The Dramatic Spiel of Arthur and Chardonnay~ (7,123 views)

He didn’t know if she was listening to him – he knew he wouldn’t be surprised if she just shoved him away and started to scream at him. But he felt like she wasn’t going to do that, as she cried into her knees, and tried to calm herself down. He didn’t even know if his words were helping her at all. He didn’t know what she was like when she was upset, what to expect or how to make her feel better. When she looked up and at him he blinked once. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were red. Her eyes were still wet, still leaking. He could see the color in the trembling as she looked for sincerity or mirth in his face. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until she looked away, but the feeling of her looking at him, looking so fragile was still stuck in his head. When she didn’t respond to what he said he waited, catching his breath again as he clenched the fabric of his bedsheets underneath his hands.

The silence was so heavy he could hear the clock from the living room ticking. It was so loud, he should probably get rid of it. The seconds ticked by as Chardonnay was lost in thought. He was getting anxious – he wished she’d say something. If she told him she wanted to leave, if she told him to just shut up and leave her alone, he wished she’d just do it already. Even if she calmed herself down and started to get annoyed with him he’d still find that easier to watch than her looking so upset, unsure, and... scared. He didn’t know what she was scared of, so he wished she’d just blurt it out. They might not have been anything more than fuckbuddies, but she could still talk to him about whatever it was... right? They were close in a way that he’d never been close to anyone before. And it was the same for her, wasn’t it? Even though they weren’t friends, or dating, or anything like that there was some level of trust they had to have in each other.

Her question made him pause, because not only was it what he was just thinking about, but it also kind of confounded him. Sure he thought of that, but that was his mind! The unspoken truth between them both! He didn’t know how to put it into words. He watched as she slunk away from him and didn’t stop her but didn’t’ move from where he was. He looked at her face, her narrowed eyes with tears still coming out of them.

”Believe it or not, I’m a decent human being. I, you’re crying and I can’t just not...” He couldn’t just blow it off with a ‘I don’t know’ like they’d mutually thought when she stormed to his apartment and they were screaming at each other. The feeling he got now was similar to when they worked together on a project, and actually had some sort of understanding and civil conversation. It was foreign, because they drove each other crazy in the worst of ways. He sighed and leaned back, so that he was sitting in front of her. It gave her the space she’d wanted and it made him feel a little better, because now he wasn’t close enough to see the faint freckles that spread across her cheeks and nose, glistening in the morning light. He folded his arms across his chest. ”It does matter to me. Because we’re sleeping together, and doesn’t that put a little... I mean, I can’t just ignore it, because I... I mean I trust you, so you can trust me, a little bit.” He let out a deep breath when he said that, ”and I’m sorry, but this concerns me, that you woke up crying in my bed, and I just – I want to help,” He should probably stop talking, because he was making himself sound dumber. But maybe if he sounded dumb, it’d get Chardonnay to laugh at him. Even though it’d sting for her to laugh at his offer of comfort, he’d rather hear her laugh at him than hear her sob. Even if the laugh was malicious, it’d mean she was back to normal. He stared over at her, exhaled, and braced himself for the laughter to start.

He watched as she wiped her face. He clenched the fabric of his sheets underneath his fingers on either side of him, his heart racing for some stupid reason he couldn’t figure out. Though he told himself what he’d just said to her was to calm her down, was just what came to his mind immediately, it made him panic. He was used to Susan’s worries. She was calmed down by sweet words and hugs, and by talking about what she felt, sometimes talking for hours. But Chardonnay was different, and they had an entirely different relationship. He was stupid to think that she’d want to open up to him – he was just... he still didn’t know what to do! Chardonnay was so complicated, so different than he’d originally pegged her for, and he really... didn’t know how to handle her. He didn’t have any magic words, nor was he smooth. He hated his former suitemate, that womanizing bastard, but at least Chad would have known what to say without sounding like an idiot. But, still. At least Arthur was genuine. Or trying to be. He had to give himself credit for that. Chad was many things, and one of them was fake.

He sighed at her response, thankful she hadn’t started to laugh, but also thankful that she seemed to be regaining her composure. As he’d thought she’d had a nightmare. He didn’t know what it was about, but by the almost timid way she drew her knees up to her chest and blinked, he didn’t want to pry. She wouldn’t tell him anyway, and even if she did, she might get emotional again. He almost got irritated at her last comment – telling him not to worry was basically telling him to do the exact opposite – but he knew better than to snap at her now or go picking a fight. It was too early in the morning, she’d just cried, and they were both tired. He tore his eyes away from her and looked over at the drawn blinds of his window. The sunlight poking through left a small line of light blue on the dark carpet.

”Do you like hot chocolate?” He asked. It was kind of random and kind of irrelevant to what she’d just said. He didn’t look back over at her as he grabbed the baggy pajama shirt that was lying on the floor beside his bed. He threw it on, the material covering his torso. He felt better in the baggy shirt, and turned back towards Chardonnay. She still looked so... he didn’t even know how to describe it. It wasn’t weak or anything like that, but just – she looked so real. It was weird. But not a bad weird. Or something. God, he didn't know. It was too damn early for him to process information. ”...when I have nightmares, I usually drink hot chocolate. It’s probably not gourmet though.” He scratched the back of his neck. ”...so I mean, you could drink water or coffee or something. Whatever your nightmare was is your business, but... I’m not letting you leave here until you’re not... I mean, until you’re not depressed about it. So pick your poison. Maybe when you wake up more, you’ll feel better. I don’t know. I’m not a psychologist.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and turned his head to look over at Chardonnay, finally, raising his brows over at her, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

”Okay... okay. Water.” Arthur said. Her voice was still so uncharacteristically quiet, it... was still so weird. He hoisted himself up off of the bed and glanced over at her, once, before he left his bedroom and headed towards his kitchen. He didn’t know if she’d just seize this opportunity to leave – he hoped she didn’t. He couldn’t imagine she was composed enough to drive an hour away and, if she got herself into an accident or something there was no doubt he’d feel guilty. He didn’t think she’d go but then again, he didn’t know anything when it came to her. It pissed him off that she chose now to not whine and complain about whatever was bothering her. She never had a problem offending anyone by badmouthing their fashion choices, or food choices, or anything really, so why was it that the only time he actually wanted to hear her complain about something was she refusing to? He knew it wasn’t any of his business, but he couldn’t get the worry out of his head. Whatever. It would go away the second she was back to normal, he knew. When she was screaming at him and insulting him, he wouldn’t be so concerned. Everyone had nightmares, sometimes. He knew if the situations were reversed he sure as hell wouldn’t open up to her. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t offer her concern either way, so he couldn’t necessarily blame her for not telling him. He sure as hell could blame himself for feeling so needlessly concerned, though.

Stupid, stupid... he pulled out the Brita from his fridge and poured the water into a glass. He didn’t know if she wanted ice, but decided he didn’t care. The water from the fridge was cool enough and besides, ice was a whole extra step he didn’t feel like taking. The sun was rising outside now and lit up the kitchen naturally. It was earlier than he normally woke up but he wouldn’t say it was bad. Sunrise was always beautiful but he usually slept right through it. And this meant he had the whole day to do... whatever. Watch anime, nap... then he could worry about work and the state of his promotion later. He still didn’t know if he was going to get it, after the incident with that part-timer who didn’t do his job. He grit his teeth.

God, he hated teenagers so much.

He spent maybe a little too long in the kitchen. He didn’t know how she was feeling and he wanted to give her a little space, so that he could compose his thoughts and that she wouldn’t feel so... pressured. He didn’t hear the door slam, so she hadn’t left. He was relieved at that, and slowly walked back towards his bedroom. He slowly inched his way back into the room, and put the water back on the nightstand beside Chardonnay.

”Here.” He said, giving her another glance before he sat down on the other side of the bed, exhaling. He didn’t like the silence, it made him feel like he was being smothered by his thoughts. ”Sorry if it’s not fancy enough for you, but it’s all I have.”

He wasn’t responded to, and he should have expected that, but the silence was still almost deafening to him as he waited for her to say something or for her to move to drink the water or... or something. He didn’t hear her shifting and didn’t stare over at her. He didn’t know how long she’d need to compose herself but why wasn’t she drinking? He glanced over, once, and saw her lost in thought as she hugged her knees. His expression squirmed before he looked away again and stared at his phone which stuck out of his jeans pocket. He could move to grab it and see if he had any messages, but he didn’t really want to look distant. He leaned against the headboard and exhaled, his eyes resting shut. He was awake now but sitting like this was really comfortable, and he almost fell back asleep.

Her question made his eyes open in shock – and he glanced at her, but she was staring at her knees. All she really had to say was ‘it’ and Arthur knew exactly what she was talking about. He sat up a bit straighter, the relaxation mode gone as his heart started to pick up in his chest. The robbery had been years ago but he could never forget about it. He shifted to wrap his arms around himself, feeling a phantom pain start up in his leg. That always happened when he thought of the robbery. It wasn’t necessarily agonizing, but it was like a jolt, reminding him of the way it felt when his skin tore and a bullet entered his body, like a fire was spreading, like his leg was being ripped apart. He was silent for a few seconds. He didn’t really listen to her ‘never mind’ comment. She could tell him not to answer all he wanted, but now he was thinking about it, and now he wanted to talk about it.

”Yeah. It was 4 years ago in a few days. I’ll never forget it.” He said. He wasn’t looking at her either, as he stared at the wall by his door. He remembered the way that the gunman had grabbed Niko’s hair and made her bleed, and then Mason – that stupid fucker – the way he’d tried to play hero and just pissed off their attackers. He squeezed his arms tightly as the guy’s face popped into his mind. And then when the guy finished shooting Mason and grinned, scanned the hostages, and then chose him of all of them to shoot. He flinched as he thought about the pain he’d been in. He hadn’t thought too much about it when he was still recovering, but after he’d healed up, he began to have nightmares that made him relieve it. He’d wake up biting back a scream as his leg felt like it was on fire. And every time he’d roll his sweatpants up, he’d stare at the scar near his knee, until he calmed down and remembered that he wasn’t really in pain anymore. He pressed the back of his head against the headboard and stared at his ceiling instead of the wall. He could look over at Chardonnay but he didn’t know if she was engaged, or if she was still zoning out. ”It’s what my nightmares are about. Usually they’re about getting shot, about the pain.” He bit his lip, omitting the way the nightmares usually centered around a different outcome – if he’d been shot in the head instead, if he’d died there. That was too much, even if he didn’t mind talking about this as much as he’d used to. ”...and of course the fucking scar isn’t ever going to heal. So, yeah. I think about it almost every day. Every time I see it.”

He could hear her talking about the night beside him but still didn’t look over at her. He was transfixed on the ceiling, beginning to piece together that her nightmare had been about this. It wasn’t about something different, something in her life or something they’d done... it was about that. Knowing made him... not as satisfied as he’d thought it would. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear her talk about it or anything but... he closed his eyes and all he could smell was blood. All he could remember were his own thoughts when the man had pointed at him, that he’d wished it’d just been his head. It wasn’t just that, though. It was the memory of his sister coming into his room looking like a mess – and bawling her heart out onto his shoulder even though the doctors gave her looks of contempt at getting so close to a patient. It was the guilt, the guilt of thinking it would have just been easier if he’d just died. Those guys would have been tried for murder, not just robbery and assault, and they’d be put away for life. Now he was scared they were going to get out – and when they got out, where would he be? Would they find him again, or rob another place?

What if they went after the theater? They’d shoot him dead, then, but what if it didn’t stop there? What if they went after his boss, his coworkers, the stupid part-timers, or his sister or even Adelaide? Theaters weren’t uncommon for shootings, and he couldn’t deny that as much as he loved working for one, he was always terrified it’d happen again. He took a few deep breaths. They weren’t out. They weren’t going to hurt him, or anyone. They were still in jail and would remain there for a while. So he hoped.

He finally glanced over at Chardonnay as she described her nightmares, but trailed off. It sounded like whatever nightmare she’d had tonight was different than it normally was and his attention as captured, as he waited for her to compose herself and finish her thought. But she didn’t, she just looked even more emotional. Before he could as her anything she got out of the bed and said she had to use the bathroom.

”u--uh,” He watched as she left without looking back. He chewed on his lower lip. She’d bolted off now, probably needing space, but he was starting to shake as he gripped the sides of his head. Fuck, he hated being alone when he thought about what had happened, about his anxieties about it, about his guilt at himself. He saw the water she’d left untouched on the nightstand and reached over to drink some himself. He’d woken her up from the nightmare with the intention to make her feel better, to offer comfort, not to freak out himself! God, she probably thought she was going to make him emotional, too. He leaned over to grab his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the messages. There were no new ones, only a few game notifications. He ran his fingers through his hair as he looked at the date. It was so close. He tightened his grip on his hair. Should he go after her? But... she needed space. She needed the bathroom. He wasn’t going to go in there.

Fuck. He’d fucked this up. He shouldn’t have pressured her into talking he should have just... just let her think he believed her. But then he thought about her face when she was crying again, about how she would have thought he didn’t care enough to notice and – would that even matter to her? He didn’t know. It would have mattered to him, if he didn’t call her out, but he... God, what was she thinking about now? Probably bawling her eyes out on his bathroom floor or something, and he just... God, he hated that mental image.

He hosted himself out of the bed, and decided that the first order of business was going to his kitchen and using that sink to wash his face. He had no mirror, but he knew he probably looked like a mess. His hair was disheveled not only from last night’s sex but from this morning’s tearing through it. Fuck. He leaned on the counter, hands tearing at his hair, letting out a few groans.

He stayed in the kitchen for a while, gripping his hair, completely unsure what to do. It was rare that he ever did know what to do. Maybe that was why he went into business – he liked to know how to manage something. Except that wasn’t going that well lately, was it? It was like Lockwood had said, you couldn’t let emotions get in the way of business. He’d lost his temper at work and who the hell was he trying to kid. He hadn’t changed from the volatile teenager he’d been when he enrolled at the college. If he didn’t have a script he was horrible with people. And now that he was outside of college, now that his work load entailed less projects and more actual work, real-world stuff, the more difficult he realized this was going to be. He’d always thought he had a surefire career lined up but then the unexpected happened – he missed the structure of school, he missed the way he knew when projects were due and how Lockwood had admired his work ethic and final results, and he missed not having this much responsibility. There. He said it.

He’d always been responsible, even as a kid. He didn’t think he ever really goofed off, either. When he wasn’t with his sister he was badmouthed by bullies, and he had no friends. When she asked where he was going after school he lied and said he was going to a friends. In reality he just went to the arcade and played a game, or went to the theater and snuck in and saw what was playing. Maybe that was where his interest in movies came from – by investing himself into a different world, he didn’t have to think about his own life, his own movie.

The hostage situation had been kind of like a movie. He hadn’t expected it to be – he was just picking something up for Adelaide. Mason tried to play a hero, like what he saw so often on screen in those stupid action movies. But that always worked on screen but in their situation it resulted in him getting shot. And the arrogance resulted in himself getting shot, his leg, he thought that they were going to have to amputate it. He wasn’t naïve enough to blame it all on Mason anymore. He spoke out of line, too. But he’d thought in the moment it was fine, that he was getting them to ease up... just went to show how little he knew people. He clenched his fists in his hair, mumbling curses under his breath, as he squeezed his eyes shut. He hated that he still thought it would have been a more efficient way to shut everyone up if the guy had killed him.

He didn’t hear Chardonnay approaching at first. She was moving quietly, and it wasn’t until she cleared her throat that he remembered, again, that she was here. The reason he felt this knot of guilt in his stomach... he moved his hands away from his head and stared over at her. She looked like she’d just been crying, but he knew she had been. He focused on her face, his expression some mix of concern and nervousness.

Though the words that came out of her mouth confused him, completely. His jaw almost dropped when she apologized, and he stood up straight. She had never apologized to him, not once. And she sounded so genuine, too. He expected her to come out and demand that he stop looking like such a mess, or that she would start critiquing his kitchen when she saw it. She loved her kitchen, after all, his probably made her want to vomit. So why of all things for her to say to him right now... was an apology the one that came out of her mouth? Was she apologizing for crying, or for waking him up, or for... for... for what? He was awestruck. Literally. Unconsciously, he was leaning on the leg that didn’t get shot 4 years ago, letting the other one slouch.

”U... uhhh...” Her explanation made a little more sense... she was talking about the context of the nightmares. He swallowed, and took a step closer to her, a few feet in front of her. He blinked at the sincerity still on her face, eyes trailing along the small trail of freckles across her nose. ”...you don’t have to apologize. Without you saying anything, I think about it enough. You’re the one who had a nightmare about it. I’ve... I just can’t stand being alone when I have nightmares, so I probably invaded your bubble, or whatever...” He sighed. ”I don’t think... I mean... you, at least I passed out at some point. You still had to be...” He pressed a hand to his forehead as he remembered when she was forcibly grabbed by a gunman and had a gun pressed to her back. She’d had to plea for their safety, to let the gunmen get away... all with a gun to her back. At least he just took the bullet and got it over with (literally). ”It’s not a matter of whether one of us had it worse. So you really don’t have to apologize. I get it. Nightmares happen. I’d rather you have told me, anyway. Then I just know and don’t have to let my imagination wander.”

He watched her fingers go through her hair and shifted slightly on his feet, surprised she was still apologizing. He thought once he told her it was fine she’d get aggressive, she’d tell him ‘of course it’s fine’ or something and then just dismiss the entire conversation. But even though she didn’t seem to want to talk she still asked a question – and she still looked so real, standing there in front of him and hugging herself tightly. It was a good question but one that made him think.

He’d mostly said that in the moment, because it just slipped out and he was half awake, but... he wouldn’t lie about that. And yeah he did trust her, sort of. His expression squirmed as he looked to the side, towards that weird picture of fruit hanging above his dining table. He guessed it probably started when they’d slept together. He didn’t like his body, in fact he hated it, and letting someone other than himself see him naked was just so unusual for him to do. The first time it might have been a fluke – his horniness might have overpowered his self-confidence – but the second time, when he initiated it, it had to be something different. He liked the way she looked at him when they were going to the bedroom, and even though he knew she was moaning because of the physical pleasure she couldn’t be repulsed by him, right?

And then there were the times he’d just left her in his apartment and let her take his spare key. He knew she was rich and spoiled but she wasn’t going to take anything from him, nor was she going to ransack the place or set a fire deliberately. But she could have, and why didn’t he suspect her of doing any of those things? He glanced back at her. There was some basic level of trust that started before this though – he trusted she was intelligent enough to run their projects, he trusted her ideas and that they could work. So maybe he didn’t trust her with everything, he was still scared she was going to choose one day pretty soon and just laugh at him, but...

”I... I meant that you’ve seen me naked and, well, I’m... I don’t really let that happen. And, uh... you didn’t destroy my place when I gave you my key. So... so I guess I do because you haven’t given me a reason not to. And I just – it kind of came out because I wasn’t thinking but it’s not, I mean, it’s not wrong. If I didn’t trust you at least a little bit, I wouldn’t be sleeping with you.” He looked over at her, very much aware of the ticking of the clock in the living room.

He didn’t know what to expect her reaction to be to his explanation but what he got… was definitely not anything that he’d anticipated getting. She turned around and announced she was going to use his shower and he felt his throat clench up. He wished she made fun of his comments, told him he was stupid and too honest for his own good, because he could handle that. Because that was exactly how he felt right now, watching her as she walked away. He was too stupid. He shouldn’t have said that to her. He knew she didn’t trust him at all. So why the hell had he thought that she might? That maybe their feelings on that matter were mutual. They weren’t really friends, but he didn’t know if he could exactly call her his enemy anymore. She was his… problem? His conflict?

But he was definitely still her enemy. Fuckbuddies or not. And he just made himself look like an absolute idiot in front of her. What if she thought he wanted more out of this that she did? He was fine with it just being casual sex between the two of them. He wasn’t looking for a relationship right now and he was still young – he’d never been in love. He didn’t know what it’d be like, or if it would even happen. And it wouldn’t be with her of all people so why, for fuck’s sake, did he just spill out his confusing monologue to her, which probably made him sound so desperate!

God, he wanted to slam his forehead against a wall. He should have just told her it was something he blurted out to calm her down. Even if she got mad then, she’d be mad, not… not eerily empty.

”Okay, just… don’t use all the hot water.” He said. He turned towards his fridge and pulled out a premade container of chocolate milk and poured himself a glass, then chugged it down. The liquid was cold against his throat and it was a temporary relief. He exhaled when he put the glass down, realizing just then it was already halfway gone. He was really thirsty, and hadn’t realized how dry his throat had grown. He regret what he’d said to Chardonnay already. He regret it, but at the same time there was a weird feeling in his chest, like his heart was sinking in a pool of water. She turned around without any emotion at all, just… just a desire to go and use the shower. It wasn’t like his words had any effect on her, she didn’t care what he thought. She never had.

He’d just deluded himself into thinking that maybe the fact they had sex frequently meant there was something more. He supposed he was glad for this. If he’d continued to think like this, he probably would have been hurt. It didn’t matter. He cared that she was well, emotionally and physically, and she… she obviously did, from the apology she’d given him earlier. But there wasn’t anything else. No friendship, no concern outside of sex. Surely if they weren’t sexual partners she wouldn’t have cared to apologize. Maybe she’d only done so because she didn’t want it to be awkward the next time she came over. Yeah, that made sense, and he couldn’t blame her. They only argued when they weren’t touching each other.

It wouldn’t be awkward. He’d get over this weird feeling he got in his chest when he remembered how she’d just turned around without acknowledging what he’d said. She thought he was dumb. She thought he was overthinking things. She must have, right? But she didn’t say it. And she probably wouldn’t. The thing that would weigh on his mind the most was how she interpreted his words, what she got out of them, and what she thought about it. He slowly took a seat at the dining table, his elbow on the wood and his fingers in his hair. She’d be normal after a shower, and he’d be normal, too. They didn’t have to talk about this ever again. He glanced at his phone as he received a text. It was from his sister, wishing him a good morning and complaining about how early it was. Adelaide wanted to go to the park to play and had begged and begged her mother to take her. Normally Arthur would have offered to take his niece in her steed, but he didn’t know when Chardonnay was leaving and, as easy as it would be to just leave a note for her, he… didn’t know if she’d try to spite him and ruin his apartment. He replied with his condolences and ignored Susan’s immediate ‘what are you doing awake’ text. He rubbed his eyelid, which felt heavier than it had before. Susan then sent another text, offering for Arthur to meet them at the park, and he considered it. It’d be a nice break from his apartment, and he knew Chardonnay wouldn’t be staying long. So he told her he’d be there soon, and listened to the sound of his shower. He needed to take one himself, anyway. For once the thought of Chardonnay in the shower didn’t thrill him, or make him want to join her. Her being away from him, thinking about what he said… that made him feel so heavy. He wanted to take it back, but she’d find that weirder than his words flat out. Wouldn’t she?

He folded his arms on the table and rested his forehead against them. The sound of the shower coming from the bathroom was soothing. He evened his breathing out. But every time he was going to be lulled into a sleep, her face appeared in his mind, right after he’d explained what he meant. It stared at him, a completely different person that the one he thought he knew. He shook his head at that thought. He never really knew her at all.

He lost track of time as he sat there, half asleep on his dining table. The shower was still going on, pattering against the floor, and he felt like he was a kid again, just waking up to the sounds of the water running while his sister got ready for work. The apartment was so small she always wound up waking him up when she showered, and when she got out and saw him rubbing his sleepy little eyes she’d always apologize profusely and tell him he could go back to bed if he wanted. But by then it was always 5:30, and he had to get to school for 7 anyway, so he just stayed up. He felt like he was just trying to stay awake despite the sounds of the shower running but why should he stay awake? He could just sleep. Just sleep and forget about reality, and school, and bullies, and eating. Just... sleep.

He twitched awake when he heard the sound of the water turning off and blinked lethargically, coming to. He wasn’t in the apartment he grew up in. The space he was in was larger, and there weren’t the sounds of a busy street outside his window. It was peaceful and the sun was filtering in, casting rays that made him acutely aware of every spectacle of dust in the room. He wasn’t 10 anymore. He was in his twenties, and lived alone, and Chardonnay was in his shower. He groaned as he wished he could go back to being ten after that conversation that was coming back to him, piece by piece.

The door to his bedroom opened and Chardonnay came out looking much more composed than she had earlier. She was still in yesterday’s clothes but he couldn’t honestly tell except for the fact he remembered taking them off of her earlier. Her makeup was back and she looked normal, composed, and attractive. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Good. They were back to normal. Her last comment brought a twitch of a smirk to his lips. He was glad she wasn’t just calling off their fuckbuddy relationship.

”Sure thing, Princess.” he stifled a yawn behind his hand, losing the irritation he’d wanted to seep into his voice. Damn it, oh well. He should probably take a shower... he got up off of his chair and checked his texts, seeing another response from Susan. He rolled his eyes at it – she sent him a lame pun – and locked it shut. Yup. It was time to take a shower. ”Don’t get distracted by your reflection in your rear-view mirror.”

That was his... ‘in-character’ way of telling her to be safe, because he felt like she wouldn’t appreciate him just saying that flat out.

The first time they had sex again after Chardonnay’s nightmare, he pushed it back from his mind. She didn’t want to think about it and he didn’t, either. There was no awkward discussion – they just went right back into the sex and he was thankful she didn’t push him away when he woke her up that one time. As the months went on he got more used to her body, but not in the way that he got bored of sleeping with her. He figured out what parts of her she liked to be touched, and how his touches could get the best reaction possible out of her. He lasted longer in bed than he used to – not that that’d really been a problem before. If it had he was pretty sure Chardonnay wouldn’t keep coming back to him. He knew not to stop when she reached her climax anymore, to fuck her through it, to get her moaning louder and longer and that felt better for him, too. He learned what she didn’t like in bed, too, what produced the least desirable noises from her and what she didn’t seem to appreciate as much as other touches and motions. Of course he learned his own preferences, too, and usually performed a mix of them – most of the time her preferences and his intertwined, anyway – and they continued to fuck for the rest of the year, until December, anyway.

Of course, the first morning he left her alone was really awkward, given what he’d said before that got a, unreadable reaction from her. He thought she was going to ransack his place just to spite him, but she’d not touched anything. He didn’t comment on it, and just kind of...accepted it. She still drove him crazy even when they weren’t fucking – like when she snatched his covers both unconsciously and consciously, and the way she picked fights with him even when they’d just had sex earlier. But oftentimes those fights turned into second rounds, especially when they brought up how the other had acted in bed. It was exciting, it was hot, and he loved it. Sometimes she left earlier than he did, which was odd, and waking up along after sex made his stomach squirm. Still, he understood she didn’t have to stay if she didn’t want to, and just kind of... accepted it.

He’d been promoted to assistant manager along with a woman who had been contending for the position. The announcement came at the beginning of September, and he was ecstatic to hear that he was promoted. The other guy running for the position, Robin, was less than pleased by these results. He never really treated Arthur with respect after that and claimed that he was only chosen because he was one of Mr. Carmichael’s favorites, but Arthur’s only retort for that was so what? So what if he was one of Mr. Carmichael’s favorites, he was a favorite for a reason. Robin almost lost his shit on him and he almost lost it back until they were interrupted by his fellow assistant manager, Jasmin, who called Robin a fucking baby (in more polite terms). It was very satisfying to watch Robin squirm and he eventually quit the theater, moving to another job out in Washington. He wasn’t really missed and Mr. Carmichael laughed when Robin left, claiming that he’d made the right decision, because Arthur might have been hotheaded, but he wasn’t a deserter.

As December rolled around Arthur was still sleeping with Chardonnay about once a week, except for a few times he was busy. He usually wasn’t, though, unless it was a preplanned event with his sister or niece he couldn’t get out of without rousing suspicion. He thought everything was going well by the time that his boss informed everyone – part-timers and full-timers alike – about the annual Christmas party he would be holding for all the employees at his house. Working for a family owned business was pretty nice, because Mr. Carmichael liked to be that nice and inclusive to everyone, rather than having all their names fade into a long list that didn’t matter to anyone.

As usual, not many part-timers came. Most of them had their own plans on December 22nd, and many of them didn’t like their co-workers enough to spend an evening with them. But Arthur went, as did Jasmin and the crybaby part-timer. All of maintenance showed up, as did most of the full-time employees. One of them brought his cousin, a girl named Erin, and his wife. In fact, when Arthur showed up he realized that he was dreadfully single in a room full of couples dancing and getting drunk. Mr. Carmichael wasn’t an exception despite his status as a bachelor and he was throwing back alcohol like a 21-year-old. Even the part-timers who had shown up were talking amongst themselves. He liked them fine enough as people but really had nothing in common with a bunch of teenagers...

He wound up talking to Erin, who was just as quiet as he was. They made no headway until he commented that her name sounded like “Eren”, a character from Attack on Titan. And that was when she exclaimed she loved that show and the wound up having something to talk about while everyone else had a grand time – by the end of the night they’d exchanged numbers and texted about the show. He went back to his apartment and considered texting Chardonnay, because he was bored, but then he brushed it off because she would have better things to do leading up to Christmas, wouldn’t she?

The holiday itself was spent with Susan and Addy, and then they went to the Halls’ place because Adelaide wanted to play with Annabelle and show off her new toys. The two Christmases were small, but fun to celebrate, anyway. He was still texting Erin pretty frequently, as well as Maxine, but someone he wasn’t texting frequently was Chardonnay. He wondered if she had plans for the holiday – if she was going to her parents’ place, maybe, to celebrate? Before he could stop himself he sent her a text asking if she was busy and he figured as much. He brushed it off.

After the New Year, Susan was gushing all about Chardonnay again. It was really annoying, especially because every time he went to Susan’s house she was talking about how cool it was that her student was opening a restaurant. The coverage of the grand opening was on the news station so Arthur really couldn’t get out of knowing even if he’d wanted to. She was busy with her restaurant, of course. She was too busy to see him which was what he told himself.

The next day, he’d been covering for his boss since he didn’t feel well. It was the first day Arthur had really been the one running the place all alone, without any supervisors breathing down his neck like they’d done when he was a teenager. He was the supervisor today, and it showed. But he had answered the phone to get into a discussion with one of their suppliers and came to the conclusion that his boss was very much a pushover. The suppliers were nice and police but there was a slime in their tone he didn’t like. And when Arthur tried to take the reins on the conversation they brushed him off – the final say was still Mr. Carmichael, not him. So they didn’t take him seriously. He hung up and the suppliers got the better end of the deal, and when he finished the budget for that month, he felt a knot form in his stomach. Their profits were dangerously close to their losses, and if this didn’t change soon, they might be at risk of their expenses becoming more than they could handle.

So when he’d gotten home, and texted Chardonnay only to get an ‘I’m busy’ text, he reasoned it must be because of her restaurant. She wasn’t blowing him off or anything she just – just had other things to do. He was left stressed out and irritated so he smoked out on his patio, listening to music and watching music videos Erin sent him. He calmed himself down by remembering that the movies coming out were going to be big hits, and the lines would be out the doors to see them. He couldn’t deny that every time Erin texted him he felt a little disappointed that it wasn’t Chardonnay changing her mind, saying she’d come over, so that he could get off. But she never did, and he went to bed and woke up alone.

The rest of his weeks went by pretty eventless, all things considered. The movies came out and were, as he’d anticipated, big sellers. Their profits went up and up and Mr. Carmichael was excited about that, and when he redid the budget afterwards, Arthur felt himself ease up when he realized the costs they’d had to forfeit towards their suppliers weren’t as big a dent as he thought they’d be. The rights for showing the films, though, took a hefty portion from the profits. Still they made enough and there were no needs for cuts. Arthur filed his taxes and got a return, a generous one, and he used the money he’d gotten to get himself a new upgrade for his apartment. The money went to a better comforter set, one that was softer and thicker. When he put it onto his bed he thought of Chardonnay, again, and sent her a text that night but... the thing about that text was that it went completely ignored. She saw it, he could tell, because they both had iPhones.

But she never replied.

He was more offended than he was hurt by that. She’d been busy for the past three times and now she was just – if she was sick of this, of him, she could just tell him, couldn’t she?! But then again maybe she was just so busy she’d seen the message, but couldn’t reply until she had a break. So he ignored it and just went to sleep.

At the end of January, right around the cusp of February, he got a call at 8 PM. He heard the vibration and for a second thought it might have been Chardonnay, but when he saw his sister’s name he was confused. He picked up the phone and his blood ran cold when he heard Adelaide’s sobbing voice on the other end of the line. He had to ask her three times what was wrong before she started to explain and by then he was already in his kitchen, buttoning his coat, grabbing his keys off of the counter.

All he could gather from the conversation with his niece was that Susan had fallen and wouldn’t wake up. After much coaxing on the way to his car, and his phone pressed to his ear, Adelaide had confessed that the first thing she could think to do was call her uncle, because she was so confused and scared. He told her to call the police, to call 9-1-1, but she didn’t want to end the call. It took a lot of convincing and the neighbor coming over to get Adelaide to hang up, while Arthur sped through the streets, ignoring red lights and almost dying just so that he could get to the house. If the police followed him that was good, he thought, because then they’d get to Susan.

He beat the emergency personnel and entered the unlocked apartment, already hearing his niece’s sobs. He entered the threshold to see one of their neighbors on the phone with 9-1-1, and he could see his sister slumped on the kitchen floor, her body eerily still. He froze as Adelaide bolted right into his arms and he held her, her body facing away from Susan. But he couldn’t stop staring and was numb even as the emergency personnel came into the house, the red and blue lights outside bleeding into the window. Curious neighbors were poking their heads out of their doors. Arthur didn’t let Adelaide look around to see the blood on Susan’s forehead as she was lifted onto a stretcher, and it was then that he saw a little toy train laying on the limnonym.

Arthur lifted the 7-year-old up into his arms and she clung to him like a monkey, as he answered the questions the police had for him. Who was he? He was her brother. When had he gotten here? He got here a few minutes ago. It looked to the police like it was an accident – the little train lying on the floor had gone unnoticed by Susan and she’d slipped and fallen. They asked who her health care proxy was and Arthur answered himself, and when they asked if she had a spouse or a significant other, he answered no. Adelaide tensed in his hold, but he didn’t’ question it, assuming that she just felt guilt over the fact that her mother had fallen and it was all her fault. She was sobbing into Arthur’s shoulder and he stroked her back, despite his own worries, that Susan had it her head so hard she was in a coma. He couldn’t live without his sister.

The kindly neighbor offered to drive the two of them to the hospital, and they waited for answers. After a checkup a nurse came over and smiled kindly. Susan would be fine, she’d just hurt her head and had a concussion. Right now she was resting and they’d know for certain how her head would fair when she woke up. Arthur was relieved at the news but his niece was till distraught – this was all her fault and she refused to let go of her uncle.

She woke up the next day and Arthur hadn’t slept a wink that night. He took Adelaide to the hospital and they were reunited with her. Arthur explained what happened and Adelaide wouldn’t stop apologizing. Susan gave her daughter a very half-hearted lecture on leaving toys out, but knew that she’d learned her lesson this time. The day was spent with Susan and he took it off of work, getting Jasmin to cover his shift for him. Thankfully she was very understanding, and she even came by after work herself to make sure Susan was fairing well. When Adelaide fell asleep in her mother’s arms that night, and Susan was still in the hospital, she turned towards her brother and thanked him. Who knew what would have happened if he wasn’t there, Adelaide would have felt so alone. He’d kept his resolve but almost cried then, hearing her say that, and before he carried Adelaide to the car to head home he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug.

The next night he’d left Adelaide with the Halls to take her mind off of Susan. He had a nightmare worse than he usually did.

It started out as the same one, about the robbery. He was shot in the head and died. But it didn’t stop there. It bled into the future. He thought about when Susan told him ‘if you weren’t there’ and all he could picture was Adelaide’s sobbing figure outside of the emergency room, shoulders trembling, as their kindly neighbor kept his distance, wanting to comfort but never really any good at it. How would she fair on her own? She wouldn’t have had her uncle to pick up all of her toys and organize them, she wouldn’t have had him to cry on, she’d be alone and what if she started to feel guilty? What if her guilt weighed into her and she grew up to feel like him, like it’d be better off if she died?

He woke up with a start and it wasn’t often his nightmares left him crying, but this time they had. Je rubbed his face and squeezed his eyes and wanted a distraction. He couldn’t call Susan, she was in the hospital, and how could he call her about this dream? He could call Maxine but she’d said she was busy tonight, off at someone’s house spreading her legs or something, and in the moment he felt like that wasn’t a bad idea. He grabbed his phone and looked at his contacts. Erin’s text was most recent, a good night text, and far below her was Chardonnay’s nickname. She’d still not replied to his text. She’d probably gone off and found a rich son of an aristocrat to date. She had a restaurant to run, better people to fuck, and she didn’t care about him except for him getting her off. She hadn’t even bothered to tell him she was just preoccupied with her restaurant – she hadn’t even told him she was calling off their fuckbuddy relationship!

That was the final trigger that made him lose his shit and he threw his phone at the wall, clutching his head, pulling out his hair as he tried and failed to calm down his hysterics. If she could just forget about him so easily, why couldn’t he get her out of his head? What the fuck was wrong with him? And why did he still feel this stupid guilt? He wanted a distraction. Anything. He couldn’t stand being alone after a nightmare because that was when his thoughts were darkest. But now he knew he wouldn’t do anything to himself because of his niece, because of that nightmare he’d had of her turning out like him.

He couldn’t stand that.

He composed himself, somewhat, and went out to the patio in a sweatshirt and his pajamas. He brought his laptop and watched anime until the sun came up. He went through three or four cigarettes before he shut down his computer and got ready for work. His phone wasn’t broken, but there was a crack in the screen and he growled under his breath, cursing himself for letting his temper get the best of himself. He went to the mirror in his bathroom and wiped his face off, composing himself again, and looking ready as he always did for work. He went through the day without many problems except for his own thoughts. He was glued to his phone when he had downtime in case Susan messaged him – she was coming home that day – but his thoughts also traveled back to Chardonnay, at the bottom of his contacts list. He wondered if she’d deleted his number by now. Probably.

February came around and Susan was back on her feet. She was back in class and Adelaide was feeling much better – though she still hated trains. Arthur’s birthday was a small thing, Susan bought him a little cake that Adelaide picked out (and ate the most of). He got a bunch of ‘happy birthdays’ from the Facebooks of people he didn’t care about. The only message that really made any difference was one from Erin. She opened with happy birthday, and then she asked him something unexpected -- if he’d spend Valentines’ day with her.

She explained that last June, she’d gone through a bad breakup and was always with someone on Valentines’. It was just lonely not to be, and since Arthur had no plans, he agreed. He went out and while he waited for her to show up to the theater to watch a movie, he couldn’t quell the feelings of guilt. He didn’t know why, but when he saw her name on his phone he felt disappointed, disappointed it wasn’t Chardonnay finally explaining her god damned self. He was sufficiently distracted when she came over in a cute dress and leggings, she was barely 5 feet tall if that. She grabbed his hand and tugged him into the theater. Mr. Carmichael teased them, but brushed them off and told them not to worry about their expenses. When the date was over Erin waved and headed back to her place and Arthur felt giddier than he had all year (literally), as he got himself home. He could call off the fuckbuddy relationship if he got a girlfriend, right? He’d be able to just tell her he was taken now, that she could go fuck someone else... he opened Chardonnay’s number on his screen. Would she even care? Would it matter if he told her? The happy feeling started to fade as he felt guilt settle on his chest.

If she texted him, he’d still say she could come over. And because he knew that, he felt guilty, since Erin had no idea he hooked up with someone... regularly? Was it even regular anymore?

The next time he went out with Erin the date hadn’t ended at the park. She invited him to her apartment and said they could have dinner together. They wound up talking, her mostly about her ex, and about how she’d been waiting to sleep with him but then he’d broke up with her, and she was so lonely, and she asked about him. Somewhat hesitantly he told her he wasn’t a virgin and that seemed to intrigue her, and before he could think too much about it, she was kissing him. He kissed her back but the electric feeling wasn’t there, even when she crawled onto his lap and deepened the kiss. When he let his hands slide up her waist he felt the spark coming back but when he opened his eyes and saw a blonde instead of a brunette staring back at him he felt it go away. He wasn’t thinking about Erin, even when she pulled him in for another kiss and moved against him. He hadn’t been touched in so long, and he longed for it, but he knew he couldn’t do this to Erin when his mind was focused on someone else.

He pulled away from the kiss and told her that he didn’t want to have sex right now. She said that was fine, that they could just kiss and wait to have sex, but then he told her he wasn’t ready for a relationship. When he saw the look on her face, he wanted to kick himself, because she looked so hurt and he didn’t think he could ever hurt someone like that.

If he’d never slept with Chardonnay... would he have started dating Erin? Probably. He hated that he was so hung up on the sex with Chardonnay because she obviously didn’t care about it anymore – she probably had a Chad-esque guy that was fucking her right now, making her moan in pleasure. And he couldn’t bring himself to date someone, to seriously date someone who seemed like a good match for him... because he was guilty. When he left he was pretty sure he saw Erin wiping her eyes and he felt worse.

He got home that night and groaned, running his hands over his face. Erin ignored his last text, too. He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up big time.

Erin didn’t text him again for a long time, and when she did, there was something missing. She apologized and he tried to say it was all his fault, but she got angry because he was pulling the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ card. Their conversations went... somewhat normally afterwards. But there was a veil of awkwardness he didn’t think would ever lift. God damn it... Chardonnay didn’t care. So why had he ruined his one chance at a relationship over the empty sex they had with one another? Why did he still care if she wanted him, why did he know that the second she messaged him, he’d go back to sleeping with her? Why did he still want her so much? Why did he only think about her when he touched himself, about the sound she made, the way she moved against him? It pissed him off.

February was almost over, and Arthur was in his house, clothed in a red plaid shirt and jeans. It wasn’t like he expected anything to happen – he had no work tomorrow, and was expecting to stay up late. He heard a knock and was confused. It could be Susan, but unlikely, since it was late. In that case it might have been a neighbor giving him something. He approached the door and opened it, halfway through his question ”who is it” when he froze and saw Chardonnay standing at his door. His jaw dropped slightly and his brows rose.

He didn’t notice the box in her arms. He blinked rapidly, before he straightened up and cleared his throat. How the fuck to respond to her? She’d ignored him for months. Then she just showed up here, and his eyes scanned her body before he focused on her face again.

”What... what do you want, Princess?” He asked, trying to play it off, even though his heart was already racing.

He blinked as he stared over at Chardonnay, the clock’s tick-tock loud in his ear. Why... was she here? She hadn’t called or texted him. He knew because he’d just been looking at his phone. Was she... officially here to call off their fuckbuddy relationship? But Chardonnay was never one for consideration. If she was calling it off she’d text him, tell him to stop bothering her, and delete his number. She wouldn’t come here unless she forgot something. So she was going to find that something, and then go and leave, after saying they were done. She had a restaurant to run now. She had money to make, money that Arthur would never be able to hold a candle to, no matter how well he did in business. She was so spoiled, just coming over here to rub it in his face that she was going to leave and she didn’t need him anymore. If she was really that desperate she could buy herself a sex toy – then she’d really need no one but herself. He felt his argument for her statements beginning to build before she made any motions.

She hadn’t been here in so long. She hated him again now. He didn’t know the person at the door, what she’d been thinking about for months. Who she’d been doing, what she’d been doing it... it didn’t matter to him. He closed his mouth and blinked, again, as he waited for her to push him inside or say she was just looking for her powder brush or something. He looked down at her body again, noticing now the powder blue skirt and belt slung around her waist. His first thought was getting that off of her.

She kissed him unexpectedly and he was shocked for a few seconds as he felt her fingers brushing against his name. He almost groaned at the feeling, a feeling he’d missed. It was so odd how used to her touch he’d grown. When he went without it for so long he craved it again, and when he got it again, he didn’t realize how much he’d missed it. When she shoved something into his chest he backed up, allowing her to enter the apartment, the door shutting behind her. He opened his mouth against hers and the kiss was electric, just like he remembered it being, and definitely nothing like what he’d done with Erin. This was what he wanted, and he’d forgotten how enticing Chardonnay’s mouth was. While he fought with her often he much preferred her mouth when it was occupied with other things, like his lips, or his skin, or his stomach, or with producing loud moans of pleasure.

His hands moved to her hips and he felt the fabric of her skirt – exactly how tight was this thing, he wondered – and he pulled her towards his room. When he reached the small hallway before the door to his room he leaned against the back wall, breaking the kiss, pulling away from her as he looked down at his chest to see what it was, exactly, she was shoving at him. He saw the box of condoms there and blinked.

Then his lips twitched up into a grin. She wanted this, she wasn’t here to call off their relationship. Maybe she just didn’t like the brand he had? He remembered being so flustered when he bought himself a new box of condoms he couldn’t look at the cashier in the eye. The cashier didn’t seem to care much either way but Arthur swore they were still judging him, to this day... but anyway, what the fuck was he thinking about? He pulled Chardonnay into another kiss and groaned against her lips, his hands moving towards that... belt thing on her waist. He pressed his fingers against the buckle, but it didn’t want to come off. If he didn’t think it’d kill her arousal, Arthur wouldn’t have minded just ripping the damn thing, and then ripping her skirt, just so that he could get to her body and feel her skin against his.

Even though they’d gone months without seeing each other, it wasn’t difficult at all to get back in the process of pleasuring her. And he was desperate to be touched, too. When she grinned back at him --smirked back at him, more like – and then their lips connected in a grin he moaned, allowed her to shove him towards the bed, where he tried to get off her skirt but failed pretty quickly at it. She had to get that off herself, and he didn’t mind, because it was pretty arousing to watch her strip herself in front of him. He had no problem getting everything else off of her, and soaking in the sight of her underneath him. He hadn’t seen her like this in so long, hadn’t felt her like this in so long, but that almost made the sex better for him.

He took the reins again pretty easily, especially after she admitted to him that he’d missed this, their sex. And he’d missed it, too. God, he’d missed it so much that he wasn’t as conscious as he usually was of not only how aggressively he moved but also how loud he got – not that he’d ever had much concern for his volume before. Which was really a big mistake, since he didn’t own a house, he owned an apartment. But that was the last thing on his mind, because she wasn’t paying any attention to her volume either and he sure as fuck didn’t want her to. He could feel her nails clawing on his back, and they got more and more painful the more her body arched into his and the louder her moans got. But he didn’t mind the main, in that moment, especially not when she finished and he continued to move until he was done, and then he could barely breathe as he stared at her face for a few seconds, the only thing he could smell her perfume. Not to mention, he felt amazing, and relieved, and he let out one last groan and moved to clean up.

When he was done he hiked up the sweatpants he always wore to cover himself before he flopped back onto the bed, his breath still uneven and his body covered in sweat. He didn’t even bother hiking up the covers over himself and just lied on top of them, too hot to get comfortable in his sheets. He brought a hand to his face, a hand that still smelled like her body, and rubbed his forehead with the back of it.

He glanced over at Chardonnay, her expression more elated than it usually was, but then again, they rarely talked about they had sex. She usually just cleaned herself up and ignored him afterwards. He didn’t mind either way, though, and he was so exhausted that he was pretty sure he was going to fall asleep soon anyway.

Her comment made him blush a little, as he turned away from her and focused on the ceiling.

”It’s been a long three months, okay? Leave me alone about it, you were the one encouraging me, telling me not to stop,” He said. He rolled over to his side and rose his brows at her, catching the little smirk she had on her face. Normally he might want to pick a fight with her upon seeing that look but now all he wanted to do was smirk back so he did, remembering everything she’d said – or, more accurately, moaned – during the sex. Her reactions as well as his post-orgasm elation gave him confidence, so he leaned a little closer and the smirk turned into a cocky grin. ”By the way, I missed it too, Princess.”

He rose his brows over at her, but despite the tone with which she addressed him, he couldn’t bring it in himself to be angry. Instead he was entertained by her phrasing, and he stared down at her extended finger, remembering all too well the way her fingers had felt trailing down his bare chest, undoing his jeans, and clawing on his back. He was too tired to want to fuck her again but her little smirk almost made him want to kiss her. Not necessarily to go for round two, but just to feel his lips against hers. He fought off the urge with an eye roll.

Still she had a point he’d never considered when she accused him of liking taking orders while in bed. He opened his mouth to object but realized he didn’t have anything to say. He hated when she bossed him around when they weren’t fucking. When they bumped into each other into the woods, in the hall, or even at the party freshman year whenever she barked an order at him it was because she was spoiled. She thought that she could command something and that he’d follow her commands. And normally, he didn’t want to.

But when they were fucking he loved to know what she wanted him to do. When she told him not to stop or to keep going, or to go deeper or faster, it made him want to do it because when he did, he was rewarded by the sounds she made afterwards. And she was very bossy in bed – just like she was outside of it.

”You’re so damn spoiled, in bed and outside of it.” He grumbled in response. But, still... she had a point. If she was happy he was happy, that was why he wanted to pleasure her. It wouldn’t be as satisfying if she was half-heartedly going through the motions. And half of the fun of sex – maybe more than half – was getting her off. He could get himself off whenever he wanted, but there was something more thrilling about getting her off. So... maybe he didn’t mind spoiling her in bed as much. And right now, her attitude wasn’t annoying him as much as it usually did. It was kind of like how he felt when he was drunk – euphoric, elated, happy. He scoffed when she said she left an impact on him. She’d been leaving an impact on him for years. He couldn’t go anywhere without being reminded of her in school and now he couldn’t go anywhere in his apartment without thinking of her. They’d first kissed (sober, anyway) on his couch, and every time he looked at it he remembered how it felt to get her shirt off, to touch her chest. His shower reminded him of when she’d fallen and yanked him down with her. His kitchen reminded him of when she’d left after her nightmare, and his bed... his bed reminded him of this, of the sex. He stared at her for a few seconds, with his brows raised. Then he snorted. ”yeah? Well you didn’t forget how to do anything, either. And obviously you appreciated it -- I think you left marks on my back this time.” he could still feel the skin on his back, it was sore, but he didn’t think it was bleeding. And it also wouldn’t matter, even if they did scar for a while, because no one would see him shirtless in the near future except for Chardonnay... and by that point, she might give him another set of marks to match. That thought made him happy – their relationship of casual sex wasn’t going away and that meant the time she’d ignored him was a fluke. She’d just been busy with the restaurant... and her family... and maybe some other guy she’d been seeing with a six pack and a chiseled jaw straight from heaven.

For a second his elation faltered as he thought maybe he was just second-best, but when he looked over at her face, and saw that she still looked like she was on cloud nine... he pushed the thought aside.

He didn’t understand how she could be so proud to be spoiled. If he was like that, he wouldn’t be proud. He’d be ashamed. Then again he didn’t think Chardonnay knew the meaning of the word. He thought back to when they had gone to Lockwood to apologize for their behavior. He had been the one most in the wrong, because he’d been the one to freak out while Chardonnay was fine, but that was a really humbling moment... for both of them. He rolled his eyes at her but didn’t comment on it. That would be too much of a hassle and might make his mood vanish, if they got into the pros and cons of her spoiled attitude. He would much rather be happy, playfully squabbling with her, as they both climbed down from the high sex gave them. He’d much rather not be pushed off of the high like she could do to him in only a few words.

Her comment about bike riding made Arthur flush considerably – he’d entertained the metaphor a bit, but then thought of what the bike could mean in this case and decided against saying it. But then she brought it up and he was both entertained and embarrassed. So he laughed a little and covered his face with his hands.

”Yeah... just like riding a bike.” He said, trying to get the mental image of her on top of him again out of his head. He’d just finished, he was exhausted, and he really didn’t need to get himself bothered again. He shifted on the bed as his body slowly stated to cool down. He glanced over at her as she focused on his ceiling. ”judging by your reactions, I don’t think I’m underperforming. Or, actions, I should probably say moans.” He still couldn’t help but wonder, though, if he ever hadn’t satisfied her. Or if he ever wouldn’t. Maybe she’d get bored sometime, get used to his motions, and go after someone better, someone less... of a pain in her ass. He exhaled and continued to watch her, until he thought it was weird. He heard her little laugh and it made his grin twitch down for a second, into a much more relaxed smile. He liked that sound way better than the time she’d laughed at his boxers. ”I don’t know if it’s a fetish. But I don’t... I don’t dislike it. I mean, if you clawed my back randomly I’d be pissed, but, I mean, in that situation it’s kind of... hot.” He cleared his throat.

When she mentioned her schedule, he blinked.

”Oh. Right. Uh... I don’t mind. Whatever works.” He said, ”I work Monday through Saturday at 5 in the morning and I get out.... usually 9, or 11, depends...”