The Dramatic Spiel of Arthur and Chardonnay~ (7,129 views)

No... no! He didn’t want to get up! How could he be expected to get up? Maybe part of the reason it was so easy for him to get up in the past was because his sleeping circumstances were never ideal. His mattress was comfortable but by no means luxurious – this one melded to his body and made him comfortable, like he was just meant to be here forever, like he could never do anything other than just stay here and sleep. He didn’t have to get up. He didn’t have work today, so he could just relax... relax... except this wasn’t his bed. He was faintly aware of the sound of another person walking around but he was too comfortable to go. He tried to pull the covers up tighter.

Except now, they were yanked off of him, and he whined, the air cold against his skin. He wasn’t in a nightshirt, just his sweatpants, and the feeling of air against his torso made him miserable. Yet he still tried to curl up into a ball, trying to use his one pillow as both a blanket and a pillow... he failed in this endeavor... but at least he had tried. He continued to complain, and then eventually, he just decided blankets weren’t needed. He could just stay there, lying on the squishy mattress, until he died... or at least until he became fully conscious. He only half registered Chardonnay’s voice as it went in one ear and out of the other.

”...if I have to be awake... when you’re awake... how about you just... be not awake?” He offered, through yawns. His eyes were still closed as he shifted. That sounded like perfectly sound logic to him! He only made a motion to open his eyes when she mentioned the time and he slowly blinked.

The sunlight was too bright and he squeezed his eyes shut again, the reflection of the beams on the windows too much for his 90 percent sleeping brain. He then brought a hand to his eyes and cracked one open, shielded by the shade of his hand, as he took in Chardonnay. From the angle he was at the sun was behind her, outlining her. She looked perfectly put together, her hair combed and her outfit on and pressed. Her makeup was done flawlessly, too, and seeing her so well put together did little to make him want to rise. He sighed and closed his eyes again. ”...no. Five more minutes,” He insisted. ”I’m exhausted... why the fuck is your bed a cloud... never mind, don’t care.... ten more minutes, then...”

He was making little sense, as he started to nod off again, despite the bright sunlight trying to help Chardonnay wake him.

Chardonnay’s anger was, once again, lost on him as he tried to sleep. Though the more she talked, the more awake he found himself. But he just didn’t have the energy to rebuttal her claims with either tired or angry thoughts. Slowly his eyes blinked awake. Thankfully she was obscuring the sun from him. He glared over at her as she told him to get up and go. Well. He really couldn’t blame her for kicking him out when she left. For one, when he left his own apartment, it was 6 or 7 AM at the latest. If he went in at noon or later, he definitely wouldn’t let Chardonnay stay. He just... felt bad waking her up so early. Though the blunt way in which she said that he couldn’t stay here without her stung, maybe a little. He didn’t belong here without her and wouldn’t really want to, anyway. Her place was too big... too weird... too confusing. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled.

The way she fumbled over her words to make some kind of... excuse for as to why he couldn’t stay, though, almost made him feel better. If he didn’t know her like he did, he would have thought she felt a little bad about it. But she didn’t.

”Doesn’t matter. I don’t live here. I don’t expect a key...” He grumbled. He would feel weird being here without her, anyway. He groaned when she roughly shook his shoulder. Why couldn’t he just sleep, though? He felt so comfortable. He slowly sat up, his arms squishing on the material of the bed. It was so soft, like a marshmallow. He stared at it, only half listening to Chardonnay as she mentioned breakfast and washing her sheets... whatever... he hid a yawn behind his hand as she got a phone call. He glared over at her for waking him but when he heard her say hello to her dad he felt a headache coming on. He rubbed his forehead and realized he was now more awake than he’d wanted to be. Who’d suffer more if they poured a bucket of ice water on her bed? Her.

”Wouldn’t be much different than the showers you leave for me after you’re fucking done.” he mumbled under his breath, but unfortunately, he had to get up. He turned to the right to swing his legs over the bed, but stopped short when he caught sight of the view from here. Last night he’d only seen the blinds when they were down, because it was night and they were going to have sex and no one needed to see that except the two of them. But now that it was morning, he could see the way the windows took up the whole wall. The trees and buildings of the city below were visible, glistening in the natural light from the sun. The sky was clear, with wisps of clouds moving along to the wind. He stared for a few seconds at the view he’d never seen before in his life. He was used to the world from the highway, from the window of a two, three story building at most. He rarely went to cooperate buildings and when he had he never looked out the window like this. He could feel the sunlight on his cheek and blinked, his breath taken away by the view as he stared at it.

He slowly got himself up out of her bed, his back not slightly sore like it usually was. He slowly stepped forward, towards the patio. He stopped in front of the door, his eyes taking in the twinkle of cars on the highway below. He’d taken that highway up here – down southbound was where Salem was, he could see the familiar turns from up here. He didn’t touch the glass, he just folded his arms across his chest, as he stared at the trees moving in the wind. How was it he’d never seen a view like this? Not unless it was on a postcard. The hotel Susan and he got in New York were never fancy, always low to the ground, and didn’t have such extravagant windows.

He should probably get ready for a shower. But all he could do was stare down at the city below him. He was an ant, like the people who he could see on sidewalks. What did the people this high up care about anyone? Everyone was just ants. Little worker ants, going about their lives, making no differences in the world. His eyes focused and he saw his reflection in the window. He looked like a mess, with his hair strewn about his head and his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

He was really out of place here.

He exhaled and turned around, beginning to pick up his clothes. He got his boxers and jeans from the floor and then he realized he forgot to bring a change of clothes. He did pack new boxers and deodorant, though. He remembered the people in the lobby – would they remember him in these? He hoped not. He folded his shirt and pants out as best he could and rested them on the edge of the bed, as he turned to look out the window and waited for Chardonnay to come back and tell him where the fuck her bathroom was. He didn’t want to go hunting for her – she was on the phone with her father, after all.

He pulled out his own phone from the pocket of his jeans and saw a message from Erin. He unlocked his phone and began to clack away at a reply, still sleepy. He was tempted to photograph the view but didn’t want Erin to ask where he was – she’d recognize the city and he didn’t want to tell her he was at his fuckbuddy’s condo. That would just be awkward.

He was in the middle of typing a message when he heard approaching footsteps and turned around to see Chardonnay in her doorway, giving him a smirk as she taunted him for finally being awake. He normally might have made some snarky remark to her but in the moment, he was so tired he just blinked. He really didn’t want to be awake. He would much rather be asleep, curled in in the sheets that she was now removing from her bed to wash. He wondered if she was going to the laundry room in the building on her way out or, no, more likely was it that she had her own washer and dryer in her condo. That was probably a good perk, but one he didn’t have in his complex. He could afford to move, technically, but he was comfortable where he was with the cheap rent. Sometimes the neighbors were loud – now he suspected he was one of those ‘sometimes loud’ neighbors too – but he didn’t mind. He had headphones and could sleep through anything if he was tired enough. Besides, he was used to the noises that came from Chad’s room. If he could manage to sleep through that on occasion, what would a few fights matter?

He stared over at Chardonnay, unresponsive, and then turned back to his phone. He hit send and turned the device off, slipping it into the pocket of his sweatpants. She told him where the bathroom was but then she said something confusing – she asked if he had allergies and... offered to feed him? His brow furrowed.

”You... don’t have to. I didn’t expect anything. I mean, no, I don’t have allergies, but I can’t stand pickles. And since when did you complain about me calling you self-centered and bitchy?” He asked. The only reason he didn’t suspect she might be trying to poison him was because of his memories of the night previous – she liked his dick enough to keep him alive. Well. The thought would have made him blush if he was more awake. He was expected to not eat any breakfast, like usual, or maybe stop by McDonalds and pick up a burger for the way home. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his clothes, deciding to take them with him into the bathroom. He scooped them up into his arms and looked a little lost as he scanned the direction she’d nudged to. ”Uhh... which door is the bathroom?”

When she questioned why he brought up pickles, Arthur shrugged, not sure who’d eat those with breakfast but then again, what would people eat for breakfast? Eggs, pancakes... waffles? That was all that came to his mind. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t some food expert like Chardonnay was. She said she was going to make omelets and he decided that was fine. Nothing huge, just omelets. Still, she didn’t have to make him one, he thought, and when she told him he’d have to clean the dishes he rolled his eyes. Well, he expected as much, he probably would have offered to if she didn’t demand for him to. It was just like her to not give out anything for free.

Then again, he never liked being a freeloader in the first place.

As she led him towards the bathroom Arthur watched her with irritated eyes. This was way less enticing than the way she’d practically dragged him to her room so they could fuck. He could still remember the way she looked at him, so seductively... it was hard to imagine that the looks she was giving him now came from the same face. He rose his brows and came to a stop as she swung the door to her bathroom open.

And with that door went his jaw. He stared, aghast, as the monstrosity of a room before him. Actually, it wasn’t a monstrosity. Far from it. It was gorgeous, and the sun outside was reflecting on the marble counters of the sink and the panels of the... weird spiral thing in the middle. The bathroom was gorgeous, but it looked like its own damn apartment! There were three rooms in here, a toilet room, the main one, and one for something else. Why were three rooms needed? Why was the bath separate from the shower? Where was the shower? There were too many windows! Why did she need so many? Why were they so big, too, and why was...

”That’s the shower?!” Was all he said in response to her introduction. He closed his jaw but his eye was still twitching when she gave him a smug look. He didn’t know what to do. How... did the shower work? But Chardonnay wasn’t going to tell him how to use it. He didn’t want to ask her, either. When she left to go to the kitchen he didn’t move, just staring at the bathroom that was larger than the first apartment he’d lived in. He took a deep breath. He just... needed to shower. He was conscious of how messy he looked, how sweaty he was, and then he realized his second mistake – he forgot to bring his own soap. Crap.

He stepped into the room, the fancy tile underneath his feet odd. He paused in front of the counter, the mirror, and looked at himself. Yeah, he looked like a mess, with a bedhead. His skin was a little flushed and he thought he saw a few marks on his chest that made him flush. He didn’t linger on them for too long and instead just laid out his clothes on the counter (which actually had space to do so). His shirt was a little wrinkled but otherwise fine, at least in his opinion, anyway. He’d be going right home after this. He took his phone out of his pocket and flopped it onto the pile of clothes. Then he turned towards the source of evil – that weird spiral thing in the center of the room.

He investigated it, at first, poking his head inside it and looking at the drain, then up at the shower head. There were too many little knobs underneath the shower, though. Which one... turned it on? Which one was soap? He felt so lost, and he’d only been in here for about five seconds.

He grabbed the towels out of the drawer and realized he probably should have brought his own, too. He took off the sweatpants and put a towel around his waist, and then decided to try and brave the shower.

It was mostly a success. He figured out how to turn on the water and got himself clean, but then there was the problem of soap. He didn’t know which knob did what. He pressed one and it squirted some crap down onto his knee, which made him jump, which almost made him slip. He wiped the stuff off and sniffed it – it smelled like vanilla and coconut – which meant it must be her soap. It was a very.... well, a very feminine scent that was a lot different than his own. Soap was soap, but what if Susan and Adelaide came over and she smelt this on him? He’d be in for it, trying to figure out an excuse. Whatever. He’d just... use cologne or something when he got home. Yeah.

So he used the weird vanilla soap to wash his body, not using much more than the obnoxiously big squirt that had gotten on his knee. He didn’t want the smell to be potent and strong, after all. He didn’t bother to shampoo or condition his hair, just running his fingers through it. The soap got in his hair, a bit, leaving a lingering scent there. The shower was kept very brief – Arthur never liked long showers as it was, and he still felt lost in her bathroom – so he turned it off after ten minutes and then grabbed the towel he’d left at the end of the spiral, wrapping it around his waist again. He stood in front of the mirror and used a second towel to dry his hair. He threw on his shirt from yesterday and buttoned it, someone self-conscious about the wrinkles he noticed. Those people downstairs would see the wrinkles – would they figure he was someone’s booty call? Would they even notice him? What if him, and who he was, became a subject of gossip for the residents? He felt a feeling of dread when he pictured those arrogant people, whispering behind their hands to one another as he passed them by. He tried to flatten the shirt again. It wasn’t that bad but his eyes were drawn to every wrinkle, every bend of the shirt.

The jeans were easier to deal with – they were just jeans. And, he’d changed before he made the drive down here, so he’d naively assumed he’d be fine just leaving in the same outfit... that was, until he saw the group of people who convened in the lobby. He didn’t care what people thought about him. He didn’t! They were all so rich, so spoiled, so stupid... yet he still found himself adjusting his shirt again and running a comb through his hair to make it look less messy, and more shaped. He exhaled and swung his backpack back over his shoulder. He gathered the two towels he’d used and exited the room, immediately greeted by the scent of sautéing vegetables. It wasn’t a scent he was used to, so he hesitantly approached the kitchen, watching Chardonnay as she cooked. One of the omelets looked to be ready but she was still cooking the other one. Before she snorted, he caught a smile on her profile, one he didn’t usually see. It almost made him just stand there and watch, rather than speak and disrupt her. She really did have a passion for what she did. She was born with privilege but that didn’t mean she didn’t love her work just as much as he did. Maybe more. He didn’t know. She did have familial ties to it, after all. It wasn’t like he’d say that to her, though. He exhaled.

”Where do you want the towels?” He asked her. ”And your shower’s got too many knobs. Why don’t you just have a shelf with soap on it, like normal people?”

Arthur glanced at the food she said was his. It was still weird, to be here and to have her getting this for him. Why would she want to treat him to a meal? He still didn’t get it. Especially since she was a professional chef and so proud of her food. Why would she waste the time to cook him something? He was used to her calling him an ass by now, though, and just rolled his eyes at the comment.

”Obviously I figured it out, Princess. It’s still just unnecessary. Like half of the other shit in here. Why do you have so much space?!” He groaned, putting the towels onto a chair. Though he supposed he shouldn’t be too snarky. She was treating him here, after all. He followed her instructions about getting a drink, getting himself a cup of water before he sat down and blinked at the steaming omelet in front of him. It looked good, smelt good, but it was so odd to be here, with her giving him something... he still wondered if there was something inopportune in it. Maybe not poison, but... he didn’t know. Laxatives or something? To make him miserable on the way home? He glared over at her when she told him to appreciate something she had and opened his mouth to complain, but then closed it again. Her bed, well, he didn’t have any complains about it. In fact he was somewhat disappointed that he’d be going back to his apartment, where his bed creaked and groaned underneath his weight. ”I didn’t have any complaints about your bed,” He almost grumbled, though that was all he gave her for a compliment, ”and your shower is over the top. How expensive was it? You probably could have fed an orphanage for an entire month with how much that crap took to install.”

He stared at the omelet and fork, and took them to the table, sitting down with them. As much as he hated her sometimes, he wasn’t an inconsiderate person. So he liked to think, anyway. So he exhaled. ”Thank you.”

It was weird to thank her for something... so he didn’t look at her and instead got a piece of the omelet onto his fork and brought it to his mouth, popping it inside. It was... good. Really good. He didn’t want to look like he was enjoying it too much, though, because he knew that she’d be watching him, trying to rub it in his face how great her cooking was. So he kept his face rather blank as he chewed and looked over at her, trying to see if she was gauging him for a reaction. He could pretend to hate it, and be mean, but... that didn’t sound like something he wanted to do. Still though, he didn’t want her to think he found it too good... otherwise he’d never hear the end of it. God. Coexisting with Chardonnay was so complicated. Too complicated!

He’d mostly just said his comment out of instinct – often when he saw something expensive, he imagined all of the other things that could be done with the money. Other things that, more often than not, were more practical and worth it. He didn’t think she’d blow up on him about it and it was too early in the morning for this, wasn’t it? He blinked at her as she raged, feeling regret seep into his mood. Great. Now he went and pissed her off. He hadn’t meant to. She should be used to those comments from him right? And he’d never said anything about how she didn’t pay for her own place! With money they could be used for other things, other people... he found the spending of money on luxury things such a waste. If he had this much money he’d donate to a charity, or something, or even buy nicer things for his sister, but not for himself. He wasn’t spoiled like she was. He grit his teeth.

Sure, she never forced him to come here, but she... she’d invited him, hadn’t he? And he still felt like such an outsider and then she said exactly what he’d been thinking and he was glad she was too angry to care and was looking away because he couldn’t hide the hurt on his face as she said that. Damn right he was an outsider. He didn’t fit in with this luxury, he didn’t know why she was still wasting her time with him. He would never fit into her life. It’s not like she’d ever even try to let him in, anyway. And it wasn’t that he wanted to, he just... he just was still terrified that every time he texted her she’d tell him she was calling this off. That she found someone better or just got sick of him. Someone who could actually fit into her life, someone who knew what fine cuisine was and who didn’t smoke and who could hold a conversation with her without making her want to strangle them. Someone who could figure out that stupid spiral shower... he stared at the omelet on his plate, half eaten. It was delicious, still, but he felt his throat going dry with irritation. He should have just shut up and eaten the omelet. Then they could have left, and fucked later. That was how they worked. If they tried to talk to each other for too long this... this crap happened!

He sat in silence and kneaded his forehead. He didn’t touch his omelet for a few minutes. But then he remembered that happy little smile he’d seen on her face while she was cooking, and he just... couldn’t not. So he finished it, and it was delicious, and made him feel worse. He didn’t think she’d react so badly to his comment. She didn’t usually! Sure he was expected her to get mad at him but not so emotional... and then she just stormed out of the room.

Even though she told him he didn’t have to, Arthur got up and washed the dishes. His own plate, fork, glass, and the pan she’d used for cooking. He didn’t exactly know where she wanted them, so he put the cleaned and dried dishes onto her countertop, before he turned to the table and wiped that down, too, so that he didn’t wind up leaving any crumbs. Her comment about him not fitting in repeated in his head, even as he did so. The only place he’d fit in here, maybe, was as housekeeping staff... he exhaled and stared at the door she’d stormed out of.

She told him he could leave but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to leave like this. When he was younger he didn’t mind leaving on a fighting note with Chardonnay, but now he just – just – the thought made him squirm. What if they never talked again after this? What if something happened to her after this, and even though they weren’t dating, he just... he wouldn’t be able to stop the feelings of regret about leaving on a negative note. So he glanced at the dishes he’d cleaned, once more, and then decided that was a good excuse as any to go and find her again.

He looked around her living room for any signs of her – but didn’t find any at first. Instead his eyes lingered on the portraits on the walls and he felt a twinge in his chest. He wasn’t sure what the emotion was at first. He wondered if he’d have any pictures like that if his parents had never died.

He shook the thoughts away when he saw something on the patio – her legs lounging on a chair. Lounging. She really was so spoiled... he resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he slid open the door and stepped forward into the sunlight. Up here, away from the city, the air smelt good. He saw the glistening cars along the highway, heading this way and that, and couldn’t help but wonder who the occupants were.

"Okay, look.” Arthur came to a stop at the back of the chair he knew Chardonnay was sitting on. He leaned down over it, so that he could look at her, expecting her to be huffy and puffy and mad as he was used to seeing her. So spoiled, he again thought. But whatever. He was used to it by now. ”I washed the dishes anyway. I don’t know where you want them, so they’re on the counter. You’re right. I don’t fit in. I don’t know why you even invited me over in the first place. But I’m not ungrateful. I just...” He looked towards the highway in the distance with a squeamish expression. He couldn’t do it. This was too much. Why did he even need to apologize! He hadn’t... said anything wrong right? Had he? He exhaled. ”I... just... whatever. Look. Where do you want me to put the dishes?”

Even if all they were doing was fucking. Arthur felt like he had more consideration for keeping the both of them appeased than she did. God. Her words made him really roll his eyes, the guilt he’d been beginning to feel ebbing away. Why should he feel bad when she was still bitching? Besides, she mentioned all they did was fuck each other. She mentioned nothing about calling off their relationship, so that made him feel much better. He was just worried this... that he’d ruined this somehow. Though he didn’t know why that’d bother him so much. If they stopped this, that meant he could start looking for a serious relationship, right? He stared at the city below, watching the birds fly around. Nah. He didn’t want a serious relationship right now. He liked what they had going on too much to give it up.

Besides, doing so would mean he’d seriously never see her again and, well, he kind of liked it when she got on his nerves. It gave him interaction that he wasn’t used to, a stress relief. So serious relationships could wait a few years. But even then, he’d eventually give this up, wouldn’t he? That thought made him furrow his brow. He was out of place here. He could find someone with a smaller apartment, less of a diva attitude... but then again it wouldn’t be the same and, frankly, he was positive that the sex wouldn’t be half as good as it was with Chardonnay.

He glared down at her.

”Yeah, yeah. I get it, Princess. We’re the worst of both worlds.” He rolled his eyes. She was fine. He didn’t know why he was concerned at all. Though he did catch the look in her eyes at her own comment about gratefulness. He really didn’t know her at all, did he? He knew her body all right, he knew what she liked and what she didn’t like but... he didn’t know her. The girl in the family portraits in the living room was a stranger to him. ”It doesn’t matter what I think of you, right? I barely know you. You don’t know me, either. You probably don’t even remember my name half the time.” That wouldn’t be surprising. He followed her into the building again, behind her. ”But, fine. I just didn’t know if you were pissed at me. That’s the only reason I went out there. Because it’d suck if you called this off over my comments on your stupid shower spiral. ...and breakfast after sex was... good.” It almost pained him to say it but he figured, why not. No strings attached, just... conveniences sake. And, if she wanted to offer it again, he wouldn’t object... though he had a feeling she wouldn’t. He grabbed his bag off of the living room floor and hiked it up over his shoulder, almost feeling like he was in college again.

Arthur wondered what the peak time of traffic was for that lobby down below. Would people be there loitering again? It looked like a popular hangout spot. He hoped no one stopped him, asked for his name or his condo number. Or, what would be worse was if security saw him and accused him of trying to rob someone. He had a feeling if that happened chardonnay wouldn’t be willing to vouch for him and he’d wind up in jail, having to explain to his sister how he wound up at some expensive condo suite... and then of course he’d never call Chardonnay again because who the fuck wouldn’t offer him some bailout, even if it wasn’t saying they had sex? Like... like he was a friend who needed a roof or something? Sure it’d make him look like a hobo, but... but!

God! He was getting angry at her even in hypotheticals.

”You seem to like me just fine mid-orgasm,” he snapped before he could think about what he was saying. Even though the second that tumbled out of his mouth he felt embarrassed, remembering what she sounded like during those moments. And those were sometimes the times that she remembered his name, too. Damn. He’d never cared either way about his name but when she moaned it in his ear like that it was kind of hard not to feel confident, sexy. The thoughts were leading him into dangerous territory, though, so he coughed and kept his fist over his lips. No sexual thoughts. They weren’t going to see one another for another week. Though her offense at how he hadn’t cleaned the stove certainly served that purpose. He rolled his eyes. ”You would have thrown me off the terrace if I touched your stove. You love cooking, and I’d probably break it.”

And, just as he’d thought, she was watching his face for a reaction. His lip twitched up into a smirk, even though she insulted his taste buds.

”You were watching for a reaction. I’m good at acting, Princess. Nothing's wrong with my taste buds.” Well. More or less. That took concentration, a warning. If he was suddenly told to have a blank face, or if he was nervous, his skills would falter, but for now? He was pretty proud of the fact he’d figured out she cared for his reaction and didn’t read any of his thoughts. ”Well, once you’re done inspecting my washing... can I go? And uh... how many people are going to be in the lobby, exactly?”

He didn’t know when he’d gotten the confidence to comment about what she was like during sex, but he was glad he did, because he liked watching the way she blushed, even if it brought a twinge of pink to his own cheeks. As awkward as he still was about sex and mentioning it, he was getting better about it the more he did it. And the more he and Chardonnay mentioned it to one another. They both liked how the other could make them feel, and it wasn’t a secret. Still, they sure liked to use it against one another to prove their points... but all those fights usually did was make them want to fuck each other again – so he let the subject drop with another “whatever, Princess.”

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, waiting for her to finish inspecting the dishes. God. Did she think he didn’t know how to clean? Because he fucking did. He always washed his own dishes after using them, and at Susan’s, too. He often washed the girls’ plates because they were lazy (and Adelaide was still learning how). And not to mention at work he always cleaned up the stations, and he had to make sure they were spotless or Jasmin would call him out on it being messy. It went vice-versa for her. So he didn’t have a doubt in his mind that the plate and pan were both spotless, the table, too. In all honesty he just completely forgot about the stove. He used his own so rarely that he didn’t clean it often, he just made sure it didn’t have any dust or markings on it about once a week. Besides, her stove had looked almost untouched, and it was new and fancy unlike his older one. He didn’t know what buttons he might accidently push to break it.

”And who the fuck would I show the pictures to? Anyone would ask where I took them, and I’m not allowed to talk about this to anyone I care about.” He replied. Sure, his coworkers may brush it off and just think it was cool, and maybe Mr. Carmichael wouldn’t pry, but Susan would. Maxine would. Erin would. Besides he wasn’t really a picture-taker... that was his sister. ”And sorry for not touching your precious stove, I didn’t feel like dying today.”

Though he felt victorious about her not firing back when he called her out about watching him, but then he remembered the lobby dwellers and looked to the side. He shouldn’t admit it to her that it made him uncomfortable to walk down there. That he stood out, that no doubt people remembered him and would stare, taking note that he was in the same clothes he was as he was yesterday. ”Nothing. All right then -- never mind. Bye.”

He turned around and headed towards the door, unsure how to lock it, but he was pretty sure that she’d handle all of that herself when she headed to work. He just hoped there wasn’t some passcode for the lobby... or that no one else got on the elevator while he was heading down it.

Chardonnay’s condo became their usual go-to location for sex. It was still awkward for Arthur to picture doing anything at his place. He still saw Monson on a daily basis and he was nice, friendly, but he just couldn’t risk having his sexual encounters being audible to him. Monson never again alluded to who he thought was Arthur’s girlfriend, convinced that either they’d quieted down or broken up. At least that was what Arthur thought. Or maybe he just didn’t care… he had other things to worry about, like his daughter.

As Arthur thought, she was Adelaide’s age. She was quiet, shy, and very adorable. Monson wouldn’t shut up about her. One time when Adelaide came over to Arthur’s apartment she met the little girl (named Isabelle) and they bonded right away. They’d play together out in the small yard of the apartment complex, supervised by both Arthur and Monson or, often, just one of them. It was still hard for Arthur to maintain eye contact with Monson but he did his best to put the awkward comments behind him. It was especially easier when he didn’t feel squeamish about having Chardonnay over much anymore. Still, without her coming over his apartment seemed duller than he remembered.

He started looking forward to the long commute to her condo, even if it was an hour away, and even if it was often late at night that he wound up going. Though actually getting there was a different story. He still always parked in the back, his car a stark contrast against the newer models that lined the lot. He usually dressed better than he did when he came over the first time – his hair was usually combed and he wore slacks rather than jeans, paired with a button down shirt. It made him feel like less of an outsider, a little more confident, and it wasn’t like he stayed in those clothes for very long, anyway. He especially liked going to her place late at night on the weekend – there were less people in the lobby, and the ones who were there didn’t seem to mind him as much. Whereas when he came over in the afternoon, he could feel nothing but eyes on his back as he waited for the elevator. He stood out among the majority of the crowd – a bunch of blonde haired white men and their wives – and it made him very uncomfortable.

One time someone had actually spoken to him. He’d been waiting for the elevator to come and there was a woman beside him, she was older than he was, maybe about Susan’s age or a little younger. She asked pleasantries but this kind of crowd never asked for pleasantries without ulterior motives. He made up excuses as best he could. He didn’t even give her his name and just dodged the questions she asked. He made sure to hit the top floor of the building when she was on and it wasn’t until she got off on the 5th floor that Arthur corrected his button pushing and got off on Chardonnay’s floor. He exhaled. Why were rich people so… exhausting?

He really, really liked Chardonnay’s bed. It was comfortable and he wound up snoozing in it later than she did most of the time. He had never slept on something this nice in his entire life, and mornings at her condo were the only times he let himself cave in and be ‘a little bit spoiled’. Sometimes it worked out well – sometimes she was fine and let him wake up (or jostled him awake) and let him use her shower. Other times, she was in a bad mood when she woke up and started to inconvenience him in as many ways as she possibly could. Usually then she’d steal the sheets from him and he’d try to steal them back, usually winding up tangled in the sheets with her again, and one thing led to another and they wound up having sex again. One morning after they’d finished the second time she was in a scramble to go to work and it really pissed Arthur off because of her not wanting to leave him in her condo. He didn’t get a chance to shower, and so he had to spritz on deodorant and cologne in an attempt to not reek. He usually would up getting a fast food place or nothing at all when he left her condo, because apparently he’d fucked up the only chance at getting a meal afterwards by his snide remarks the first time he’d been at her condo. But either way, it was fine. He usually just went back to his apartment and watched anime for the rest of his day – unless he had important things to worry about, like calls from Jasmin at work or his sister and niece.

His sister was recovered pretty much completely from falling and hitting her head. Adelaide still had nightmares about it, and still felt guilty every time she looked at her train toy, the one that Susan had tripped over in the first place. Though Susan told him not to, he got rid of the thing by donating it to a charity not too far away. The toy brought bad memories to Adelaide and it could give some poor kid who couldn’t afford toys something to play with. He didn’t have many toys left from when he was a kid, and what little he’d kept over the years had been given to Adelaide once she hit an age appropriate to play with them. Adelaide never looked for the train set and he never told Susan he got rid of it. Her nightmare started to lessen the less she saw the object, and she started sleeping better.

One weekend, a Saturday night in particular, Arthur wanted to see if Chardonnay was busy but she answered that she didn’t want any because she was on her period. He was surprised she told him about it and when he received the text, he made a face at his phone. What the fuck? Why would she tell him that? It wasn’t as though he wasn’t used to talk of periods – as awkward as he found it Susan always complained about it and, more often than not, he was the designated ‘tampon purchaser’ when Susan didn’t want to lift herself up off of the couch. Still, the thought of Chardonnay even mentioning her schedule like that to him was weird… though not really. He knew her body well and so it wasn’t surprising the knowledge stuck with him and he seemed to remember her schedule and which weeks a month she’d be on it, so he knew not to text her.

On those weekends, Arthur usually took up Susan’s offer to spend a night at her and Adelaide’s apartment. She liked to watch stupid reality TV while eating dinner. Arthur hated that hobby of hers, but she insisted that his commentary was funny. Usually he wound up cooking and, when Susan didn’t want him to cook, she usually ordered in a pizza and ate most of it herself. It was a ridiculous setup but Arthur found entertainment in his sister’s laughter, anyway. And Adelaide would usually crawl between Susan’s side and Arthur’s side, stealing the cheese off of their pizzas when they weren’t looking, laughing at the jokes she was too young to get that came from the mouths of the Kardashians.

By the time it hit May, Arthur was aware that it’d been over a year since he’d graduated and, subsequently, over a year since the first time he’d slept with Chardonnay. It was because it was so close to the date of that project he’d nearly failed, but he could still remember the exact date she’d come over and they’d fucked. It was so surprising to him then, that she wanted him, that he was willing to go that far with her. Part of the reason Arthur was so convinced he’d die a virgin was because he was too shy to get into bed with anybody. He didn’t like his body, he was too thin and strong but not as muscular as other guys were, he had that scar on his knee that was hideous, and he just… didn’t think he’d ever drop his pants in front of anyone, either. And of all people, it was Chardonnay. She hated him, she didn’t hide that, she was mean and harsh and why did he feel comfortable enough to lose his virginity to her? He was still questioning that even as they continued to sleep together.

One morning he woke up in her apartment, showered and got dressed, and then stood in front of the mirror only to feel his eye twitching and his cheeks flushing. He had a hickey on his neck, and he could still remember that she’d left it on him when they were stumbling towards her bed, and he had his hand underneath her skirt. He felt every vibration of her moans and her teeth harshly biting against his skin, but he didn’t think that she’d left a mark on him! He came out of the bathroom flustered, especially because he didn’t have a jacket and the shirt he’d brought to go home in was a dark blue tee. It wasn’t high enough on his neck to obscure the mark. At least she’d been just as embarrassed as he was about it. He let her cover it up with makeup, the feeling of her hands applying it odd. It was a miracle that she managed to get it to go away. Makeup was some trippy shit.

Of course the next time, he’d gotten his own revenge by leaving his own hickey on her neck. It wasn’t hard to cover them with makeup, but it was an extra hassle. It wasn’t like he didn’t normally leave marks on her – but they were all usually hidden underneath clothes.

His time spent at work was getting better than it used to. He had more of a command over the suppliers now. He’d actually made a decision on his own to switch the candy bar supplier. The previous one had been walking all over Mr. Carmichael and, when Arthur made the choice to switch to a lesser-known brand, it caused a stir at first, as change normally did. But they made good business because people liked the change and the supplier had a more equal deal with the theater now, as opposed to the way they’d dominated the relationship before. Arthur was much less kindhearted than Mr. Carmichael was when it came to business and pretty soon, their profits were looking better.

One time Erin came to the theater with a group of friends to see a new movie that was coming out. Her cousin was working that day, so she was talking to her when Arthur came out of the back. He was surprised to see Erin and even more surprised to see the group of people who were surrounding her. She smiled and the conversation was pleasant, except one of the boys in the group kept giving him the stink-eye. Immediately he figured this guy must have a thing for Erin, and she’d likely told him about what awkwardness had happened between them. He didn’t say anything on the matter and just told them to enjoy the movie, though he was pretty sure he heard Erin’s friends giggling and talking about him behind his back, only able to hear tidbits of the conversation like “that’s him?!”, “no way”, and “he’s cute”. He tried to ignore it, but it did bother him. They probably thought he was some playboy from what Erin told them.

That night he’d wanted to go Chardonnay’s almost desperately, but he couldn’t. He promised Susan he’d do something with her and so he texted her to let him know he wasn’t going over. Instead, he wound up going out to a bar with her while the Halls watched Adelaide for the night. Susan wound up getting herself wasted and dancing on a table – Arthur was glad he was the designated driver because he really couldn’t stand the notion of getting drunk with his crazy sister. He wound up dragging her home and away from some pervert who he saw making eyes at her, and when he got her to her apartment he wound up tucking her in and then cleaning the place. Susan was so disorganized, her dishes were dirty in her sink and she hadn’t swept the kitchen floor in weeks. She woke up to a clean apartment and started crying and Arthur was really, really desperate to go to Chardonnay’s. He was glad they’d arranged in advance that he’d go to her place after she got out of work next Sunday evening.

So it was midnight when he got his bag together. He got a change of clothes (slacks and a shirt) along with boxers, shampoo and conditioner, soap, a comb, and the extra condoms were still there in his bag. Before leaving he dressed himself in a maroon button down and jeans, combed his hair, and then hit the highway.

Since it was so late, it was pretty barren of people, and the ride was nice and calm. There was a point in the trip he had to travel over a bridge and he glanced out at the water, rippling with the wind, the moonlight casting a beam down the middle. Some stupid pop songs were playing on the radio and they were the ones with stupid hooks that he wound up memorizing until he forgot about them. He wound up drumming his fingers along to the beat on the wheel until he took the turn that led him into Chardonnay’s complex. He pulled into his choice spot at the back of the lot and got out of his car, walking into the building.

It was mostly empty, save for a few graveyard wanderers. Since the usual crowd wasn’t here he’d saved his slacks for the morning, when he’d be leaving. He entered the elevator alone and ascended floor after floor. There was a ding, and he entered the passcode that he’d now memorized. He then entered her hall and rang the doorbell.

He exhaled as he waited for her to come to the door. It was weird that it was taking her so long. He glanced at his phone, wondering if he was early. No… it was only 1:30. She got out at one, and it didn’t take her long to get here. Was she changing? Or did she fall asleep? He couldn’t blame her if she was exhausted. When the door finally opened he thought he’d woken her up. She looked like a bit of a mess, her hair uncombed and trying to hide her face. She was in what looked like pajamas maybe? Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. He blinked at her.

”Uh… hi?” he responded. Still, she didn’t seem like she was going to tell him to leave. She moved to the side and allowed him to step in so he did, and then he got a better look at her. Maybe she was tired, but she hadn’t told him to leave. So she still wanted to have sex, right? Because otherwise she’d have turned him away at the door. He wasn’t allowed in here for any reason other than sex, right? He felt that, and thought that, but didn’t know if he should just grab her and kiss her when she was hiding her face like that. So he brought a hand up and brushed some hair away from her face, looking at her lips before he looked at her eyes. ”Did I wake you up or something?”

There was definitely something wrong with her right now. And it didn’t look like it was a physical problem – like the time she’d woken up in hysterics from a nightmare, it was... emotional. She was stuttering when she normally didn’t, she hadn’t gotten herself all dressed up like she normally did, and she was there looking vulnerable and plain and it was just odd. Though she did mention she’d had a long day at work, which... kind of explained it? Maybe she was only this way because of her work? He’d had days like that too. Days where he just felt exasperated, and usually he’d vent out his problems by fucking Chardonnay if she was willing.

And right now she seemed to be willing. In fact, she was demanding that he should have been there sooner. So he decided that this awkwardness of hers would wear off the more into it they got, and muttered a ”sorry” before she stepped forward and kissed him. He moved his lips against hers with more fever than she was, his hands sliding down her body and resting on her hips as he felt her chest against his.

When he closed his eyes all he could see was the look in her eyes when he stared at them, though. She looked at him like she was... unsure. Almost like she was... if he didn’t know her better, almost like she was scared of something. And irritated, and flustered and just... so different than she normally looked at him. He slid his hand up the exposed skin of her side, wandering underneath the loose top she wore. Still, he could feel that she wasn’t as enthusiastic as she normally was. That made him furrow his brow and stop kissing her for a second, pulling away to look at her face. Their foreheads were still touching and she was between the wall of her foyer and him now. He blinked at her, his eyes wandering along the freckles of her nose before he looked at her eyes. Her hands on him felt stiff, unsure, which was drastically different than how she usually started tearing his clothes off. He almost... well... he felt bad kissing her like this when she was moving back so timidly, and for a brief moment, he feared that she was getting bored with him.

But no. This wasn’t her. The way she was kissing him was like she was trying too hard to pretend to be normal. Something had to be wrong. She was trying to act like she wanted this – and the fact that she’d pretend to want him even if she didn’t stung his heart for different reasons than he’d been stung in the past. He didn’t want her to feel forced to do anything with him. Ever. So he exhaled and looked at her face, not moving away but not moving to kiss her again.

”We don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to,” He said, quietly, and he knew that even though he wanted to, and that he’d come over here with the purpose of having sex, he wouldn’t mind stopping if she really wasn’t feeling it. He’d just be thankful to know now rather than when he got aroused. He’d just ask for permission to sleep in her bed for the night, because he didn’t want to go home after only just getting here. It would be... weird... but then he thought about her words before. She acted angry he was late but her usual venom wasn’t there... was she just trying to keep her act up? She didn’t seem in the mood, even though she said she felt it. She wasn’t moaning at his touches and kisses like she usually did. ”If you’re tired that’s fine, I just... need a place to sleep.”

He wasn’t surprised when she agreed not to have sex with him that night. She latched onto the excuse he gave her, tiredness, but he was beginning to think that she was lying to him. She’d said she had a bad day at work, but maybe it wasn’t just bad – maybe it was really bad. He watched as she slumped against the wall and exhaled, saying she needed a drink. Never a big drinker himself (except on the rare occasions Susan or Maxine got him to go to a bar, and even then he was a lightweight) he assumed she meant a glass of water or something. So he nodded, slowly, and allowed her to push him gently out of the way as she made her way through her condo. That left him alone in the foyer for a few seconds, as he pondered what the hell it was that was making her so concerned.

It wasn’t like she’d tell him. They weren’t friends. They weren’t lovers. They had sex, they had a respect for one another in that sense and a trust, too, but that was it. He didn’t go to her for emotional support when he felt upset when something was wrong and she didn’t seek him out, either. And for some reason that got on his nerves, at that moment. He wanted to know what was wrong. He wanted her to tell him. Because maybe it’d help her – maybe she kept things bottled up, like he often did. He wondered if she had any friends who she could confide in. And when he realized the only people she trusted that fully were her parents... he felt bad. As much as he kept things hidden, he had a few people he could trust with his problems. There had to be things she couldn’t talk to her parents about, things that she was still simmering on... he shook his head at his own thoughts. She didn’t need someone to listen. She was Chardonnay Nicholas. But those thoughts didn’t quell his growing worry. He answered sure to her offer for a drink.

When she bypassed the kitchen Arthur furrowed his brows and followed her, tentatively, and his eyes widened when she went for some Crown Royal above her TV. Oh. Oh, she meant that kind of a drink. Yeah. Something had to be wrong.

”Uh... I can’t really handle heavy liquor, and I don’t think you want to deal with drunk me again. Do you have anything lighter?” He asked. He watched as she threw back her drink, both concerned and impressed, as he rubbed his forehead. God damn. She was named after alcohol for a reason, apparently. He grabbed the second glass and turned it in his hands. Maybe he should have some water instead. He glanced over at Chardonnay. ”Was your shift really long?”

Really. Was he asking about her day? He never asked about her day. But maybe she’d tell him if he prompted her? Or maybe she’d just yell at him for being nosy and tell him to sleep on the couch. He sighed and waited for her to direct him to the lighter drinks.

How much could one person drink? He didn’t know, he didn’t know how long people went without getting alcohol poisoning. He wondered when or if he should stop her at some point. It was her house and he didn’t think two glasses would kill her. He didn’t like this, though. He hadn’t seen her drink since the party and didn’t know if it was something she did regularly. But whatever. It wasn’t his business. He shook the thoughts out of his head, again, and just went to the wine that she pointed out. He stared at the variety, not exactly sure what he could take. He took something that looked like it had a picture of grapes on it and filled his glass, then put the wine back. After this one glass he wouldn’t let himself drink any more. He wasn’t going to start giggling and dancing around Chardonnay’s condo. Nope. The first and last time she’d be seeing him drunk was that party where they kissed for the first time.

He sat down across from her and watched as she topped off her glass, again, then took a sip of the stuff he’d poured for himself. This wasn’t what he thought would happen when he drove down here. He didn’t blame her for not wanting it anymore, but it was weird that she was being... hospitable to him. The wine tasted pretty good. He always preferred wine to hard stuff, anyways. Hard stuff was just so bitter. He didn’t understand how Chardonnay could keep pouring herself glasses like that.

”Thanks, this is fine.” He said, though he didn’t take another sip right afterwards. First she was in some funky mood, then she threw back drinks... and when she said her shift wasn’t that long, he was even more confused. So all was well? Then why was she in this funk! He bit on his lower lip. Of course she wouldn’t tell them. He just hoped she didn’t get too drunk – that would mean he’d be playing babysitter for the rest of the night. But then she continued and said something he didn’t expect – she mentioned some guy.

If she didn’t sound so concerned, if she hadn’t been so scared when he looked at her face, he might have felt jealous for a second. Maybe this was some guy she was courting. But of course he could figure out that this wasn’t something Chardonnay liked. Whoever this weird guy was must be the reason she was so concerned. He tried to stop his mind from immediately jumping to conclusions. Maybe it was business related. This guy might be an investor or a food supplier, and maybe he was giving her grief? He unclenched the fist he didn’t realize had formed on his knee, and exhaled. Then he looked over at Chardonnay. ”...what guy? What did he do?”

If he wasn’t so concerned about her story, maybe Arthur would have told her to stop drinking at some point. She didn’t stop at three glasses and just kept pouring them for herself. He didn’t touch his wine again, leaving it to sit on the table beside her glass, still full even as hers got refilled numerous times. He was too worried now to want to drink. She was worried about something, she had to be, otherwise why would she keep downing drinks? He almost said something, while he was waiting for her to elaborate and she finished another, but he held his tongue because he didn’t want to hold her off from telling him what was happening.

And she did wind up telling him and he listened with interest. His heart started to race in his chest but it wasn’t for nervousness or arousal or anything like that – it was with anger. He could feel his blood pressure beginning to rise as he pictured this fucker, showing up to her restaurant on the grand opening and trying to distract her. And this guy, who kept inviting himself to the restaurant to be there when she was trying to focus on closing, on getting out of there, alone at night in the alley, what did he look like? The image Arthur got in his mind was rat-like. He didn’t know if he was muscular or not. Maybe he had broad shoulders and muscles like Chad did, maybe he was conventionally attractive and just thought he’d get whatever he wanted from her? No matter who he was, or how strong he was, Arthur didn’t care. The bigger they were the harder they fell. He wouldn’t even care if the guy fought him back. He could take a few hits if it meant this guy would fuck off. His fist clenched again on his knee as he saw red.

If there was something he couldn’t stand, it was creeps who kept pestering girls when they said no, when they told them to stop, when they were creeped out by the actions. He liked to think that hearing any story about a girl getting stalked by some creep would make him mad, but would it make him this mad? His body was shaking as she started to slur her words and continued to talk about this guy from when she found him by the dumpsters. He showed up when she was jogging, when she was just existing, when he was in the background and she couldn’t tell if he was or not, and he just continued to get angrier by the time that she got to tonight, when he’d shown up and scared her, and laughed at her, and then got angry when she got pissed off at him. It was probably for the best Chardonnay wasn’t looking at him right now because his jaw was squared in irritation and his knuckles were white. He had half a mind to dismiss himself right now, track the guy down, and beat the shit out of him. But he was snapped out of those thoughts by her waving her nails in his face and he blinked, and turned to look at her as she held her hand to her chest. He didn’t expect for her to admit that it scared her, and the way she looked then it... was more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. Even after the nightmare, she’d composed herself but now she was drunk, she was slurring out a confession of sorts, and he was glad to hear it but at the same time furious it happened in general.

”If he comes back I’ll punch him,” Arthur said without hesitating, as he watched her clutch her hand to her chest, ”I’ll beat his ass to the ground if I have to. If I get my hands on him he’ll never bother you again,” But, still, he lived an hour away from her. How was he supposed to beat this guy’s ass if he lived so far away? For the first time since their situation he seriously wished he lived closer. He took a deep breath, to calm himself a little, and then reached over to touch her shoulder, so that he could make sure she was looking at him. ”Look, if he ever... if you’re ever alone with him, call me. He won’t be able to do anything if he sees you on the phone and you can tell him whatever you want to get him to fuck off. I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend if I have to. If he doesn’t get the picture then, you can get a restraining order if you have to. If nothing else’ll get him to fuck off, the law should do it. If he’s looking for credible work, he won’t want a record.”

He didn’t know how drunk she was, or how much of this conversation she’d remember, but he hoped that she did. He didn’t want her to feel like she was alone if she had to deal with him again. He thought of her, alone with this guy about to pounce on her after she closed her restaurant up, and he had to move his hand off of her shoulder to stop himself from squeezing it in anger. What would have happened if she hadn’t threatened him? If he approached her that late, all alone in the dark, what did he want with her? What if she hadn’t come home, or had been murdered, or raped or something and he was just standing here, with no idea? And what if the guy approached her again after this? The thoughts made him angry, but they also made him incredibly anxious.