Chapter 3:
In which Arthur is a terrible beast, and Francis's beard is attacked.
It took awhile for Arthur to calm himself down. In that time Charlie had left, and Arthur was alone. He stayed there, curled into a ball on the beer stained bed for hours; it was only after the sun had rose and started filtering through the window did Arthur start to straighten out. Sadly he glanced at the picture of his boyfriend, taking in the happy brown eyes and black hair that he'd loved, and turned the frame flat on it's side. It hurt.
'Where would he have gone.'
Probably to find a new side girlfriend, he thought bitterly.
He crawled off the bed, rubbing his cold arms as he sat on the end of it, his feet curled away from the floor and slouching over himself as another shudder swept over him.
He was so tired of crying.
Exhausted, he forced himself to stand, averting his gaze from the mirror, and grabbing the fallen bottle off the floor. This was the cause of half his problems. If Charlie wasn't out drinking all the time, he would have stayed at home more, and none of this would have happened. He stared at it a moment, then in a rush of anger he slammed it against the wall sending shards everywhere, instantly regretting it.
"Shit!"
Now there was another thing he had to clean.
He stepped over the pieces of glass carefully and headed towards the bathroom.
He had never thought it was possible to look as much like shit as he felt, but somehow he'd accomplished it. Not only were his eyes red from tears and lack of sleep, there were heavy bags under his eyes, and his cheeks felt raw.
Not to mention his hair, the bruises on his skin, or the fact he was only in his pants. His boyfriend had been too drunk to even unfasten his belt.
He shuddered again sadly and grabbed his toothbrush. His mouth also tasted like sewage.
He came back with a broom in hand, and managed to prick his finger on the last piece of glass. He sucked on it in pain and threw away the pieces before grabbing up the dirty sheets. He would have to go to the laundromat at some point this week, but right now the numbness of the fight left him too emotionally drained. Absently he wondered if somebody had the sense last night to finish the laundry up at Pele's.
Instead he took his shower and changed into another set of dress shirt tie, slacks, sweater vest and loafers. He also didn't feel like sleep since being in bed would remind him of the emptiness. Instead he grabbed his wallet and keys and headed out to the bus stop.
The sky was beautiful when he went out; there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the direction the sun shone in made all the colors in the trees, grass, and flowers ten times brighter. In front of a neighboring trailer a couple of small children were playing in the sprinklers. Their mother waved to him as he walked by and he'd nodded back to her before joining some of his other neighbors at the bus stop.
"Well hey! If it isn't Sir Arthur!" an older black man by the name of Dennis said in his usual greeting.
Arthur gave him a small smile, more like a tiny pull at his lips, and nodded to the others as well.
There was Mrs. Pince, a little old lady wearing a pink flowered dress and a bonnet over her head for the sun. She was a funny old thing who lived by herself and her little black labradoodle, Chester, who she took everywhere in her large purse.
Next there were two Italians, Feliciano and Lovino Vargas. They worked in the pizzeria a block away from Pele's, and while Felciano was cheerful and airheaded, Lovino was violent tempered and foul mouthed.
A man after Arthur's own heart.
"Oh Ciao~ Mr. Arthur! How are you this wonderful morning? Isn't the sky just beautiful? And all the little birdies are out! I want one but big brother would get mad!"
The Brit simply nodded at Feliciano's rambling. This was a normal greeting from the Italian brother who always seemed to have something happy to say.
"Damn right I'd get mad, you idiotic bastard. What would we need a bird for?" Lovino was saying as the bus came into view down the street.
These were his neighbors, Arthur thought to himself. All of them, excluding Lovino, were just as poor and hardworking as he was, but the empty feeling came again as he realized the others were still happier than him.
He pushed a hand against his tightening chest, leaning his head to watch the trees and streets pass by outside the window.
After an hour in which the two Vargas brothers argued, and Mrs. Pince's dog barked at Feliciano senselessly, leaving the Italian scared. The bus finally made it into the city. Denis waved goodbye as he got off to work at the new construction site.
And Arthur found himself alone.
As they past by the Hideaway, he felt a rush of nausea. Looking at the place, and things he did in it, reminded him more vividly of the fight. He turned away to stare at his watch. He didn't have to go in 'til five, so he had a few more hours to occupy his time.
He rode all the way into town before stopping off in his most favorite part of Vegas: the Library.
As soon as he stepped into the air conditioned building he was comforted by the slightly musty smell of old books and printer ink. At least it soothed the tightening in his chest.
Calmly, he walked past the many aisles as he tried to decide what he was in the mood for. He certainly didn't feel like a romantic novel right now. He contemplated a murder mystery, but it might have given him ideas. So in the end he decided on something adventurous.
As he searched through the aisle he tried to ignore the voice of excited children from the other side of the building. They were doing some sort of demonstration for the little ones.
Fondly it reminded him of the activities they had at the Library in Birmingham. Once they had brought in a tiny case of Madagascan Hissing Cockroaches. The nice man holding the case told them that although they looked gross they were very misunderstood creatures. Of course his brothers hadn't hesitated to hold one, but he remembered running away to hide as soon as the man had brought it out.
Looking back, he'd always been a crybaby.
Some things never changed, he thought.
Finally he decided on a story about a boy who sails across the ocean and makes friends with mermaids out at sea. If he thought there was enough time, he would have picked a bigger book. Instead, he headed to one of the large windows and sat himself down in one of the plush chairs, content to lose himself in a fictional reality. It felt good having something to occupy his thoughts. Sometimes Arthur felt a bit jealous of fictional characters. Yes, they too went through trials and tribulations, but always in a story there would be a way out, some sort of escape from the problems of life. Their problems were bigger, but they felt less personal. And that was something he envied.
"There you are, Arthur, dear!" The Brit looked up as he entered the back room where Madam was smoking again. After he'd finished at the library, he'd grabbed a cup of tea from a shop nearby and was just getting back. The tea wasn't quite like that at home, but it helped to warm him up a bit, to the point where he was feeling less down than that morning.
"Good evening, Madam." He said giving her a peck on the cheek, and grabbing a couple of folders from the desk.
"Oh, how I love how you take such good care of things around here," the old lady was saying.
Since it was a Friday, instead of taking guests, he would be working the front register in the bar. This suited him better since it meant he could empty the inbox of complaints and look over the budget for the month.
In the lounge the girls from the last shift were leaving, and a couple for the new shift were filing in. The girl who'd been running the register for the last shift, Elizabeta looked glad as Arthur said he would relieve her. "Hey Arthur, thanks for being on time," she said with a wink.
The Brit was always on time, and she laughed as he told her as much.
"Yes, but tonight I have plans. Roderich is taking me to the opera tonight!" She said excitedly.
Arthur gave her a smile; he knew Roderich from the time the man appeared at the store red in the face, and demanding that Elizabeta be taken care of properly and respectfully, an interesting command considering where she decided to work. It was the reason Elizabeta only worked the register, although she herself stated that she didn't care what she did, she wanted to keep busy.
Elizabeta was very friendly, but she was tough, which was good for a bartender encountering the type of people they got. She managed to keep them in line, even as her cheerful demeanor kept them buying more and more booze.
"Have fun," he decided to say as she threw off her apron and skipped to the back room for her things.
As evening came, the store became more and more crowded. Men and a few women came in to blow their paychecks on booze and entertainment. Soon the bar was full of customers rambling amongst themselves about the pretty woman at the pole on the other side of the store.
"Refill! Refill!" a couple of guys chanted merrily.
Arthur frowned as he mixed a drink, thinking of the many ways he wanted to bash their faces in, but then a commotion at the door distracted him.
It was none other than Francis.
As he'd entered, a group of the girls had shouted a welcome vying for his attention, and Arthur rolled his eyes as the Frenchman blew kisses to his adoring coworkers. What a wanker.
Following behind Francis was Alfred, who looked around while he held open the door, one hand in his pocket. Arthur still thought the man looked mildly uncomfortable, and wondered about the relationship between those two. If they were dating then he hoped they wouldn't cause any conflicts later on, he thought frowning.
Apparently Francis caught the expression out the corner of his eye as the man turned his head to sneer at Arthur. He sauntered up to the bar, and a couple of the customers, feeling the sudden tension moved out his way, as he leaned over a stool to meet the level of Arthur's gaze.
"Bonjour! If it isn't my little anglais friend."
Although the words were innocent enough, the tone left Arthur in no doubt that he was being insulted. With that he gave Francis the most evil and murderous grin he could muster.
"Ha! Welcome back frog! I thought I smelled something nasty coming down down the street."
"Ahon ahon ahon hon," laughed the frenchman, resting his chin against his hand mockingly as he crossed one arm over his chest. "I'm sure what you smell can't be at all as bad as how your eyebrows look, no?"
"At least my nose isn't bigger than my dick! Although," Arthur said looking down at the other man's pants, "in your case that wasn't so hard to accomplish."
The Frenchman's sneer widened although his blue eyes went cold.
"You have jokes, hmm, angleterre? I'll warn you now, blagueurs easily get stuffed."
Francis may have thought he would win with that threat, but as soon as he'd uttered it he gave a girly shriek as Arthur, the vein in his temple throbbing, grabbed the man by the goatee and pulled the frenchman down to meet his glare.
"Ah let go! You're going to rip them!"
"Then how about if you take your cheese smelling self and get out of my face."
He pushed Francis back away from him, sneering as the man went over crying to his American companion, who looked torn between amused and pitying.
"He's a beast! A terrible beast!"
Arthur glared down the other people at the bar daring them to say anything else to him, but the men simply drunk their alcohol and avoided his gaze. Fuming, he picked up a glass and began to rub it vigorously.
'That's what I thought.'
