Roderich
I woke up the next morning experiencing the mother of all hangovers. Damn that fucking Tequila! Instead of making me forget what had happened the day before, it just added another thing to my list of problems. I couldn't even manage to lift my head.
As if that brand of torture wasn't enough, Elizaveta had decided to come down on me like the personification heaven's wrath.
"What on earth happened to you?" She's probably said that in her normal voice, but hey, there's like a hung over person here.
"Please don't scream at me," I pleaded.
"I'm not screaming, te buta!" she said, and this time, it looks like she's raised her voice. I groaned at her assault, but she didn't seem to pay any misery into her head. "That's called a hangover, and that's your punishment for having that bartender wake me up at four in the morning just to pick you up. Since when did you start getting trashed in clubs, anyway?" she asked.
"Since yesterday, apparently," I replied.
"Anyways, how one earth did you find me there?"
She sighed, and then flashed a smirk at me. "Your bartender called. He was hot, Roderich. He saw your phone and saw, Elizaveta in the Favourites tab. He figured I was your best friend or something. You weren't so attractive last night, you know? Did you know how much embarrassment you put the both of us in through last night?"
"N-nein...?" I replied, the hang over still getting the better of me. Although the pain was tolerable, it still hurt like hell. Her grin faded into a scowl. "You were practically begging that bartender to kiss you. You were screaming and crying and yelling about kissing and sex! When I tried to help you up, you threw up on me. I swear, Roddy, if I didn't love you, I would've left you in that bar to choke on your own barf!"
"So you were the one who took me home?"
She rolled her eyes at me, and said, "Duh! And change you sheets because you threw up again."
I thought for a moment, and asked, "So I wasn't raped?"
"What the hell, Roderich?!"
"Well, I was just asking," I said. Hey! It could be possible, you know! I have to admit, what I did last night was probably one of the stupidest things I've ever done in my entire life, right after dating Ludwig Beilschmidt.
"Oh hey," Elizaveta said, seemingly over the entire ordeal. She can change moods as quickly as Mother Nature could herself. "The bartender said this was yours." She handed me a business card. "Bad Touch Trio Inc. Why do you have this kind of card? Have you become that desperate that you—"
"Of course not, you dummkopt!" I snapped before she could even say anything more. Looking at the card, I suddenly remembered that I had one that looks exactly like it. I fished the other card out of my pocket, and showed it to Elizaveta. "It's the second time I've seen the exact same card, yet they came from different guys."
"Oh my gosh, Roddy. Spill everything to me!"
This is what I found wrong in Elizaveta. Everything about her was perfect—she was smart, pretty, and even athletic! What more could a person ask for? But the thing everyone, even I found weird about her is that she is obsessed with gay people. Anything that had to do with gay people—just from two boys holding hands, tow boys spending time together, two boys hugging—would make her insane. Like really, really insane. She would get nosebleeds, and even hyperventilate, but the latter was occasional. Her eyes were gleaming with joy that simply came from the gossip I had yet to tell her.
"The first one was when that pervert kissed me at the mall," I replied. Her eyebrows shot right up. "Someone kissed you at the mall and you didn't even bother telling me!? Was the guy handsome? Hot? Cute?"
"Calm down, Elizaveta! Hmm, I wouldn't consider him handsome, but I would consider him as attractive. But still! He's a pervert!"
She tsked at me. "Roddy, let me tell you this. If some ugly guy kissed you, then that would be considered a pervert. But if some handsome attractive guy kissed you, then that would be considered a blessing."
"You're really such a tramp, Elizaveta." I said with a deadpan expression. "And besides, it was only a quick smack on the lips."
"Well, no wonder you've been dumped," she shot back. "Well then who gave you the second card?"
"The bartender last night. I told him about Ludwig and how he dumped me," I explained.
"Ohh~ So Mister Pervert and Mister Bartender, eh? Do you think they're the ones who give the kissing lessons?" she asked.
"Maybe. But what the heck girl, does it look like I care?" I said.
"What do you mean, what the heck do you care?" Elizaveta exclaimed. "Roddy, this is a golden opportunity! Ludwig dumped you because you suck at kissing, igaz? No pun intended, because I'm sure you didn't suck." She seemed pleased at her own joke, but I didn't mind, nor did I say anything.
"You really are a prude, Roddy," she complained. "Anyways! I say Destiny herself sent those cards to you. You need those lessons, and to think those guys give the lessons..." she waggled her eyebrows at me and grinned. "You hit the jackpot!" she said.
I'll have to admit, she did make sense. A lot of sense. "I'll call, only if I receive another card. Then we'll see if my Destiny is really at play."
"That's a hard call, Roddy," she complained, a hand to her waist, and yet I stood my ground, and she could probably see the resolve on my face because she gave up and changed the subject. "You know what? Whatever. I'll just cook you up some Baumkuchen to get your head out of all that's happened the past few days. And we can have tea afterwards, if that's fine with you." She said, brushing stray hair away from her face, and then putting them back in place with her pink flower hairpins.
"Hmm, alright then. But do you have any painkillers? My head hurts like hell." I asked.
"Alright, I'll get them for you." Elizaveta said, to retrieve the said medicine, and returned a few minutes later with them and a glass of water in hand. I took the painkillers, and Elizaveta took off to the grocery to get the ingredients needed to make the Baumkuchen. Oh well, I'll just rest here until my headache will go away. Until then, my revenge will have to wait.