A short Chrisney (ish) oneshot, written after midnight. Whew, I need to fix my sleeping habits.
I hope you guys enjoy. :)
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN TDI/A/WT/ROTI/THAT HORRIBLE SEASON WHICH SHALL NOT BE MENTIONED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES AND I'M GLAD THAT I DON'T OWN IT.
The sun fully emerged from the horizon, signaling the start of a new day. The hazy sunlight seeped through the blinds covering the window of somebody's apartment.
Courtney Marquez's eyes fluttered open.
Something wasn't right.
The twenty-one year old law student lay there for a moment in her semi-conscious state, trying to figure out what was wrong. She couldn't fathom what it was, but her sharp senses never failed to inform her when something was not in order. The fact that she couldn't put a finger on it was bugging her like hell. Courtney sighed. Oh, well. She'll get to it later.
Now fully awake, she yawned and sat up.
That's when it hit her. Like, with a force of a bunch of monster trucks carrying sweaty old men.
She was unclothed. Naked. Wearing her birthday suit. Whatever term you used, it didn't change the situation, and the situation was, she always made sure to sleep wearing some flannel pajamas or something. So the fact that she was in the nude...well, whatever the hell it meant, it wasn't good.
Even worse, she realized that the sunlight was directly in her eyes. That made no sense, either. She hated the sun, and she always made sure to sleep on the left side of her bed, away from the window, and had hung dark curtains concealing her room from some annoying wake-up call from nature.
Third realization: there was a tuft of black hair. On the pillow right next to her. What the hair was attached to, she couldn't tell, because whatever it was was covered by a heavy comforter.
Oh, yeah. The comforter had a giant picture of a cartoon Darth Vader fighting Luke Skywalker on it. And the pillows depicted Yoda's face.
Holy shit. Courtney's eyes scanned the place, her stomach dropping an inch with every sight. A small refrigerator, with Coke and beer bottles littered carelessly on the sides. A huge plasma TV. And an even bigger portrait of Chris McLean. Of all fucking people.
Obviously, she wasn't in her room. Where the hell was she, then?
Frantically, Courtney reached for the nightstand, and was relieved to find her cellphone there. Her heart was pounding, her head was throbbing, and she felt like she consumed about fifty boxes of pork chops. Her trembling fingers only managed to dial one digit, the only person in the world who was in her speed dial.
"Answer the phone, answer the phone," she silently commanded, willing the person (if it were a person, anyway) next to her to NOT wake up.
Harold Nobert Cheever Doris McGrady the fifth wasn't a very busy guy. But he sure was occupied at that one moment, trying to bake the perfect chocolate cake for his precious girlfriend Leshawna.
Unfortunately, the oven wasn't cooperating. Harold cursed it for its incompetence, adamant that it wasn't, by any means, his fault.
Finally, he managed to close the wretched contraption, which was overflowing with chocolate pastries, and leaned against it with a sigh of annoyance. He was wiping the sweat from his acne-infested forehead when his phone rang.
"Oh, my God. Attorney Sanders?" a panicked voice on the other end said. "Something awful just happened! I—"
Harold cleared his throat. "Greetings," he interrupted, in that raspy voice of his. "This is Harold, video game master. I'm also a ninja-in-training, and I've got mad skills!"
The person was quiet. Then, in a dangerously calm voice, she said, "What?"
"Harold," the dweeb repeated. "GOSH! Is that so hard to understand? Who is this anyway?"
He was listening to the dial tone. He scowled. GOSH, how rude of whoever was on the other line. "IDIOT!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. He was about to go into a full-rage mode when he smelled something...burning. And he was suddenly very aware of a stinging pain located on his gluteus maximus.
He barely had time to leap away from the oven and yelp, when the room was filled with a loud and very profound SPLAT that echoed in the room.
Harold sat on the kitchen floor, covered from head to toe in chocolate. "Gosh," he sighed.
On the other side of the town, Courtney was just about ready to rip her hair off.
For some reason, Harold was on her speed-dial. As if the morning could NOT get any more messed up. Time to take matters in her own hands.
Warily, she inspected the unconscious, blanket-covered body next to her like how an FBI agent would look at a corpse in a crime scene. Judging by the dull pain between her legs, she came to a conclusion.
She just slept with someone.
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit," Courtney groaned.
What the hell happened last night, anyway?
The brunette snapped her fingers, finally figuring it out. Total Drama reunion party. She didn't want to go (no one did, actually), but it was in her contract, along with everybody else's. She recalled awkwardly dancing with a few of the less despicable guys, namely DJ and Cody. She ignored Duncan's pleas to get back together, and talked to Bridgette and Gwen for a while. And then Geoff brought out the vodka. She couldn't really remember much after that.
She eyed the room again. The party, in fact, was held in Chris McLean's house, which would explain the huge portrait of him (with extremely exaggerated handsome features). After all, every contestant loathed him, and none of them would have any trace of him anywhere.
She scrutinized the dark hair. "Duncan?" she guessed.
She felt sick just thinking that she had sex with the ogre. But then again, she had slept with him before.
Courtney thanked her lucky stars that she was on the pill. She didn't think that Duncan was responsible enough to put on a condom and the last thing she needed was a juvenile delinquent to raise.
Shuddering at the thought, she decided that she didn't need to know for sure. She just needed to evacuate the place, preferably as soon as possible. The lawyer-in-training bent down and began picking up some articles of clothing that, despite their disheveled state, probably belonged to her. She uttered a sound of disgust as she picked up her cardigan, practically shredded and smelled of vomit. At least her heels looked unscathed.
Gingerly, she sat on the edge of the Star Wars bed and fitted her left foot inside one stiletto. She moved to put on the other one, only to find out that someone spilled something inside. She had to hold back a screech of frustration.
Caught up in her shoe dilemma, she never noticed an arm inch towards her waist and pull her to the bed.
Chris McLean was having the most amazing dream. He was in a diamond-encrusted hot tub, surrounded by hot women. The best part? They all carried platters of pizza.
Dream-Chris grinned and reached for a slice.
He was pulled out of his reverie when someone shrieked, and his forearm was suddenly being attacked by hands that seemed to have extremely long and sharp fingernails.
The former host yelped and sat up like he was shot out of a cannon.
A startled gasp made him realize that his eyes were closed, so he opened them, and...
"Courtney?" he gasped.
Courtney's face had gone from porcelain-white to firetruck engine-red. "CHRIS?" she hollered, leaping off the bed and covering herself with the sheets.
Chris frowned sleepily. "What the hell are you doing in my bed?" he griped. Then he looked down, and looked at Courtney and her bare shoulders.
Realization swept in. "Oh."
"Oh? Oh?" Courtney screamed, shoving him away. "That's all you've got to say to me? After you took my innocence on this horrendously tacky bed?"
"Took your innocence?" Chris repeated, before he realized what she was implying. "Whoa. Oh, no. I did not rape you!"
"That's what they all say!"
"Courtney, I didn't." Chris looked serious, for once in his life.
Courtney's steely-eyed glare faltered, and she studied his face for a moment. With a sigh, she asked, through gritted teeth, "How did I get here?"
"Maybe you need to control your liquor," Chris said with a smirk, only to be whacked by the Yoda face pillow.
Courtney was seething, then she felt a distinct gurgling in her stomach. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she rushed from the bed and ran to the bathroom, where she desperately tried to reach the toilet on time. Unfortunately, due to the largeness of the room, she didn't make it, and spewed the contents of her stomach in Chris's hot tub.
"Noooooooooooo!" Chris yelled.
Courtney continued to vomit, and finally collapsed on the cold tile floor, shivering.
"My hot tub!" the host yelled. He stared despairingly at his precious "chick-magnet" and glared daggers at Courtney. "Way to go," he griped
"Hey," Courtney snapped, "I'm kind of sick here?!"
Chris's eyes softened, before widening in complete panic. "You threw up! Oh, my God!"
"What?" Courtney said crossly. "Can you shut up for a minute?"
"I knocked you up, didn't I?" he shouted. "Oh, no! The media will have a field day with this! And people will think that I'm a child molester!"
"I'm twenty-one years old!" Courtney growled. She stood up and slapped Chris across the face. "And you can't get get pregnant right after sex, you dumbass!"
"Really?" Chris was dumbfounded. "I thought that's how you get people pregnant."
"Not immediately," Courtney elaborated, "and, also, I'm on the pill. So you can't knock me up either. It's probably just because of the alcohol in my system." She glowered at him. "Thank God for that!" she spat. "Can you imagine how horrible my life would be if I had to carry your demon spawn?"
Chris sighed in relief. "Yeah, okay. Okay." His gaze dropped, and he quirked an eyebrow. "Court, you're still naked."
"Ugh! Get out of my way, you insufferable buffoon!" Courtney stalked back to the bedroom and reclaimed her clothes and purse while Chris shamelessly ogled her nude form.
She caught him staring and screamed at him for it, which only served to make her look hotter, in Chris's opinion. As he was watching her red face shout curses at him and her chest barely contained behind the comforter and heaving with every breath she took, he zoned out and began his musings.
She wasn't the annoying little brat that he knew in the show, Chris realized. While he was still much older than her, she was no kid. And she was smoking hot.
Impulsively, Chris grabbed a marker from his desk, took her arm, and began scrawling something on it.
Courtney was too surprised to argue and stood still until he finished whatever he was doing.
Chris raised his eyes to look at her. With a seductive smile, he said, "Call me," and sauntered back to his bed, where he resumed his heavy snoring almost immediately.
Courtney just stood there, gawking at what seemed to be his cellphone number written on her arm.
"Gross!" she said, once she had regained her composure. She rubbed at her arm futilely, then pulled on her clothes so she could leave the place without being attacked by the papparazzi. Fortunately, she managed to hail a cab without raising any suspicions.
The brunette closed her eyes and tried to make herself comfortable on the lumpy seat. The memories from last night were returning, and try as she might, Courtney couldn't block out the passion-filled encounter. She felt a blush light up her cheeks when she recalled that, yes, she was the one who initiated sex, not Chris, and she was very forceful about it, too. Ugh.
A slow smile curved her usually stern mouth. It was one of the best nights she had, though. By far the best.
She dubiously stared at her arm for a minute. And she surprised herself by pulling out her cellphone from her purse.
Mechanically, she copied the digits from her arm to her phone and tapped on the 'Save Contacts' icon. Smirking slightly, she turned her phone off and relaxed on her seat, taking that well-earned nap. If she remembered correctly, she did not get much sleep the previous night.
Haha...yeah. Thanks for reading, and please review. :P