Locked in Hell. (1,563 views)

Arthur groaned, exasperated. He took a few steps away from Chardonnay, turning around so his back was to her.

“You won’t sit on the floor?!” He snapped, reaching his good hand up to undo the buttons on his first shirt, the plaid one. It took a minute, but he got all the buttons off. He shrugged the thing off, biting his bottom lip when he had to stretch his dislocated shoulder, but he got over it.

He threw the shirt to the ground with his good arm, pointing at it with anger in his eyes. He was still in the black, long sleeved shirt that was rolled up to his elbows.

“Sit on the fucking shirt, you spoiled Princess, and elevate the damn ankle on one of these things!”

He kicked a flag pole.

“Honestly, is it that fucking hard for you to make sure you don’t become even more of a burden than you already are?!”

“Actually, yes I will be the only one who has to deal with it. For now, anyway-- forget getting out of here, we'll be here until at least tomorrow, enough to swell the ankle up like a fucking birthday balloon! I guarantee that either you’ll whine my ear off or you’ll blame me for this shit! And I don’t want to deal with that. So get on the damn shirt!”

What a bitch—she didn’t even say thank you or appreciate the fact that he sacrificed one of his shirts for her privileged comfort! If it wasn’t counterproductive, Arthur would have just grabbed her and thrown her on the shirt.

He saw her gripping she shelves for support, and growled. Her ankle was definitely bothering her, if she had to support herself that way. Since she really was that much of a brat, he wanted to assume she’d cave eventually. But he’d never been able to predict her, so he honestly had no idea if she’d sit or not. She was annoyingly stubborn, after all.

“It’s going to swell up.” Arthur spat. “The doctor didn’t know about this! You hit or strain an already sensitive ankle or injury and it’s just going to get worse! Didn't the doctor tell you that! This isn’t even about pity! This is about not letting your stupid ankle get worse because you don't want me to be right! You’re obviously struggling to stand, I can tell, so just sit! Is your pride really that big?!”

He glared at her. “Oh. You wouldn’t blame me for this?! That’s a fucking new one. I’ll believe that when I see it."

“Are you joking?! It’s common sense! If you strain something that hasn’t healed completely yet, it’s going to get worse! Hell, even if it has healed, depending on the thing!”

He made to throw his arms up, but the pain in his shoulder stopped him from doing so. Instead, Arthur’s hands fell back to his side. “I’ve had broken and twisted ankles before, and I know all of this from experience, so sure, I’m an expert. Why not. Just sit on the shirt!”

When she started to blame him Arthur hissed.

“Well, thanks for proving my point. See, I knew you’d blame this on me somehow, Princess.”

“Seriously, are you joking?! The fact that it was mostly healed is even more proof that you need to put it up!” He couldn’t believe this girl, he really couldn’t. Even when he tried to be nice to her she pulled this shit! Not that he was doing this out of kindness or pity, but it was facts. Facts-- including the fact didn’t want to hear her bitch about this.

But honestly, if she got out of this with her ankle worse off than it was before, she couldn’t blame him no matter how hard she tried. So, he just flipped her off with his good hand.

“Fine. You know what? Do whatever you want!” Arthur snapped. “But when your ankle swells up, don’t blame me! You’re literally so spoiled you won’t even accept my help. Wow, no wonder you have no one who genuinely likes you!”

He gave her a pointed glare when she mentioned the blaming, but didn’t comment. He shook his head. He couldn’t believe anyone could be so stupid.

Arthur rolled his eyes but didn’t reply to her fanbase comment. He didn’t have anyone who liked him besides Susan, but at least he didn’t lie and pretend he did. In fact, he didn’t like anyone besides Susan. It was only fair no one liked him in return.

For ten minutes, Arthur stood in blessed silence, grateful that Chardonnay had shut her trap for five minutes. He was also thankful that he’d taken off his shirt. It was getting warm, due to the angle of the sun outside. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, wishing he could sleep, when he felt something hit the side of his face.

Ignoring the pain it brought, Arthur moved his hand over to grab the shirt and yank it down. He turned towards Chardonnay, noticing her sitting on the ground. He raised an eyebrow, almost amused. She seriously would rather sit on the floor than on his shirt?

What a stubborn bitch!

Arthur snorted, and tosses the shirt back to the ground, letting it stay there. He wasn’t about to put it back on.

“Wow. So you’ll sit on the ground—and that’s the exact spot I flicked the ashes on, by the way—instead of my shirt, which I offered for you to sit on? You really are a piece of fucking work, aren’t you?”

He was glaring at her, however, it was filled with less fire and more filled with disbelief. “Do whatever you want, I don’t really give a fuck.”

“You’re such an ungrateful bitch.” Arthur snapped. “And an excuse to buy a whole new outfit!? You’re fucking kidding me, right? Just a little dirt and all of a sudden you need to waste more money on clothes! This is why you’re a money waster!”

He growled, still glaring at her, this time with disgust.

“Better than me? As if. We’re both miserable, sorry excuses for human beings. You’re not better than me, you’re probably worse. At least I know when to say thank you and suck up my pride!”

She was such a..... he couldn't wait to be away from her, honestly! Any time spent with her was just so infuriating!

“Are you fucking—that’s the concept of washing clothing!” Arthur hissed. “They have stain remover, and when your clothes get a little dirty? You wash them! Buying a whole new outfit just because a speck of dirt got on your old shirt is a waste!”

He spat at her, not even caring if it was sanitary. If last time was any indication, she hated that. In here it would probably be worse. The spit landed to the left of her, close enough to be there but not close enough to touch.

“A person like you is insignificant in my life! You’re just another rich loser who’s going to put on so much weight in their mid-thirties they’ll need a forklift to get them down the stairs! You're replaceable. Just another big fancy name.”

It was true, from what he knew. Most rich cooperate owners and financial shareholders he heard of and interacted with were fat. Honestly, if she ever became fat, he’d laugh.

“You… this is my point, you waste money. You probably spend more in one fucking shopping trip than most children have seen in their entire life. Maybe some people can’t afford new pants every day!”

When she was startled by his spitting, Arthur snorted. Especially when she hurt herself and knocked something over. What? It was comical! However he hadn’t foreseen her grabbing a roll of streamers and throwing it at him.

Fortunately for him, it didn’t hit his injury, but it did hit his forehead! The object wasn’t hard enough to draw blood or hurt a lot—besides that, her throwing wasn’t that great—but it still hurt for a minute. Growling, Arthur clutched the side of his head and narrowed his eyes over at her.

“I never threw anything at you, you bitch!” He hissed, ignoring the stinging of his arm. “I don’t care if I’m replaceable! But I’m saying that you are. Forget death for a minute: what about life? I’m forgettable, but I don’t give a shit what happens after I die! And you? No one would care, even if you were replaced while you were alive! And you pride yourself on being so much better than everyone else! And your name can’t be that important, Princess, since I’ve already forgotten it.”

“Just because someone tries really hard does not guarantee they’ll become rich, you idiot! People like you are the reason civil wars start! How do you expect them to earn and get more money if you hog it all and waste it! There’s a difference between buying new clothes because you need them and buying new clothes because you’re just bored of the ones you have!”

He growled, hoisting himself down to the floor with his good arm. He leaned against the wall of the unit, as far away from Chardonnay and her spoiled self as he could possibly be.

“Like I said, I don’t give a fuck about being remembered.” Arthur snapped. “All I care about is myself. Why bother with anyone else, or impressing someone, or getting marked in history? Everyone dies eventually, and everyone forgets. Or just forgets to care. You think you’re so special? Please. Just change your face, your name, and there’s thousands of other people like you, all up there in that rich cloud. You’re not memorable at all.”

“Do you know how hard this fucking economy is! How can someone make a decent amount of money when the only work opportunity is to work at fucking McDonalds! And your family worked for your money. Not you! You’re the spoiled little brat that lives off of the money, and will inherit the business, without any real work at all! You blame people for not being able to earn money when the reason they can’t is because the people with money hog it all!”

He rolled his eyes.

“And so? What’s the point of being remembered in newspapers and histories? Sooner or later, you die. The people who remember you die. Books get burned, newspapers get old. And it doesn’t matter how ‘special’ you are. You’ll be forgotten eventually. And believe me, Miss. Special-unique-snowflake, there’s plenty of people just like you.”

He gave her a disgusted look, to match her condescending one. “And you rich folk have an obnoxious way of thinking.”

“In this day and age?! The economy has been shit for years! Anyone trying to get anywhere special gets fired before they make enough money to make a difference, and you need an education to get anywhere, but education costs money!”

It was a vicious cycle, really. That was why he was so glad he’d actually managed to convince Susan to go to school and get a degree. This was the best job she’d had since Arthur had known her. “So yes, it is selfish and rich people like you who are to blame.”

He rolled his eyes at her insistence she’d be remembered. Honestly, who cared about being remembered? What was the point? There wasn’t a poin.t He was positive Chardonnay didn’t want to do it to ~touch the lives of others~ in a good way. It was probably only because she wanted her cooking to be famous. So selfish.

Arthur flipped her off, feeling the twitching urge to smoke again, fifty percent because of his addiction and fifty percent because it would piss her off.

“Like I said, you have no idea how much money I have, so your snide comment is void. And just because people aren’t swimming in money doesn’t mean they’re sitting around and doing nothing.”

“People don’t always get scholarships, and grants, and sometimes they just can’t get an education because their lives are hectic as it is! But why am I even wasting my breath explaining this shit to you! It’s not like you’d ever understand what it means to actually work for your money, to be so desperate you’ll do anything for money. You’re too spoiled to see anyone else’s side of things!”

Arthur was being that way too, but he simply couldn’t wrap his head around Chardonnay’s existence. Her mentality, her way of thinking… it was all criminal to him.

“Sometimes your best just isn’t good enough for shit.” Arthur snapped. “And if you keep that Thomas-the-train-engine attitude about life, you’re still a kid. Do us both a favor and go to sleep—at least I won’t have to hear your annoying voice all night.”

Sometimes, you just had to take things as they were. There were certain places where no matter how hard you tried you just wouldn’t get anywhere. It was somewhat depressing, but the truth nevertheless.

“Actually, they could! If their lives are hectic, they need money, and how are they going to get money if they get a shit job! Like you’d ever understand what it’s like to be a working class citizen! Most people are stuck where they are, and get kicked before they get a chance to climb up! Sometimes, your best just isn’t good enough.”

Sometimes it was possible to advance, but in certain situations, it was impossible. Especially when it was bigots like her who were at the top, with this mentality that hard work could accomplish anything.

“You’re a real bitch.” He snapped, shaking his head. He leant his head against the wall, feeling a migraine coming back along. He was tired, too. Last night he’d played video games until 4 AM because he couldn’t sleep. Normally he hated to sleep around people, especially people like her, but it was dark and there was a hollow ringing in his ear. “I still doubt there’s anyone who actually likes you as a person.”