Chapter Four: Drunkenness
The bar Emmett and I sit in is dark, upscale, and too typical for my taste. It's the same scene every time we go out. The music throbs from the speakers in a sexy beat. The women, customers and waitresses alike, all look like mirror images of one another: blonde hair, big tits, too much makeup. I wonder what they look like without the dye jobs and without all that shit rubbed on their faces.
Emmett scores us a booth as soon as we arrive. He's a great wingman, or would be, if I was looking for an easy lay. He's corny as hell, but the women flock to him. I guess he's a good looking guy if you're into the whole 'big muscles, deep dimples' sort of thing. He reminds me of a hyperactive chihuahua, grinning as he glances around the bar, practically bouncing in excitement from all the blondes.
Yawn.
I've been bored out of my mind for the past hour, so bored that my mind begins to wander. I see a tatted guy hitting on a young girl near the bar. She's a little different than the others, meaning she doesn't look like a bar whore.
The girl is sweet and innocent, with her straw-colored curls and wide blue eyes, wearing a dress more fitting in a country club than the sexy bar we sit in. I imagine she's lost, or maybe her car broke down and she doesn't have a cell, so she strolls into the bar to borrow a phone. Maybe she's asking for directions...or maybe she's tired of being daddy's little princess, so she came here looking for a good time.
A plot for a fanfic story suddenly dances in my mind: Catholic school girl, bartender with a shady past, a gun-wielding father. I pull out my phone, hit my mobile writing app, and begin typing. I'm so absorbed in my new idea that I don't notice Emmett trying to grab my attention until he thumps me on the forehead.
"Dude!" he practically screams in my ear. "I just found us some ladies for the night."
Emmett beams and nods his head in the general direction of said ladies. A heavy sigh escapes my lips. The women are in their early twenties, corn silk hair, baby-blue eyes, and have killer racks.
Before I can voice my newfound desire for a dark-haired beauty, Em bails, strutting to their table like the king cock in the hen house. I groan in frustration as he brings the giggling blondes back to our table.
"I'm Vicki!" the one beside me squeals, shoving her chair so close to me that she's practically sitting in my lap.
"Of course you are," I mutter, completely bummed that Emmett brought the two bimbos back to our table.
My writing mojo has completely vanished, which pisses me off to no end. I scowl, brooding for a bit as Emmett puts the moves on the other chick...Kate? Irina? Who knows.
"What do you do for a living?" Vicki breaths in a sultry porn voice, leaning closer in.
Her plastic knockers brush against my chest, and for a second I have to check to make sure her rock hard-nipples haven't sliced me. Damn, those thing hurt!
"Do you have tiny daggers in your bra?" I snap, rubbing my chest and ignoring her question. "What the hell just poked me?"
"Ohhhh, I'm sorry, me lad," she moans, not sounding sorry at all as she bats her long, fake, clumpy eyelashes. "When I see a man like you, the lassies beg to come out and play."
Is she speaking with a...fake Irish accent?
"Are you from Ireland?" I ask, tilting my head to the side, a tiny grin playing on my lips.
A hint of amusement tinges my voice. I'll be damn if this crazy chick isn't funny, even if she is a bit pathetic.
"Aye!" she purrs, running her long, glossy pink nails up my bare arm. "My nickname is Lucky Charms. You wanna know why?"
"Because you're so full of the overly-processed sweetness that you eventually give people heart disease and they die?" I suggest, hopefully.
"You're funny, me lad!" she giggles, thrusting the twin death-brigades at me once more. "I've never met a hot guy with a sense of humor! No, silly! They call me Lucky Charms because I'm magically delicious!"
"Is that so?" I ask, scooting away.
"Mmmhmm," she moans, sounding like a dying cow as she scoots forward.
I cringe and order a shot of tequila. I can tell it's going to be a long night. Emmett will kill me if I run the ladies off, so I begin drinking. And then I drink some more.
Then I drink some more.
Vicki gets plastered beside me, losing her fake Irish accent for an Australian one. I find this utterly fascinating, for all of about ten minutes. Then the alcohol really sets in and I find myself lurking on Facebook.
Don't criticize me. Who hasn't drunkenly Facebooked a time or two? Hell, sometimes I even reply to my story reviews when I'm shit-faced.
Yep. I'm that guy.
"Lemme tell you, Nicki," I slur, glancing at the screen of my phone with glassy eyes, "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's someone spamming my news feed."
"You said Spam, mate!" she slurs happily, leaning one my right shoulder. "Like the potted meat! My mom used to feed us Spam back in the trailer park! Them was the good old days!"
"Nicki! I thought you were from Ireland!" I gasp, feigning shock as I scroll through my phone, honestly not paying her much attention.
"My name is Vicki!" she mumbles with a yawn. "I'm from Detroit."
Vicki starts snoring, still leaning heavily against me. Her shiny fuschia lipstick smears against my shirt and I grumble in disgust. I'm a little anal about stains on my clothes and whatnot, mostly because I have no idea how to remove them, without the assistance of a good dry cleaner...or my mother.
I try to sit her up in her chair, but she's very...top-heavy. The weight of her boobs brings her back down and we painfully bump heads.
"Em," I groan. "Why do you do these things to me?"
"I haven't done anything to you, me lad," he laughs, throwing his arm around the other blonde. "I didn't put the tequila in your system!"
I grumble in response, delicately cradling the head of my newfound friend, Nicki...or Vicki...whatever. I lay her face gently on the table and she snores in deep satisfaction. The throbbing from the head-bump brings me down from my tequila-induced bliss, just a bit. I avoid glancing in Emmett's general direction because he and his tablemate are now sucking face, making sickening suction noises.
I wish I can do that...find a girl to hook up with...just some random pretty chick, but that's not me. Don't get me wrong, that's who I once was, before I met 'She Who Shall Not Be Named.' She lured me from my wicked ways and gave me a heart, only to later yank it from my body and take a big dump on it.
Now I'm sitting here next to Lucky Charms and Mr. Sucky Face, drunk Facebooking like the loser I've become. I glance down at the news feed, searching for some new fic recs or something else I can do to pass the time until Emmett emerges for air. As I scroll through, I notice the same post I'd read earlier that day.
Just went to an AA meeting and announced I'm a fanfiction addict! Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right? Hehehehehe - SwanLake
I heave a heavy sigh, irritated that this person has managed to irk me twice today already. Without another thought I begin typing a comment in response to her status, which is strange considering I normally don't comment to anything anyone posts on Facebook, unless it's concerning a story...or me.
I scold her for spamming my news feed and smirk in satisfaction as I hit the post button. After shoving my phone deep in my pocket, I excuse myself to the restroom. I'm not even halfway back to the table when I feel the familiar buzz of my phone in my pocket.
Hey, TonyMazen69! You're an asshole. - SwanLake
I'm frozen, standing near the bar, with my mouth practically hanging to the floor. No one, and I mean, no one, has ever talked to me that way. Well, besides my mother and Granny Platt...but they don't count! Who does this chick think she is?
Maybe she's drunk...much drunker than I am. She's obviously an alcoholic. She's already admitted to attending an AA meeting.
It doesn't matter. I don't care if the chick is an alcoholic. She has no right to call me an asshole. I quickly shoot a comment back in response.
Thanks, SwanLake! I'd rather be an asshole than some alcoholic bitch any day of the week. - TonyMazen69
I snicker in satisfaction, shove the phone in my pocket, and make my way back to the table. Thing One and Thing Two are both passed out. Their yellowy-blonde tresses hang limply from the table they lay on.
Emmett's kicked back, yapping on his cell phone, a look of disappointment on his face as his eyes dart from his forlorn conquest and back to me. He ends the call just as I plop down at the table.
"I think our night on the town is a bust," Emmett remarks, running his fingers through his dark curls as he glances down at our 'dates.'
"Can we please go now?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in question.
"What...and leave them here?" he inquires, frowning in concern. "They're wasted out of their minds! That's a shitty thing to do, Cullen."
"I'd never leave a girl passed out drunk on a table," I scowl. "You got a better suggestion?"
"We could take them back to your place...until the alcohol leaves their system," he suggests, shrugging.
There's no way I'm taking two strange girls back to my place. All I need, on top of the heartache I most recently endured, is being slapped with a false sexual harassment lawsuit.
"Or we can call them a cab," I scowl, shaking Vicki/Nicki until she begins mumbling incoherently.
We decide to wait it out, hopefully until they sober up enough to call a cab for the girls. I might be an asshole, but I'd never shove a drunk girl in the cab and say 'Adios.' Just as Vicki begins to sober up, I feel the vibration of my phone once again.
I'm not an alcoholic, you jackass! Why do you think I'm an alcoholic? - SwanLake
Maybe because that's what your post implies, genius. - TonyMazen69
I went to an AA meeting because I'm a fanficaholic, not an alcoholic, you dickhead. - SwanLake
"This girl is driving me insane!" I snap loudly, punching my fingers furiously across the screen of my iPhone.
"Who?" Em asks, throwing back another beer.
"This girl on Facebook...SwanLake," I mutter, hitting the post button yet again.
Such horrible language...do you kiss your mother with that mouth? - TonyMazen69
"I know SwanLake," Em mumbles, sounding a bit contrary as he frowns into his beer.
He glances hesitantly at our table mates and I almost laugh at his sheepish face. Emmett is completely unashamed to admit to anyone that he's a romance novelist, but when it comes to fanfiction, he's completely embarrassed.
"You know her?" I ask curiously, leaning on the table. "How?"
"Just through fanfiction," he whispers quietly. "She writes romance stories. She's my friend on Facebook, as well. It's a real shame about her mother."
Emmett's morose words hang uncomfortably in the air, like a bitter cloud. A lump forms in my throat as I glance at his suddenly troubled face and ask the one question I'm terrified to ask.
"What happened to her mother?" I question, cringing as his response fell from his lips.
"She died about four months ago. Swan quit writing for a while, but she eventually started back," he replied, sadly. "I guess it makes for a good distraction from what happened."
Damn. I really am an asshole.
Shameful Hoodfabulous Fanfiction Confession: I zone out when I think of story ideas, then ignore everyone around me as I type them out on my phone. This is probably why my husband glares at me all the time.
CaliGirlMon, a reader who's become such a good friend to me, made my beautiful banner for this story! She also made fan banners for my fics Breakaway Bella and Dirty South Drug Wars. They're both viewable on my Facebook page :)
Shoutout to MizzezPattinson, another wonderful reader who has been reading my fics for a while now. She's anal about what she puts on FB now because of this story muahahahahahahahah!
Okay, sorry for the long AN. What do y'all think about Assholeward? It was an honest mistake, right? Leave me some lovin'!
