I do not own any of Disney nor Marvel's characters, ideas or concepts. This is simply a piece of fiction written for fan and entertainment purposes only.
Do you think its possible to be destined to be unhappy? Like our lives are just planned out beforehand and there's nothing we can do about it. Then, whenever we reach our own goals or find something that gives us that glimmer of hope, its just snatched away from us without anyone giving a true reason why. Are some people meant to be miserable?
Waking up everyday to the solemn, black, leather curtains that block out the morning sun. Not even a single crack of sunlight slips in to greet you. Wall color? Try a pale, putrid yellow that reminds you only of your nephew's vomit. The floors are a sticky mess of fake wood from the humidity that constantly dries upon it.
Then, to top it all off you're surrounded by things you don't even like. The Hobbit posters, the Grandmother clock, the comic books beside two huge porcelain dolls. The only thing you did like was a wolf puzzle that hung above your computer and it wasn't even yours.
The only thing that seems to highlight your day is the way you constantly chug down Pepsi and clack away at feelings of those who own internet blogs. Tumblr always seems to make the worst days a little brighter.
I mean, let's just lay it all out on the table. You're in love with a celebrity; one that most definitely knows absolutely nothing about you, much less notices the fact that you exist. You spent so many months pondering what it would be like to be with him or even live with him. Get hit by his car and live to tell the tale? Bump into him in a crowded coffee shop or spark up an intellectual conversation at a book signing? Then, after the weeks went by and you silently convinced yourself that none of this would ever be possible, the fantasies you dreamed up are still there in the very back of your brain, pestering you when you try to go to sleep.
But who could blame you? Practically the whole world is falling at his feet. He has the most gorgeous eyes; the kind that you could take a dive into and swim around in for hours, somehow making your way back to drown in his dazzling smile. That smile, if given its own equal powers, could stop world hunger with a single flash of his teeth.
In reality, all this really adds up to is some really messed up version of Romeo and Juliet where instead of dying you both end up eloping together and becoming super famous. Or maybe you run off and live in an Italian villa churning butter for the rest of your life. Either way, you have about as much chance as the guy down at your abortion clinic.
I don't have much room to talk, though, do I? The tangent my story goes off on is much, much thicker than any plot twist I've ever read about in Jane Austin's love chronicles of doom. Unlike the Miss Bennet or Miss Bingley I didn't get my perfect, mythical ending full of rainbows and sunshine. I mean, who really gets all that unicorn piss in their lives? Then again, most people don't let their chosen celebrity end up being a wanted criminal that destroys half of a well-populated city. Then again, most of the cities don't end up being Manhattan.
God I was so lucky to have that bottle of Jack in my hands. If I hadn't gotten that last drop I might have imploded from my own stubborn, girlish feelings.
It wasn't as if this guy was some Clarke Kent or Bruce Wayne. He was more like Jesus Christ than anything, really. I mean, this guy was a God. Like, really. A true-blue, brimstone and fire God. He seemed to pose for each camera that dared capture his likeness. I admit his flamboyance is part of the charm that got me so addicted. Just talking to him would pretty much write my name on a silver bullet. It would be like plucking the pin out of a grenade and then chewing on the outer-casing.
His name was Loki. But for those who didn't know the double-syllable by heart, they could always recognize him by the orchestra of evil tuba music that seemed to play in his wake. I'd only caught glimpses of him on the tube, mainly whenever some horrible, overplayed disaster report would show up on CNN. Hair that went down to his shoulders in a crisp arch of ebony; it seemed to frame perfectly the milky texture of his face. Most striking to me, though, were his eyes. They seemed to change color in the light, first appearing as a fluorescent green and a bright aqua the next.
Any girl would have been nervous to talk to him. Could you imagine? 'Hi, my name is such and such. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your plans to rule the-" Bam. Fried on the spot. Maybe that was why so many people hid in the sidelines.
Luckily for me, I wouldn't have to wait. According to his darling brother, the Thunder God, he would be giving a somewhat forced apology to the public. I could only count on one hand all of the billions of things that could go wrong, but I was certain the God of Lies could probably list them all alphabetically.
When I heard the balcony door slide open, I only tipped my head back in its general direction. "Who dares disturb my thoughts?"
Jane gave a half-joking, half-unimpressed smile, cradling a cup of hot chocolate in her hands.
I laughed, "Ya know, upside-down you don't look half bad!" But even through all of my joking, I couldn't help but notice the concern she had written on her face. I turned to face her- right-side-up, this time. "What's up?"
"I didn't think you'd be up." Jane responded, pucking her lips around her mug. #1 Mom, it said. Silently I began to question her choices when shopping second hand.
"Me?" My expression deadpanned, jaw hanging open in a comedic response. "You didn't think I, Darcy, would be awake?" Again, I earned a semi-unimpressed look. I just grinned in response, eyeing the cocoa in her hands.
"I just couldn't sleep." At her response, my brows rose, lips puckering to get my next point across.
"You're nervous cause your Bo's coming, right?" I held up my hands before she could finish, placing a mock-incredulous look on my face. "Hey, you don't gotta explain anything to me. I got nervous when I first had sex too."
"Darcy!" I started to cackle when she batted at my arm, bringing my elbows up as a shield. "You really think I've never..." Her voice dropped low, to an almost-whisper, "You know...'done it'?"
At what age did we all stop referring to sex as 'doing it'? I was almost terrified that her description of the female vagina would be an explanation of her 'no-no parts'. "Actually, now that you mention it..." She batted at my arm again- man that was gonna get sore!
But in all honesty, I kind of saw where she was coming from. For a woman her age, Jane was desirable. She was nice, funny, definitely prettier than a lot of the skanks I saw roaming around town. She had this sort of...homey feel. Like, you're that one asshole that just walks into your best friend's house and eats all their food? Yeah. She was friend that lets you do that. I was that asshole.
"But yeah," Jane began, knocking my head clear out of my own thoughts. "I'm excited; I haven't seen him in so long."
For a second, I just kind of admired her. Here, standing before me, was a strong, independant woman. She'd been that woman for almost ten years, even though I'd really only known her for about four, maybe five. Now, after all of her hard work she was being rewarded with the sexy, blond, brad-pitt-reminiscent God of Thunder that would just come and sweep her off her feet.
On second thought, maybe I was reading too many of Jane Austin's books.
To my surprise, I appeared to have no indication of a pre-suffered hangover. Being cooped up in the apartment for two days with nothing other than Jane and a few discarded romance novels was beginning to get to me. By now, I was greatly in need of a diversion.
But with no money to go shopping and no gas in the truck, how the hell was I expected to entertain myself? It wasn't as if I could just build some rocket or amuse myself with the nintendo for the upteenth time. Seriously, one can only rescue Princess Zelda so many times before they just want to shove a sword down her throat.
I made my way down into the kitchen, humming loudly the original 'Star Trek' theme while I fixed myself my first glass of Pepsi. I drank the stuff religiously. In one two-liter bottle rested the stuff of legend- that which would keep up a prepubescent boy for weeks!
"You're in my spot."
"Jesus Christ!" I screamed, soda flying out of my mouth and clinging to both the counter and my white nightshirt. I spun around to find the offending voice, heart pumping a million miles an hour. Who the hell would even do something like that? I swore when I found them, I'd wring their neck with a roll of self-adhesive bubble wrap.
"You're in my space. The final frontier." My eyes landed on some scruffy-looking dude sitting at the kitchen table. He was kind of hot. Kind of.
"Um. Excuse me, but last time I checked you were kind of in my fucking kitchen!" I gestured around us, then glanced down at the stain on my favorite nightshirt. Kurt Cobain now had a boob-face full of Pepsi.
"Knocking is over-rated." His response was clever. So clever it actually managed to piss me off. It was ten. TEN in the morning and I had just woken up to the pleasure of a strange guy wearing a tin can at my kitchen table. Did I even mention he was wearing a tin can?
I scowled at him, "I really don't think the Cops are gonna see it that way."
"I know its hard to believe, but I'm actually here to protect you." He lifted his two fiery-engine red legs, crossing them up on the table. The streaks of mustard-yellow made me cringe, instantly thinking of the god-awful paint of my bedroom.
What the hell was this guy's problem? He walked into my house and expected me to just go with it? "Yeah. You need to go." I whirled around, quite gracefully if i do say so myself, and marched right up to the front door. "Out. Go."
"You don't want to do that." The crimson tin-can spoke again, standing up to his full height. He seemed to scratch at the stubble of his chin. The amused look on his face made my hair stand on end. What a jerk.
"What, in all the bajillion galaxies, could you be protecting me from in my own kitchen?" Still, I couldn't help but laugh. He wasn't just a delusional burglar, he was insane! Sure, my subconscious was screaming at me to recognize the freaky robot-suit he had going on, but at ten in the morning, we all make mistakes right?
What I hadn't been expecting was the sudden burst of expensive oils, the explosion of scents and smells that attacked my nostrils, a presence that filled the room up so high that it would take weeks just to touch the floor. For a moment, it felt like the whole world had their eyes on me. Watching, waiting; like I was some lion about to jump through the hoop of a ringmaster. Only after gazing back to the man in the red suit did I even dare to turn around.
It was like falling into a black abyss. The feeling of having your soul ripped out of your chest, caressed by an angel and then gently tossed back in. For a moment I questioned my sanity; was I gazing on a painting or simply a figment of my own mythological desires? Whatever it was, it had stolen my breath away with a simple bat of its lashes.
"Do forgive me, Miss Lewis," His voice was like velvet, tainted only by the first light of the dawn. It didn't even occur to me to ask him how he'd learned my full name or where he'd come from. The only thing I could really do was stare. His very existence commanded my attention.
I wanted to flinch away, to jerk back from the pale fingers that entwined themselves in my hair, but all I could do was watch the contrast of milk on chocolate. By now, I could definitely tell that all eyes were on me, just standing there like a deafened schoolgirl waiting to hear what he had to say.
"I believe what he means is..." There it was again. Holy, sweet Jesus his voice was like an orgasm. Still, I had to keep my cool, watch him and gauge his movements. It wasn't like I was buying an extra minute to stare at his face or anything. "He's here to protect you from me." I paused, the true meaning behind his words finally settling into my mind.
I was in trouble.
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