in the same plaid shirt from earlier. Any attempts he gave at undoing the buttons failed miserably due to his shaking hands so he gave up. As she walked to her side of the bed and sat down, the smile turned into the same lazy one he’d been giving her before. He was constantly shifting on the bed.

Even in the dark of his room, he could see Chardonnay’s freckles lining her cheeks and nose. There was no more makeup obscuring them and it made him happy. He was still transfixed by her face even though all he had to look at her with was the light of the moon. Had he always thought she was this attractive? Maybe. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe when he first met her he thought she was shallow-pretty, the type you’d see on magazines but the type he never wanted to touch.

”Yes.” He said, hoisting himself back up so that he was sitting up, staring over at Chardonnay. Her freckles were there, splayed out on her skin like the stars were splayed out in the sky. He was staring at them rather than her eyes or lips. He got to see those every time he was with her, but the freckles were a rare treat he was only greeted to at night or in the morning if he woke up first. ”But... are you?”

Her words all blended together like soup, and he just stared at her lazily, watching as she pushed aside the covers and got herself nestled into his bed. He didn’t turn around and instead stayed where he was, facing her, as he followed her lead and nestled himself under the covers. He pulled them around him like he was forming a cocoon, slowly letting his eyes fall shut, as he gave into the desire to sleep. He could still feel Chardonnay’s presence even when his eyes were closed, even though he wasn’t moving to touch her or kiss her at all, he was just conscious of another person underneath the covers and he liked it.

Sleep was just one big black blur to Arthur, and he didn’t think he had any dreams. He was just comfortable. His breathing was steady and even, though he occasionally twitched and thrashed in his sleep, his heart not wanting to regulate itself and calm down. But he was tired, so tired, and his brain shut down, allowing him to sleep off his drunken behavior.

Though with the dismissal of his drunken stupor came the horrifying reality that was his hangover.

Arthur first became conscious because of some sounds outside. They were innocent birds, but to Arthur, they were too loud. He groaned and tried to go back to sleep, keeping his eyes shut tightly. But the noises just got worst so he grabbed his pillow and smothered his face with it, his mouth and nose pressing into his sheets. But the stupid birds were still so loud! Again he groaned, squishing the pillow into his ears. No, shut up. Shut up. If he just stayed like this the throbbing in his head would go away, right? Maybe? But he stayed like that for ten minutes, and the throbbing didn’t go away. The more he woke up the worse it got. He felt nauseous. Oh God why did he drink last night? Stupid Susan, leaving her wine here. He should have insisted she took it home.

Slowly he came to and sat up in bed. He was facing the backboard, and was still pressing a pillow to his ears. He glanced over at the spot on the bed beside him, which was vacant. He shook his head but then stopped when they gave him a headache. Of course he drank alone... he exhaled and narrowed his eyes at his window. Fuck, he should close the blind.

Slowly he shifted on the bed to face the door. He glanced down at his clothes. The shirt he’d worn yesterday was all wrinkled and he slowly brought the pillow obscuring his ears down to the bed again. He started fumbling with his buttons, moving to take the shirt off. But the more he tried to do that the brighter the sun seemed to grow and he just gave up about halfway through and flopped forward again, curling himself into a small ball underneath the covers, forcing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the world. He could deal with his shirt in the morning. Frankly, he was surprised he had even changed his pants. He was faintly aware of clanging happening in the kitchen and maybe, if he wasn’t so hung over and in pain, he would have gotten up to see who the fuck was in there. But if anyone it was his sister, coming over to cook something and then she just didn’t bother to wake him up because he didn’t know. Whatever. Whatever... he wished he could just fall back asleep. Or go back in time and stop himself from drinking. Why had he done that, anyway?

Arthur didn’t expect to hear the person in the kitchen coming his way. Of, if they were, he just expected it to be Susan, cooing that it was time to wake up and that he was acting just like he did when he was a little kid, curled up in a ball trying to go back to sleep! She’d laugh and then tell him she was making him breakfast, and then check his temperature and make fun of him for getting drunk. But the footsteps stopped beside the bed and instead of his sister’s sweet voice gracing his ears, Chardonnay’s voice did. He would have been more shocked at that if her yelling didn’t make his head ache.

”Don’t yell at me,” He groaned out, weakly, rubbing his forehead. Why was Chardonnay here? Was he dreaming about her? No, he wouldn’t be. And he was wearing too many clothes for them to have had sex last night. When did she get here? She continued to yell and he clogged his ears with his hands. She yanked the blankets off of him and he glared over at her, slowly sitting up on the bed. It was too early for her bullshit, he was too hungover for her bullshit. He was surprised she’d made him something. Why was she even here, though? He furrowed his brows at he looked at her and then he remembered some of it.

He remembered texting her, wanting some company last night because that was their weakly thing. He was used to the regular schedule of fucking her at least once a week. But then she hadn’t shown up. He remembered going to the fridge and grabbing the bottle of wine and a glass from his kitchen ‘just because’. And then he threw back glass after glass. But why? Was he so sad that night that he just felt the need to drink if Chardonnay wasn’t going to come over? Or would... an image of her car flashed into his mind, stalled out on the side of the road, being pushed aside from the wind. It was that night he went out to get her but instead of looking into the car and seeing her hunched over looking sad, he looked in and her head was smashed against the wheel, her hair stained with blood. And despite Chardonnay’s teasing words in the present the memory was so real, so vivid in his head that he felt a lurch in his stomach and clamped his hand to his mouth, tasting vomit in the back of his throat.

Oh God, he felt sick. He would normally have snapped something in retort at her words to him, telling her that his microwavable dinners were cheap and easy and he wasn’t suffering from malnutrition, but instead he just scrambled to get up and try and find somewhere to vomit if he needed to. He wound up making it to the sink of the bathroom before he dry-heaved, clutching his stomach, feeling a cool bead of sweat douse his forehead and back. He groaned. Even if it would have been gross he wished he’d vomited – it felt like his stomach was doing flips and when he closed his eyes all he saw was that nightmare again. Was that why he drank? Ugh... he was overreacting... he rested his elbows on the edge of the sink and remained there, expecting Chardonnay to come screaming at him for bolting without acknowledging the food she’d apparently made him. But he didn’t feel hungry right now – the opposite, actually. He turned on the sink and tried to cool himself by splashing his face with water, but he still felt queasy. He tasted vomit again, like it was just settled in the back of his throat but not coming up. Seriously, by this point he was about to grab the toothbrush off of the counter and force himself to throw up in the toilet. He could buy a new toothbrush later. Right now he just needed whatever the fuck was bubbling in his stomach to come out. He let out another groan and stared at himself in the mirror.

God he looked horrible. He made a lot of mistakes in his life, but this was definitely shaping up to be one of the biggest... especially since he knew Chardonnay was in his room now and probably irritated with him. He still didn't get why, or how, she was here... or how long she'd been here.

Everything hurt. Arthur stayed where he was, hunched over the sink, catching his breath before he was going to make himself sick. He didn’t expect Chardonnay to come over to the door and speak to him. He expected her to roll her eyes, tell him that he wasn’t dead and she didn’t care anymore, and leave. He wouldn’t blame her. How could he? He never expected anything else from her. He could nurse his own hangover, he was positive. It’d happened before – only a few times – and he always got through it with a cup of coffee and a bag of ice pressed against his skull.

Though he was surprised when she stayed where she was and leaned against the doorframe. She didn’t yell at him again, and she folded her arms across her chest, looking cross. He stared at her reflection in the mirror, a few feet behind him. She spoke in a lower voice, one that didn’t make his head throb as bad, though her question made him want to roll his eyes. He didn’t, because it would make him puke, but he wanted to.

”Because I’m a fucking idiot.” He deadpanned, and of course Chardonnay would agree. Arthur didn’t usually drink. He knew better than to do so especially because there hadn’t been a time in his life that he’d drank and not regret it the next morning. The last time he’d been in this situation was his last birthday, maybe, when Susan had insisted he drink his fill at a bar. He had only done it to appease her and had sworn that getting shitfaced was never happening again. How strong was Susan’s wine? Why... why couldn’t he have smoked a cigarette to just chill himself out before she came over? Sure, she would have bitched at him for tasting like smoke, but he could down a few tic tacs before they got down and dirty. Or he could even have put his lips somewhere other than on hers. Jesus fucking Christ... he ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the flowing water in front of him. When she said he could have texted her he felt like even more of an idiot. He could have just texted her. He should have asked her why she was running late. But he didn’t. He overreacted and dove headfirst into his sister’s wine. Why was he so convinced she’d just bitch at him if he texted her or called her?

”I don’t know why I didn’t” He grumbled, as he pulled on his hair with his fingers. The pain on his scalp kind of dulled the throbbing in his head. The throbbing was more prevalent than the churning in his stomach was. At least she wasn’t screaming at him. He was thankful for that. If he wasn't in so much pain, he probably would have been baffled at how interested she actually sounded just then. But instead he sighed. ”...how long have you been here?”

He let out a tuft of air at her response to him calling himself an idiot – though he was surprised she didn’t jump on that and laugh at him, agree with him, and say he was more than just an idiot and that he was a jackass too for making her suffer or something. God, he really was so stupid. He didn’t have to drink! He didn’t worry that much! He was protective but not a worrywart and besides, Chardonnay wasn’t someone who wanted him to care that much. But, then, didn’t she want him to care somewhat like with the whole texting him every night she got off work thing? Well, even if that were the case, she definitely didn’t want him to care enough to get drunk off his ass when he was worried. He should have texted her... just one text would have told him she was fine.

When she told him how she’d gotten here and that he’d immediately tried to hug her, despite the fact he felt ill and was paling before, he started to flush. Great. Fucking great, he was drunk and remembered nothing and apparently was very affectionate to Chardonnay. He wasn’t normally that affectionate, actually. Sure when he was drunk he was giggly and forward, but he wasn’t affectionate to the point that he started hugging people. The thought of that just made him think it had been special in the case of seeing Chardonnay, which he didn’t know how to feel about. ”Fuck...” he grumbled. No, no he didn’t remember anything. Though that she’d stayed gave him pause. Why did she stay? He glanced over at her in the mirror, and narrowed his eyes.

”I’m not usually... I couldn’t have been that bad. I... probably just...” Was relieved to see her. But he wasn’t going to say that to Chardonnay. But then how could he explain how apparently affectionate he had been? And he didn’t even know how affectionate he had been... what did he do to Chardonnay? Part of him didn’t want to know. ”Never mind. I just – I don’t know. I probably thought that was sex or something. That was why I texted you, so that was obviously what I was thinking about.” He squeezed his eyes and tightened his grip on his hair. ”...nope. I don’t remember shit right now. Was I really that bad?”

This was painful to listen to. Arthur groaned slightly as she continued to assure him he was actually ‘that bad’ and he felt the regret beginning to seep into his system. He knew he did stupid shit when drunk, but trying to kiss Chardonnay and get inside her pants while drunk? He wished he fell on the floor and took a nap. Then he wouldn’t be in this situation and Chardonnay wouldn’t have had to deal with him. She could have rolled her eyes and left and gone back up to her city and he’d have woken up completely alone, with a hangover, and he wouldn’t feel so squeamish now.

He still felt flippy in his stomach, but Chardonnay mentioning all of the things he’d done to her was making him fluttered and his stomach flutter for a different reason. As she spoke he didn’t really remember any specifics. She said he pinned her down on his bed and that thought scared him. What the fuck was he really thinking then? Was he still trying to have sex with her at that point? God, he was miserable. He was miserable and hated himself at that moment.

But the mention of freckles got some memories out of Arthur. He remembered his curiosity about her makeup, and how when he thought she wasn’t going to be wearing any in the morning he got happy, because he’d get to see the freckles. He could remember mornings when he’d woken up beside her and she was still sleeping, the way he could count them and apparently he’d said that. He said that to her and called the freckles cute and he went scarlet, and hunched further over the sink and obscured his face behind his arms, fingers still knotted in his hair. No, no... why the fuck would he have said that?! Those thoughts weren’t even important. Yeah, he liked her freckles, and found them cute, but that was just something about her he didn’t want her to know! Like, why should she know he liked her freckles? She didn’t like them, and he wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t supposed to nuzzle into her and call her freckles cute. He wasn’t supposed to coil his arm around her waist and giggle in her ear like he’d done on his couch, that memory coming in the clearest of all of his tangled thoughts for some reason. He stayed in that position, his ears just as red as his face. If he just stayed hunched over like this, Chardonnay wouldn’t continue to talk about the freckles... right? He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

Oh, great. And apparently he’d promised her that he would do anything? Jesus fucking Christ.

”I was drunk. Don’t take anything I said seriously...” He grumbled, his flushed face still hidden by his forearms. ”Especially not some promise... look... you could have left. I don’t even get why you stayed if I was such a pain in the ass.”

Arthur was too flustered to notice Chardonnay’s lips twitching at her thoughts. All he was focusing on was the gentle hissing of the water a few inches from his head, which oddly relaxed him. Everything else was too loud. The silence, even, was too loud. But this low hiss of water was perfect. Chardonnay wasn’t buying his words about him being too drunk to make sense, though, and that frustrated him. He didn’t want her to doubt him. He just wanted her to buy it so that he could be left alone. But honesty... was he more honest when he was drunk? Yeah, he guessed he was. If he said that about her freckles he definitely was more honest than he usually was – way more honest than he wanted to ever be with Chardonnay. And... what else would he have said? What else might have slipped out? There were plenty of things that he didn’t want Chardonnay to know about him and he didn’t know what he’d said and not said... he wished he had a transcript, so that he knew what Chardonnay might eventually bring up in this conversation.

”It’s not like it matters what I think of them – why can’t you just believe me on that?” He groaned. He didn’t want to deal with her teasing him. He really didn’t... but he had a feeling she wasn’t going to let it go. Damn it all. Why did he drink? ”And what the fuck would you even want from me? Are you going to try and get me to try some new weird fetish of yours in bed or something with that promise?” Honestly she could probably just ask him, he’d be willing to try anything she wanted to at least once, but he wasn’t about to mention that now, ”and you are not getting me to throw away any plaid I own because of some drunken promise I made. So, fine. If it’s not something creepy or something that will ruin my shit, maybe I’ll listen if it gets you to just leave me alone. Jesus fucking Christ...”

Saying all of that just made his head throb more. Great... fucking great. And then she said she stayed because she thought he was going to go off and kill himself if she wasn’t there. Was he really that desperate? No. He wouldn’t have gone after her, he would have let her leave and then fell asleep on the couch or floor and just... stayed there. Probably forever. ”I would have been fine. I am fine. Don’t worry about it, even when i'm drunk i'm not that idiotic,” he grumbled as he slowly straightened out, his hands still on the counter to steady himself. He reached forward and turned off the water, the action making him cringe. He turned around to look at Chardonnay, but didn’t move forward, afraid that if he did he would just prove her point about being wobbly. He narrowed his eyes. ”You dumped the wine out? I don’t really care. It was Susan’s and I hate drinking. But why would you even bother? It’s not like you’d be here if I got drunk a second time.”

He rose his eyebrows, though, feeling like he wanted some of that coffee she said she’d made. God... he was so exhausted.

”Well, you won’t shut up about what I said,” Arthur grumbled, weakly. If she didn’t care what he thought about them she sure as fuck wasn’t making that apparent with how much she was mentioning them. Then again, maybe she was just trying to make fun of him. She always did that. She must just love to know he was stupid enough to actually like her freckles and look forward to seeing them. She really never needed to know he felt that way... and this was why. ”I don’t care,” he snapped under his breath when she said he wouldn’t be seeing her freckles. And it wasn’t like that mattered much! He just liked seeing them sometimes when Chardonnay had washed off her makeup and was asleep beside him. He didn’t want to see them all the time.

Her unneeded loudness when she flushed and snapped at him about how stupid his remark was made Arthur groan and cover his ears.

”We’ve been screwing for years and you still can’t tell when I’m being sarcastic?! Just – ugh, no, I don’t have any secret kinks, what we do now is fine. And don’t yell,” no secret kinks that he knew of, anyway. And he was always willing to try new things if she wanted them – not that he’d ever suggested too much except switching positions or aggressiveness levels or anything like that – but he was pretty sure Chardonnay would shoot down most other ideas before they left his lips. Maybe out of embarrassment... the same reason he’d never say anything, which was the whole reason nothing would ever be said. Whatever. He just shook his head at the plaid comment. The motion made his head hurt and feel light. He stopped.

He stared over at her when she brought up the shaking, furrowing his brow. He started shaking? Well, he wasn’t surprised. When he was really tired that tended to happen, and when he was drunk, he was always happy-go-lucky goofy until he crashed, and then his body shook until he got to a bed or a floor or a couch and he just passed out. He looked at her for a few seconds after she stopped speaking, not... recognizing the tone of her voice as something he’d really ever come out of her. Was she... concerned? He clenched the counter of the sink even as she tried to return to normal and told him to leave the bathroom.

”There’s nothing anyone could tell me about it I don’t already know. It’s probably caffeine related.” Or nicotine, but he wasn’t going to admit that. Instead he exhaled and grabbed the toothbrush off of the counter. While she showered he was going to take care of his stomach... then take a shower himself. He stepped forward, towards Chardonnay and the doorframe. ”Yeah. Well. Uh. Thanks. For putting up with me.”

He didn’t look at her as he slandered his way out of the door. ”Just let me know when you’re done.”

He just hummed in response to Chardonnay then, knowing he’d probably hear the water stop running in about a half hour or maybe even an hour. That spoiled princess sure loved to take long showers. He didn’t get why. He only took showers to smell decent and rinse off his hair, he never understood the point of just standing in the steam and relaxing. It was too weird to him. He honestly didn’t know what she did in the shower to use up all his hot water, but he was pretty sure whatever it was he didn’t actually want to know. It made his thoughts wander to places they shouldn’t be wandering this early in the morning, when he was this hungover and sex clearly wasn’t going to be happening for at least another week. Whatever, he’d live.

He entered the kitchen and looked around. He saw the empty bottle of wine in the trash and frowned. Yup, she wasn’t kidding when she said she’d dumped it out. Susan might be upset later when she found out, but she should have known to take the stupid thing home with her because he didn’t drink. Everything was too bright in his kitchen and it made Arthur’s head pound. He walked to the sink and stared down at the drain, which still smelt like alcohol. Fucking delightful.

He turned on the hot water and then took the drain out of the sink, putting it on the side of the counter. His stomach was still doing flips and he felt sick, but wasn’t throwing up. He felt the need to, but it wasn’t happening. He hated having a strong stomach at times like this, but then that was where his gag reflex came in handy. He would have rather done this in the toilet, but since his bathroom was occupied, he had to do it here. With the water still running he made himself sick, shoving the toothbrush into the back of his throat until he hit his uvula and vomited, the liquid coming out gross and clear and he was pretty sure he saw blood mixed in with the alcohol. Nasty. The vomit swirled down the drain and with the water constantly running the stench didn’t remain and the liquid didn’t stain. He watched it swirl until he was staring at nothing but warm water. His head was still pounding, but his stomach felt lighter. He tossed the toothbrush into the trash then, never wanting to use it again after doing that with it, telling himself he’d go out and buy a new one later in the day. Meanwhile he scrubbed the sink with some soap, making sure nothing smelt like alcohol and vomit anymore. The steam rising from the warm water helped his head feel better.

He finished scrubbing the sink as the shower turned off and he suddenly was aware of the lack of noise it made. He exhaled and took a few deep breaths, approaching the living room expecting to find a mess there. Sure enough the wine glass was there, on the coffee table, beside the photograph of himself and Adelaide. He reached down to grab the glass just as Chardonnay exited the bathroom and approached him. He could have done without her complaining. He really could have. He felt shitty enough as it was.

”It’s because I’m not as spoiled as you are, Princess. I don’t really care about how luxurious my shower is.” Arthur snapped, annoyed, as he examined the contents of the cup. There was a small ring of alcohol at the bottom that would take scrubbing to clean. Damn it. ”Just leave it in the same place. I haven’t changed much of anything since you used to come here. Except for those curtains you ripped when you tripped into my tub like an idiot.”

He was a minimalist. Had she not figured that out yet? Arthur rose his brows over at Chardonnay as she flipped her hand around in some sassy manner he’d come to expect from her. Like she’d never understand his frugality, he’d never understand her need for extravagance. He could see, maybe, the sense in things like the bed and the nicer appliances for the kitchen, but everything else? Pretty pointless. Who needed a separate tub and shower, especially when they lived alone? He opened his mouth as though he was going to respond. And normally he would have. He would have snapped at her that she didn’t understand anything, that she spent way too much money on useless crap. This apartment was fully functional and there were only a few things he could change if he could. Maybe he’d buy a washer/dryer if he could, maybe he’d buy a dishwasher... but he didn’t need anything. He was a single man living alone, making decent money at the theater he’d one day own. He didn’t eat much aside from microwave things or things his sister cooked. He didn’t need to wash a lot of dishes at the same time because he normally washed everything right after he used it. And his building did have a washer/dryer. Admittedly, it sucked, but it existed.

He rubbed his forehead, able to now smell the scent of the coffee Chardonnay had made him. How long had he been ignoring it? It was probably cold by now. But he needed something to wake up in the morning. It was either coffee or energy drinks, and he was all out of the latter. He’d have to pick some up later.

”You were the one who pulled me down on top of you to rip the thing. Don’t act like you wouldn’t have laughed at me if I slipped on my ass into a tub. It was a pretty funny image.” And one of the first images he had ever gotten of her that wasn’t flawlessly perfect. He remembered walking in, flicking on the light, and getting an eyeful of her with his shirt on to cover her breasts, hunched over in his bathtub, looking completely embarrassed. And he had actually wanted to help her up. But she had been sneaky, she yanked him down and caused him to hit his head and then they got into a huge argument about it. Then... they had sex again. How had one thing led to another that night? He furrowed his brow thinking about it. That was early on in this, wasn’t it? One of the first few times they slept together. God, was it really that long ago that they started fucking? How long had Chardonnay been a part of his life? And how long would she continue to be a part of his life? Why had he let himself worry about her, to the point that he got drunk and tried to kiss her and keep her close last night? He was remembering what he’d done, little by little. It was so embarrassing. Was he really that... lonely?

Arthur shook the thoughts away, even though it hurt his head slightly to do so. Whatever. He walked into his room to get the cold mug of coffee, and by the time he came back, Chardonnay was looking at... her own book. Arthur’s eyes widened as he stared from her to the book, back to her. Why did she find that? Why didn’t he give that to Susan when he had a chance? He kept forgetting! Shit... shit. He turned away from her and grabbed the sugar, practically pouring it in his coffee for something to do. It was way too much but he didn’t care. His neck and ears were beginning to go red, especially at her last comment.

”Fuck you! I just haven’t had a chance to give it to her yet! Jason wanted me to cook something from it the night I dropped the cookbook off at his place, and it was late so I just took the damn thing here!” His cheeks darkened even more when she implied he looked at her picture to jerk off and he almost dropped his coffee, quickly whirling around to face the counter and away from her. ”F—fuck you! I don’t need a picture to get off! I haven’t even looked at the thing since I slammed it face down because looking at your face just – just pissed me off! And I completely forgot about it, okay? I’ll give it to Susan the next time I see her.”

He downed half of the coffee, which was cold and bitter because half of the sugar hadn’t melted in. Whatever. He needed to get the taste of vomit out of his throat and to feel life return to him. He couldn’t will the blush to go away from his skin and once again, loathed that his hair was so dark, which made it stand out even more.

Arthur hated this. Why the hell was Chardonnay still talking? Shouldn’t she have rolled her eyes, scoffed, and left him alone? But she was still pressing the issue and only furthered to embarrass him more. He wanted her to just drop it. She had a point about the time passing by. Susan had yet to mention anything about Chardonnay to him lately, but then again, to his sister Arthur had clearly been having a bad few months. It had only been a few weeks since he seemed to get his crap together again and his sister wouldn’t have brought up someone who she knew stressed him out if she thought it might make him spiral back down, right? She could have already bought the book when it came out, she could use it to cook already. But, then, wouldn’t she have invited him over? When Susan cooked big meals she liked to invite her brother over because otherwise it would only be two people eating. And while Adelaide had a big stomach lately, she was still only a child and they always had leftovers.

”Shut up. She’ll have two, then.” He grumbled. Maybe Adelaide could keep the other one. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He stared at his coffee, attempted to stir it again, and then took another gulp. It was still so bitter. Like barely sweetened ass. This was why he liked to brew the coffee with sugar. That way it actually got sweeter instead of just crunchy. He felt his brow twitching as Chardonnay continued to tease him. Did she normally tease him this much?

He didn’t hate her face or find it ugly. In fact, he really did like looking at her face, especially when she didn’t know he was just so that he could do it without her hounding it for it. Like when he woke up first and she was still there. But there was a time that he hated to look at her face – during those few months following their nasty fight, the one that they had made up from a few weeks ago. When he received the book he couldn’t stomach looking at her smile, even if it was fake. It made him feel stressed out, useless, pissed off, and hurt. So he just slammed the cover face-down and purposefully ignored the book after that one time he used it to make spaghetti. And it was after they made up that he really came to realize just how much he actually liked looking at her face. When he didn’t have to worry about her talking about him behind his back to Chad and her other fuckbuddies, when he didn’t have to worry about her actually just fucking him because she thought he was funny and not because she was genuinely enjoying it. He caught himself looking at her face more often than he used to and he hated it. Especially since he had, apparently, admitted that when he was drunk.

”Shut up! It wasn’t now that I hated seeing your face.” He grumbled, running a hand over his face, which felt hot. Fucking great. He turned around to glare at her, noticing now the way her lips were twisted up into a smirk. She thought she was the victor here, huh? Just because she mentioned he liked her face – that he liked looking at her while they were fucking (an accusation that was true, somewhat, and the fact she knew that made his flush darken) – she thought she could smirk at him like she ruled the world. If his head didn’t pound so much, if he didn’t know his breath probably stunk something fierce, he might have just ended this argument by kissing her and dragging her back to his room, because if there was a way he knew he could get her squirming and blushing it was through taking control in the bedroom. From their previous experiences he noticed she seemed to really like that. He still didn’t take control all of the time, but when he was in a particularly bad mood or really felt like talking control... well, it was always nice to know that was appreciated. But he couldn’t do that now and he was irked to realize he could think of nothing else to really say to fluster her up. What could he say... his brow twitched.

”I – you – you’re too damn egotistical! Do you hear yourself? You’re not that – I – I can get rid of the book, easily, I just forgot about it! Just because I like screwing you – just because we – you – I – because we’re, you’re...” Okay, stop talking. He rustled his fingers through his hair. Why was she still here? Shouldn’t she have stormed out by now? Did she get some sadistic pleasure in irritating him even when he was miserably hungover? Knowing Chardonnay, that was probably the truth. ”Why the fuck do I have to keep the book when I see your face every week? Even if, maybe, I like seeing your face, I’d rather see it in person! So no, there’s no reason I kept the book except that I forgot I still had it. Why the hell would you care if I like your face anyway!? I thought you were irritated that I like your freckles! God, you’re so fucking confusing. Just leave me alone. You don’t have to stay and try and taunt me, y’know.”

Had he been of a more composed state of mind, he probably would have had some witty retort prepared for Chardonnay. Actually, had he been in a more composed state of mind, he would have pulled her into his arms and started to kiss her. He wished he didn’t feel so queasy, so flippy-floppy, because he definitely wished he could. Even as Chardonnay grabbed her bag and started to leave he almost changed his mind – almost – but in the end he kept his resolve and just stood there in his apartment until she left. He glared over at the cookbook on his kitchen table, the source of all his frustrations, and his eyes were drawn to the contours of Chardonnay’s face on the cover as her lips pulled up into a smile. Why did he not get rid of this? Had he really allowed himself to go and forget about the book completely? He glared at the cover and then picked the book up, flipping through a few of the pages absently. As much as he wanted to just chuck the book somewhere it was too nice and expensive for him to actually feel good about throwing away.

He took a shower, which, despite the lukewarm water Chardonnay left for him, helped him to feel a lot better and more relaxed. When he was done he decided to pass the time by playing a game on his laptop until it reached about 5 PM, and by then, his headache was mostly alleviated. He grabbed his phone and scanned through the recent messages. Hs eyes paused on Chardonnay’s nickname (still Spoiled Princess). She was the last person he texted and he found himself wondering if she’d gotten home all right after the hour long drive down here. Before they started using her condo, had he really not minded waiting for her for so long? He didn’t know. He was normally perfectly dine with people driving. If he knew roughly when to expect them, and they came realitively on time, there was nothing problematic about driving. He was fine driving long distances while his sister dozed in the passenger seat, or while Adelaide stared out the window in the back. It was the abnormal that bothered him, not knowing whether or not Chardonnay had gotten herself into some unavoidable problem, and that was what ultimately led to him drinking. He was sure. It was all her fault. All her fault, because she could have texted him to let him know if she was going to be late.

He moved down a few logs and pulled up his conversation with his sister, then slid his phone so that it called her. As he expected her to, she answered in a chipper voice, one that if he didn’t love her as much as he knew he did, definitely would have brought the headache back. And then he bluntly asked her if she had purchased Chardonnay’s book yet.

As he expected, Susan was shocked that he asked. Surprisingly, she didn’t have it. She had forgotten to go to the store and pick it up and every time she remembered, she couldn’t afford to spend the 45 dollars on a new book. He said he’d just forgotten to give the signed copy to her when Chardonnay had delivered Jason’s, and Susan then asked – no, demanded – that he give the book to her immediately. But then she asked him what he was doing for dinner and when he said nothing, she scoffed and told him to pick something out in the book and informed him that they would be making it. He wasn’t happy about it, but agreed, and wound up swinging by the grocery store to pick up what Susan didn’t have for it. They wound up making a chicken parmesan dish – and by they, Arthur meant himself with Adelaide constantly trying to ruin the meal by dousing it in too much pepper – and it ultimately came out well. Susan did most of the cleaning since Arthur had to do the cooking. He was pretty grumpy the whole night – his hangover tying into the fact that he was constantly thinking about Chardonnay which pissed him off – and Susan felt bad enough about it that she took the time while Arthur was busy cooking and watching Adelaide to run to the store and get some desert.

Time flew by pretty steadily for Arthur after that. He was still working at the theater, still the supervisor, now with much better hours. He didn’t have to go in until 11 AM but he left much later than he used to, at 1 or 2 in the morning, though sometimes earlier if Jasmin was going to be staying at the theater until she closed. Christian was still the second manager much to Arthur’s chagrin. Jason was still a constant presence at the theater, but he couldn’t devote as much of his time to the upkeep as he used to. Arthur did most of the work himself then, and usually when Jason came to the theater he just picked him up with him and then dropped him off at the end of the night. Jason knew that his retirement would be coming, probably within the year, and that also meant that Arthur would be buying the business completely soon.

As excited as the thought made Arthur, it also terrified him. He had dreams to own the place but was still scared that something would go wrong, or that he wouldn’t know what to do when he bought the place. He started asking more questions to Jason when he was in the office and Jason started going over more things with Arthur than he’d gone over before. He went into more of the technical things, told him how taxes work and how payroll for others, not just himself, would work. It made Arthur nervous to hear all of this, especially because there were so many legalities. The numbers were fine, because he was a math minded person, but it was all of the forms and paperwork that he didn’t get. He hadn’t actually had to read something in such detail in a long time... he had to brush himself up on what all of this crap meant. So his homework for the weeks to come was to go over more of the paperwork than he’d ever been allowed to handle, which he took home and kept in a locked cabinet in his apartment. Every night when he got back to his apartment early in the morning, he would pour over the papers until he couldn’t see anything. It was normally during that time period that he got a text from Chardonnay telling him she was home safe, and that usually woke him up enough to focus for another hour until he went to bed.

By the time the end of the first week rolled around Arthur was definitely missing her. More than he wanted to admit. He texted her asking if she was busy on Friday night, and she said she wasn’t and that he could come over. Before he hit the highway, he replied again that he definitely wasn’t drunk this time. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to drink and drive, ever. He brought a bag of his clothes for tomorrow, soap, and his sweatpants with him because this time, he had zero intention of not getting laid. He got to her condo an hour later and took the lift up to her floor, got out, and knocked on the door. And then when she opened it for him he didn’t waste a second before he pulled her into an aggressive kiss, backing her up into the condo as he shut the door behind him. He didn’t waste any time getting her back to her room and even though it wasn’t his original intention, he listened to her last words when she’d left his apartment and, at least in his opinion, the sex was definitely worth the wait. Afterwards he was in too much of a good mood to glare at her, and comment about their parting words last time, so he just threw on his sweatpants and crashed on her bed, definitely not complaining about how comfortable her bed was that night. Jesus Christ, he needed that.

After that, the next two months flew by. He kept up the same routine of learning more about the fine details of the theater, practically memorizing the paperwork he was given to look over and file. He kept looking after Jason, who seemed to be getting happier and happier despite his closeness to retirement. When he went over to cook something for his boss, he let slip that the reason he was so happy was that he knew he’d be leaving the theater in some of the most dedicated hands he could find, and that comment was enough to make Arthur blush for the rest of the evening and ruin the recipe he’d been trying to cook. Jason found it amusing and kept Arthur up-to-date on all the latest happenings from his close friend Thomas, and talked about Chardonnay and her restaurant as though Arthur didn’t regularly fuck her and know these things. But when he thought about it, he actually didn’t know much of anything. He and Chardonnay didn’t discuss their careers together, and that was all right. They just discussed sex with one another, what they wanted to do with one another, and maybe, occasionally, they’d talk dirty or tease one another with arguments. And that went back to being a regular part of his life. Arthur went to Chardonnay’s about once a week and he managed to convince her to again try to come to his apartment (promising he had zero alcohol in his place) so that the commute wasn’t as bad. And as their trips to one another’s places grew more frequent, Arthur had been the first one to suggest that maybe they should leave some things at each other’s apartments.

It started out simple – just soap and shampoo and nightclothes. It was annoying to take his backpack to Chardonnay’s every time he went over to her place and he was sure she was not ecstatic about having to bring all of her makeup and soap and crap to his place on a weekly basis. He then asked her if she minded if he started leaving clothes there, in the space she didn’t use in her extra drawers, so that he could change easily. He told her he wouldn’t mind if she gave them back if her parents were coming up, for example, but he just wanted them there so he didn’t have to lug them every time he went over. And after that he started leaving more things there – changes of clothes, underwear, shirts, jeans – and he told her that she could do the same if she wanted to leave anything at his place. Though, for her case, he would have had to hide most of her clothes in the back of his closet so that his sister, Adelaide, or Maxine couldn’t find them. Not that any of them looked through his things, but it would be pretty obvious if they saw a dress or women’s shirt in his closet than it did not get worn by him.

Arthur’s birthday came pretty quickly – and he was shocked to realize that he was already 27. 27. Arthur spent the day with his sister and niece and a few friends. She took him to a dinner at a nice restaurant – nothing as fancy as Chardonnay’s place, but someplace nice. He got some nice thing for his apartment, a new microwave and a few new shirts.

By now, it was almost April. He continued to spend most of his weekends with Chardonnay and texted her every day she got out of work to make sure she got home safely. He wound up bringing more things to her condo and just leaving them there, so that he didn’t have to lug a whole bag with him. He usually only brought a few extra condoms with him, just in case they ran out again like that one time they had. Sure, they’d had another position to try as a result of it, so to speak (one he had definitely asked to do again), but he didn’t like not being prepared. And not having a condom was the worst thing that could happen, especially if it got Chardonnay so pissed off that she didn’t want to fool around with him anymore.

Right now, he was at work. Jason was there in his office and Arthur was taking a quick break from paperwork to help out since they were swamped for an evening showing. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket but didn’t move to answer it and instead focused on the tasks he had to do at hand – hand out popcorn, soda, candy, drinks, and count the money. When the rush finally died, Arthur told the part-timers they could relax for a few minutes whole the occasional person trickled in and out of the theaters, going to and from the bathroom. He walked towards his office, inside of which Jason sat at his desk, and pulled his phone out.

He had a text... from Spoiled Princess?

He opened it, concerned. The only reason, aside from sex, she would ever text him, would be if something was wrong. But then he saw it – the last shirt he’d kept at her place. It was one of his favorite dark blue plaid shirts, a nice shirt, a newer one too. He furrowed his brow... was she going to bitch to him about how plaid was ugly?

Seriously? You’re texting me a picture of my own shirt? I can pick it up tonight if the plaid disgusts you. He rolled his eyes as he hit send, and then went to grab himself a drink in the breakroom, gulping the water back down. Still, he was transfixed on his phone, curious what the hell she’d texted him a picture of his shirt for.

Arthur took another drink of the water he had on him in the break room, ran his fingers over his face, and waited for anyone to come into the room to tell him something was wrong or needed his attention. But no one did. Often, the newer part-timers would come and try to get his input on everything. He couldn’t blame them, they had only been working here for a few weeks now and didn’t know how everything worked, but it was really tiring to have to constantly repeat himself. He supposed by now the new hires must be learning the ropes or helping one another out, at least, because he found himself sought out less and less often. Usually if it wasn’t Jason requesting him, it was Jasmin or Christian. And they had questions he usually had to stop to think about – they weren’t answers he could just reiterate off the top of his head when a part-timer asked which shelf in the storage room held the popcorn kernels.

He opened up a game on his phone and was in the middle of playing it when something popped up on the top of his screen. A picture message? From Spoiled Princess? Another picture, huh? What the hell was she sending him so many pictures for? She didn’t usually text him. Was she drunk? But then, no, she wasn’t. She had work in an hour and she was spoiled, but not stupid. She wouldn’t drive to and manage her restaurant drunk.

He closed the game he was playing and opened his texts. He clicked on her nickname and as the image loaded, he was greeted with his shirt (his NEW shirt) burning on a hanger out on her terrace. He felt his heart begin to race and his blood begin to boil and before he could stop himself, he slammed his phone down and snapped out, ”you fucking BITCH!”

”Uh, what did you just call me?”

Arthur whipped his head up to look at Jasmin, who had her eyebrows raised in amusement rather than irritation. And the look on her face caused Arthur to blush. At work, he never swore. It was a professionalism thing, and he usually tried to keep his temper under lock. Unlike him, Jasmin liked to make jokes and cuss when no customers were around but even outside of work he tried not to lose his temper around her. So, for her to have come in here when he shouted that was profusely embarrassing.

At least it wasn’t one of the part-time girls. He’d be in for it if they took offense to that.

”Not – not you, I just got a – she’s so god—I mean, look, I need a break.” Arthur mumbled, still irate at the message he was staring at. Chardonnay had sent some text – getting pissed off at him for leaving plaid at her place – and then some fire emojis. He was livid and that was very apparent on his expression, because Jasmin snorted as he stood up and moved to go outside. She stopped him and handed him a cigarette, and told him not to punch any holes in the wall. Arthur stared at it for a second before he grumbled out a ”thanks” and rested it in her mouth, taking his own lighter out of his pocket. ”Tell Jason I went out for a cigarette.”

”Will do.” Jasmin said, grabbing herself a drink from the fridge. And then Arthur took his phone out of his pocket, didn’t even bother texting Chardonnay, and slammed his finger on the call button so hard it hurt. He got outside and was greeted by the bright sun. Fucking shit. His shirt. That was new! What the fuck was her problem – it was just a shirt! Arthur took the lighter in his hands and flicked it on, waiting for the spoiled brat to answer her phone. Assuming she’d even answer him. She might just ignore him. Oh, if she did that, he’d be spamming her text messages until she picked the got damn thing up. He didn't care if she went to work and he still wound up spamming her -- he had shit to say.

He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He knew Chardonnay was a self-entitiled brat, but to think she would actually destroy his property? He trusted her! He trusted her enough to leave his shit in her apartment, which he usually was pleased to note had been washed by the next time he went over to her place. God, how would she react if he destroyed her property? Those dresses she gave him to store? Well, for one, he would never destroy her property. Despite the fact that it was obviously expensive and Arthur would sooner sell it online than destroy it, he respected her! He respected her enough to have given her a goddamn spare key to his apartment! So why was she destroying his shit?! Just because it was plaid... self-entitled brat.

He brought the lighter up to the tip of the cigarette and flicked it, listening to the phone ring in his ear. He got a light and immediately slumped his head against the wall of the theater, glaring up at the canopy that obscured the sun from shining on the top of his head. She seriously thought she could get away with anything? Just because he trusted her... just because she knew he owed her for taking care of his drunken ass a few months ago. The cigarette in his mouth helped his body to stop from the shaking that was beginning to take over. He took a deep inhale of the smoke, letting it fill his lungs before he breathed it out in a column, watching as it drifted up towards the sky.

But the tranquility the cigarette was beginning to give his body shattered when her voice answered the phone – angry, as though she had any right to be! Then she had the nerve to lecture him about leaving plaid at her place?! He rolled his eyes and held his cigarette between his index and middle fingers.

”You fucking bitch! That was a gift!” Not that she’d care. Not that she’d even care that he wasn’t made of money and appreciated every shirt he owned. That was one of his favorites, too. It came in a set of three, a gift from his sister, a set of red, blue, and green plaid. But now it was only red and green. Christmas. Because of Chardonnay, the set of plaid was now Christmas. Not that it really mattered that much, honestly, that he only had those two colors because the shirts were all folded together in his drawers anyway. What mattered was the fact that Chardonnay had destroyed his personal property that he had trusted her enough to not destroy! ”I don’t know what the fuck plaid ever did to you when you were a baby to traumatize you this bad, but there’s nothing wrong with it! It’s practical, simple, plain. And more importantly that’s my shit you’re burning! I’m not going to keep screwing someone who destroys my shit! Maybe next time I go over I’ll just take all my damn shirts, and pants, and then you’ll never have to see plaid again in your entire rotten life!”

He really didn’t want to stop screwing her. He was pissed at her, spewing the first things that came to his mind. But he was so pissed off, maybe he would call it, just out of spite. He wouldn’t put it past himself to do that. Though he knew his lower body wouldn’t be happy about the arrangement, well, he knew he could stop having sex any time he wanted to.

He groaned and brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking a drag, not knowing or caring if she could hear him do so over the phone. The cigarette helped him regulate his temper which was begging to just fly, begging for her to snap something back at him so he could dish it back and tell her off. Why the hell did she burn his shirt? Fucking... why?! It irritated him and confused him at the same time.