*OMG, hi to everybody that still reads this story. I have received a sudden stroke of inspiration, and have decided to continue this little gem I started many years ago. I have written two new chapters for this story so far, so after this one is published, I will publish the next one shortly. Much Love- Everlasting Faerie Light*
I am never doing drugs again.
Fuck the Netherlands and his spiky-ass hair.
Who the fuck gives four points of molly to an inexperienced, depressed-as-all-fuck Southern Italian?
An undercover psychopath, that's who.
"KESESESESESE!"
My inner tirade was broken by a peal of unwelcome, raucous laughter. My grip on the edges of the porcelain toilet seat tightened.
"Fuck OFF, Beilschmidt," I spat. My voice sounded like someone was rubbing a cheese grater against my vocal cords.
I heard him gasp in between breaths of air, struggling (but not really) to maintain his composure.
"W-Wait...just tell me again… you got too fucking high, made out with Bella, dove into a fountain, ended up making out with Big-Butt, and then...and then...KESESESE…" He failed to complete his sentence as he doubled over once more.
Wow.
I don't know why the fuck he found it so funny.
Last I checked, almost getting caught making out with your sister's boyfriend BY your own sister in an ancient Belgian water fountain was NOT that fucking funny. It's even more unfunny that I had to cover my tracks by feeding Antonio a knuckle sandwich straight to his stupid conquistador face.
But that's not even the worst part.
"I FUCKING PUNCHED HIS FACE IN, AND THEN I THREW UP ALL OVER THE PLACE. ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY YOU DAMN POTATO-FUCKING BASTARD?" I growled with as much contempt as I possibly could.
Now, the normal, hot-as-all-bitching-hell Lovina Vargas would have never given Gilbert the satisfaction of admitting last night's rendezvous out loud for his sole pleasure. However, I was not my normal self.
I was sick as all fuck with the worst hangover in the world, coupled with a nauseating, drug-induced comedown from that poisonous bullshit that Abel literally forced down my throat.
...Okay, I forced the drugs down my own throat...but HE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO OFFER ME FOUR POINTS OF MOLLY, DIPSHIT!
Last night was humiliating. I went from almost having sex with Toni, to punching him straight in the face, to throwing up all over him. All within the span of about five minutes. Maybe it was a blessing that Feliciana interrupted us… otherwise I probably would've thrown up in his mouth while we were making out.
The only silver lining about this entire situation is that Feliciana has absolutely no clue that her boyfriend fucking cheated on her with her own sister.
...Not that that's really a silver lining. Or a good thing at all.
In fact, I felt awful.
So much for the Holy God Almighty looking upon my virgin ass with favor.
I needed to go to confession as soon as possible.
I squinted my eyes against the unforgiving light that flooded through the clouded windows of the bathroom, and turned my head to look at the albino potato-douche leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, his mouth set in a wide grin, and his red eyes flashing with devious laughter.
"Priceless. Absolutely priceless. Talk about giving the man the full shebang: a kiss, a punch...AND a vomit session," his voice broke at the last part of the sentence as he fell into another fit of "keseseses."
"It's not funny," I tried to spit out venomously, even though I sounded more like a dehydrated old lady on the brink of death. Gesu, I felt absolutely horrible. "I am never doing drugs again."
"Ja, you definitely should do drugs again," Gilbert countered wickedly. "You made fucking history last night, and that's saying something coming from us personifications."
I gritted my teeth, attempting to fight another wave of nausea that crashed through my whole body like a tropical ocean wave.
I did not like this one bit.
I couldn't even be properly angry without getting sick.
Was I dying or something?
Did the Netherlands fuck me over and give me some laced shit?
He probably did.
That motherfucker.
"You know, you wouldn't be feeling like this if you hadn't taken them all at once. Or mixed it with a shit load of jungle juice. That motherfucker got that shit from Dutch drug-lords lurking around the Red Light District," Gilbert said in a 'matter-of-fact' tone.
"That REALLY fucking helps right now," I spat in between a few gags before sticking my head back into the toilet and vomiting what little liquid I had in my stomach.
Gesu Cristo, please have mercy on me.
I will NEVER fall into temptation again.
The fact that shit went down the way that it went down last night just proves that I am meant to be a cloistered nun, and that I will never have sex. Ever.
Just think… after I threw up all over Antonio, and ruined Bella's fountain, my poor, dumb-as-fuck sorella acted the part of a virtuous saint. She tugged me out of the fountain, and escorted me to the bathroom all while trying to apologize for being an inconsiderate bitch to me for the last few weeks.
Oh sorella...if only you knew what I just did to your precious boyfriend.
I was pure trash.
Shit on the bottom of Satan's shoe.
I should just give up on love now.
"Well, look on the bright side," Gilbert implored. "We now know for certain that Antonio likes you at least a little bit...not that I already didn't know that, because I'm awesome as all hell."
"If he did, he sure as fuck doesn't now," I snapped.
"Kesesese! Puhleezeee…" he drawled out in a volume that made me want to slit his throat. "The man raised you. I'm sure you've thrown up all over him before. And I know for a fact that you've beaten the shit out of him. It's not like good ol' Spanien is experiencing anything new, ja?"
Another bubble of dread started to form in my chest. Or maybe it was my stomach trying to force out more of its measly contents.
"You should be a fucking therapist," I drawled sarcastically.
What a fucking prick.
Why couldn't he just leave me alone to die in peace?
It's already humiliating enough that I've been holed up in his basement bathroom all night and for most of the morning, puking my guts out.
"I try. Now if you would just please take my fucking antidote so that I can have my bathroom back?" he said with an edge of impatience in voice.
The potato fucker has been trying to convince me to take his so-called Germanic "antidote" for the past few hours. He claimed that it was an old Prussian secret recipe that got rid of hangovers, and helped recover any "lost serotonin" from extensive drug use.
I call bullshit.
Like HELL, I'm going to try some mystery substance from the likes of a Beilschmidt. I already learned my lesson on trying new things. I'd rather die in peace, thank you very much.
"No."
"Kesese, you are a stubborn one."
"You're trying to poison me."
"And where's the benefit in that? Aren't we supposed to be a couple?"
"I don't trust you."
Gilbert sighed loudly; I could literally feel his red eyes rolling in exasperation.
"You've been living with me for almost a month now. If I wanted to hurt you, I would've done it a long time ago."
I squeezed my eyes shut, my forehead pressed against the edge of the cold toilet seat.
It would go against everything I believed in to take a mysterious, possibly poisonous substance from an individual that potentially engages in illicit sexual acts with potatoes.
But so is doing drugs, making out with your sister's boyfriend, and living with Gilbert fucking Beilschmidt.
What the fuck has my existence become?
Antonio was ruining my life.
Maybe he is Satan in disguise.
...Okay, Antonio may be a lot of things, but he definitely is not Lucifer.
But, Beilschmidt on the other hand…
I lifted my head from the toilet seat, and focused in on Gilbert. The skin around his eyes was slightly darker than the rest of his face, and his characteristic snarkiness was marred by a hint of… was that wariness? Exhaustion? Maybe… just maybe...tenderness?
It was a fucking weird to see him as anything but a narcissistic asshole with ulterior motives.
Sometimes, it's almost as if the poor stronzo actually has genuine feelings… like he actually cares about people.
"Fuck it," I growled. Anything to stop the agony. I felt like Jesus motherfucking Christ at Gethsemane right before his crucifixion. "I envy humans for being able to just die. Maybe this will do the trick."
"Kesesese!"
It was as if the bastard had prepared for my defeat. He whipped a small vial of what looked like brownish-purple liquid from the front pocket of his button-up shirt, looked at it with a glimmer of pride in his eyes, and shook it side to side for about three seconds.
I watched begrudgingly as he took a few steps towards me. I immediately winced when he made a movement to extend his arm down towards me.
"Relax maus. I'm just trying to be a gentleman and help the sick little lady up," he mused, his voice a little too much on the teasing side for my liking.
"Just give me the fucking vial, asshole."
I held out my hand, expecting to feel the cold glass of the vial touch my palm. Instead, however, I felt cool firm fingers wrap around mine, and without so much as a three-second warning, I was hoisted to my feet.
My stomach lurched in protest, and my head immediately started to spin.
Amidst the nausea, I felt an influx of anger at a certain albino's inconsideration.
"Goddammit, you fucking piece of sh-MMMPH!"
I was cut off the abrupt force of something cold and hard being thrust into my mouth.
And no. For the last fucking time, you goddamn perverts, it was NOT the infamous five-metered Prussian cock. Sorry to disappoint.
But I almost wished it was. This stuff tasted as if someone mixed some toddler puke and beet juice together in a blender. I gagged and choked as the liquid trickled down my throat.
Fuck. I can't trust anyone. This fucker was DEFINITELY trying to poison me.
"There, there. It'll only last for a few seconds longer. Hang in there, little mafia-boss."
Even though hearing his voice made me want to kick him in the balls, it was also comforting at the same time. I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to ignore the strange array of colors that dotted my vision as I coughed incessantly.
He was right. After a few seconds, my coughing ceased, and the overwhelming pain within my stomach and my head seemed to melt away.
I felt like I could finally see for the first time since before I took drugs last night.
I blinked a few times in shock.
"Kesese, didn't believe me, did you? I've been around for a long time, you know. Who else got good ol' West to get over all those plagues he faced as a kid?"
I craned my head to look up at him properly. I was slightly taken aback by how close he was standing to me; I could literally feel his body warmth emanating off of his torso. His lips were turned up in a smug smile, his fingers twirling the now empty vial aimlessly.
Maybe it was just the fact that I felt almost as good-as-new, or maybe the drugs were not yet fully out of my system, but I felt a sense of unexpected gratitude for the miserable potato fuck.
"I…" I started, but I choked on my own spit as soon as I realized that I had no idea what I was trying to say to him.
"Yessss?" he drawled expectantly, scooting in a few centimeters closer.
I couldn't help the heated blush that travelled up from the base of my neck, to the forefront of my cheeks.
"...T-Thank you," I choked out, avoiding eye contact with him. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how grateful I was for him at this very second.
Even though he concocted this ridiculous "plan" to get me and Antonio together for his own personal gain and entertainment, I had to admit that Gilbert has gone to considerable lengths to make sure that I was taken care of.
He provided me with food, drink, shelter, and...dare I say it? A shoulder to cry on.
Not only that, but he never once tried to take advantage of me, even though I've never been more emotionally vulnerable in my life.
...And he just healed me with his weird-ass Germanic ex-priest potion.
A strange feeling boiled in the pit of my stomach. A feeling that I could not quite explain, yet it felt familiar all the same.
I felt rooted to the spot, as if I could not move unless I made some sort of gesture of appreciation. A handshake? A hug, maybe?
My muscles twitched slightly as if to do so, but I just couldn't get myself to do it.
The FUCK do you think I am?
I am Lovina Vargas, and I do NOT hug potato bastards.
But still…
"Stop having a stroke, Vargas. Your 'thank you' was plenty. Don't hurt yourself by trying to hug me or something." Gilbert chimed, flashing me a small wink.
Now there's the cocky fucker I know and lo- HATE. I know and hate.
"Fuck you," I grumbled. I really hoped that I didn't come off as too much of an awkward, blushing schoolgirl with no social skills whatsoever.
He snickered before ruffling my already messy, tangled brown hair.
"Now, go get yourself cleaned up. You look like absolute shit. Better lay off the drugs, sweetheart."
"Shut up, you potato-humping terdsickle."
"Kesesese."