A/N: And everything hits the fan . . . I have to warn you, Wednesday is not
at her best, here.
DISCLAIMER: Wonka not mine.
To dust off an old cliché, Stanley trusted him as much as he could throw a grand piano.
He didn't feel too good already. Wednesday had convinced him to get into a club with two painfully obvious IDs (Wednesday was a middle aged Chinese man; Stanley was a bald bodybuilder with a goatee). They had only gotten in because she had flirted up a storm with the bouncer.
He clutched his sweaty drink and glanced around. Everyone here was drunk or high or both. He really wanted to leave, but when he saw Wednesday dancing to the music, he was mesmerized. And he couldn't just abandon her there.
She came and sat down with him. He sipped, hot alcohol burning down his throat.
He could smell it heavily on her. She scooted over to him and put a hand on his knee. His body heat had just shot up. He swallowed.
She kissed his ear. "You're looking particularly cute tonight, *Stannn,*" she slurred. "Why don't we mess around?"
He wanted to. He wanted it badly. But, instead, her shook his head and pushed her away. "You're piss drunk."
She hit his shoulder. "You're no fun!" She something in the bar and smiled. "I know someone who is!"
She got up and ran to a tall guy in a leather jacket and dark sunglasses. Stanley had no idea why he was wearing them. In spite of the neon lighting, he could barely see his hands.
She started palpably flirting with him. Jealousy swept through Stanley. If he wasn't going to be with her tonight, no one else was, either.
He came over and tugged on his arm. "C'mon, let's go home."
She ripped her arm away stubbornly. "This is Gavin," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
*Sounds like a character from a soap opera,* he thought. He studied him. He had a square jaw and a well built body. Stanley didn't have a chance in hell against him.
"We really should go home," he persisted. Wednesday pushed him away. "You go home! I don't even know why I brought you! I hate you!"
*Don't get mad. She's drunk,* he told himself. But he knew that after years of his mother's martini binges, people who were drunk usually told the truth. Anger flooded him. He didn't really give a damn what happened to her.
He didn't explode, though. He just stepped back and sighed. "Goodbye, then."
________________________________________________________________________
Wednesday felt bad for treating Stanley like that, but it was quickly fading away. How much did she have to drink? One, two, three . . . five drinks?
*Yeah,* she thought. *I stopped at five.*
Gavin brought her outside. "Wanna go to my place?"
She shook her head, staggering. "No. I had better go home. Willy will be mad at me."
He kept asking her, pulling her farther down the road. "Oh, it's only a couple blocks from here . . ." he said.
Suddenly, a van pulled up beside them. The door opened. In a flash, a bag was pulled over her head and she was pulled in her car before she could even make a weak drunken scream.
She heard the door close. She started to panic. She thrashed sloppily, until she felt something hit her head.
She drifted off into sleep . . .
DISCLAIMER: Wonka not mine.
To dust off an old cliché, Stanley trusted him as much as he could throw a grand piano.
He didn't feel too good already. Wednesday had convinced him to get into a club with two painfully obvious IDs (Wednesday was a middle aged Chinese man; Stanley was a bald bodybuilder with a goatee). They had only gotten in because she had flirted up a storm with the bouncer.
He clutched his sweaty drink and glanced around. Everyone here was drunk or high or both. He really wanted to leave, but when he saw Wednesday dancing to the music, he was mesmerized. And he couldn't just abandon her there.
She came and sat down with him. He sipped, hot alcohol burning down his throat.
He could smell it heavily on her. She scooted over to him and put a hand on his knee. His body heat had just shot up. He swallowed.
She kissed his ear. "You're looking particularly cute tonight, *Stannn,*" she slurred. "Why don't we mess around?"
He wanted to. He wanted it badly. But, instead, her shook his head and pushed her away. "You're piss drunk."
She hit his shoulder. "You're no fun!" She something in the bar and smiled. "I know someone who is!"
She got up and ran to a tall guy in a leather jacket and dark sunglasses. Stanley had no idea why he was wearing them. In spite of the neon lighting, he could barely see his hands.
She started palpably flirting with him. Jealousy swept through Stanley. If he wasn't going to be with her tonight, no one else was, either.
He came over and tugged on his arm. "C'mon, let's go home."
She ripped her arm away stubbornly. "This is Gavin," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
*Sounds like a character from a soap opera,* he thought. He studied him. He had a square jaw and a well built body. Stanley didn't have a chance in hell against him.
"We really should go home," he persisted. Wednesday pushed him away. "You go home! I don't even know why I brought you! I hate you!"
*Don't get mad. She's drunk,* he told himself. But he knew that after years of his mother's martini binges, people who were drunk usually told the truth. Anger flooded him. He didn't really give a damn what happened to her.
He didn't explode, though. He just stepped back and sighed. "Goodbye, then."
________________________________________________________________________
Wednesday felt bad for treating Stanley like that, but it was quickly fading away. How much did she have to drink? One, two, three . . . five drinks?
*Yeah,* she thought. *I stopped at five.*
Gavin brought her outside. "Wanna go to my place?"
She shook her head, staggering. "No. I had better go home. Willy will be mad at me."
He kept asking her, pulling her farther down the road. "Oh, it's only a couple blocks from here . . ." he said.
Suddenly, a van pulled up beside them. The door opened. In a flash, a bag was pulled over her head and she was pulled in her car before she could even make a weak drunken scream.
She heard the door close. She started to panic. She thrashed sloppily, until she felt something hit her head.
She drifted off into sleep . . .
