Well, here it is, the next chapter. Its a small step, but we're getting there. This chapter might not make some people happy, she gets drunk again...(funny, I hate drunkeness) but there is actually character progression so there is a reason behind it believe it or not. I have a test tonight that is a quarter of my grade, so I need to get going...um, now! So enjoy, review, and please don't hate me!
Don't own it! But if someone owns the book for my cinema appreciation class, that would be great since I don't own that either and I have a test, yikes!
Time May Change
Despite the warnings in my head strongly advising me not to, Tristan and I got drunk again. I feel bad for running the poor guy broke. We went down to the tavern, casual, cool, not really planning on getting drunk, but somehow, we did.
"One more time, come on." I ignore Galahad as I pluck the throwing knives from the target fixed on a post in the tavern. At his request I close my eyes and throw the knives, hitting the target almost squarely in the middle each time. This is the fifth time tonight…any more times and I might have to 'accidentally' miss and hit Galahad.
"No more, my wrist hurts," I lie. In truth, my left wrist did hurt, since it was still healing from the slight fracture I had, but my right wrist was fine.
"Tristan?" the ever annoying Galahad asks hopefully. The suck-up wants to learn more. Galahad is young, very young. In a few years he won't be half bad if he starts making a stand for himself instead of leaning on his fellow knights so much. I sigh and go to sit down to get another round with Tristan when I sense a blade fly behind my back, followed by the familiar thud of the blade sinking in. Tristan glances at me. Ah, a challenge, I see. He throws another, without looking. Our eyes meet as he releases the tip of the blade and I blink in acknowledgement. Yes, I can see you are quite good too.
I walk back over and grab the last blade from him. Stupid men, always have to ask so tough I circle around him so his back is to the target and he now faces me. "You bug me, I don't think I like you anymore." Without breaking our eye-contact I throw the blade over his shoulder, nearly brushing against his him and hit the target. I smirk, giving him a top that look and steal Gawain's drink from him. I take a long swig and smile; beer! He was drinking beer…sorry ale. I lean against him; I wish I could control myself a bit more when I am drunk.
"Gawain, I know you want to buy me a drink, you're such a nice guy." Anything for more beer. I feel Tristan glaring at me; I think he is mad at me. Hmmm, jealousy? Perhaps. Being the person I am, I normally wouldn't care, then again, why would a guy be jealous over me? I think about playing with the situation and seeing where it ends up…but I am drunk so what would drunk me do? I smile evilly. I am going to take advantage of this and see where it ends up.
I accept the mug from Gawain's outstretched hand. He smiles at me, surprised to see a pleasant side to me and thinks he is lucky. Poor fool. I smile devilishly, I don't often do it, but I love playing mind games like this, especially with men. I really should stop drinking; alcohol is beginning to ruin my reputation.
I am debating on just how far I want to go when Gawain goes too far and tries crushing his lips down on mine. Instinct overpowers the mind as I smash the mug down on his head and shove him away. A few roman soldiers start to come over but I don't care.
"Don't ever do that!" I menacingly mutter in his face and go to walk away. A roman suddenly grabs my shoulder and instinct again takes over, but this time it tells me to control my anger otherwise I will only land myself in more trouble.
The man grips my shoulder hard and turn around stiffly thinking of all the things I could do to kill him. I vaguely hear him say something about 'getting what I deserve now' and being a 'hellfire of an arrogant wench'. The details don't matter much; it's pissing me off to no end. Before I can cock my arm back and smash his face in, an arm suddenly shoots between the two of us and someone tells him to leave it alone and that he would see me taken care of. I am in stupor of sorts from rage and being completely smashed from all the alcohol. An arm snakes around my shoulder and leads me away from the tavern. I see a large jug of wine sitting on the counter as we make our way out and I grab it before anyone can protest, I don't think they saw actually, and I need to seriously drink this night and all its bad memories away.
My escort shakes his head in amusement and pushes me against a wall.
"Is this all a game to you? Do you even care if you die?"
"No, not especially. Do you?"
"Yes, I think, to some extent, I do care, I have to deal with you."
"No, you don't you're just drunk and hormonal." I know he doesn't understand that completely but that isn't the point. "Nobody cares about me."
"And what if I did care whether you die or not?"
I stare shocked and hurt into his eyes for a moment before taking a way too long swig of wine and walk away as though Tristan never existed.
Unfortunately the only place I could really go was to his room, especially since the weather, which had warmed up significantly during the day, broke and it started pouring rain, catching me somewhat off-guard.
I walk in his room and plop down on his bed, not caring that I am getting his blankets wet. I start sipping more wine, trying to drown the night's events in insensibility but to no avail. Just when I thought I was getting close to the point of passing out Tristan walked in.
"What are you doing here?" I slur, temporarily forgetting that its his room.
"Get out of my room." I stumble off the bed and try to shove him out but fall forward on his chest instead, not exactly grateful that he caught me.
He guides me to the bed and takes the pitcher, that is somehow still in my hands, and sets it on the table. I see him steal a sip when he thinks I'm not looking, but who's keeping count, I already drank more than half of it.
He sits on the bed next to me and brushes the hair out of the way that had been covering my face. I swat his hand away. "You should try doing that t yourself, you need a haircut."
"Its how I like it." Always that same monotonous voice. I roll my eyes and flop stomach down on his bed, hoping that sleep overtakes me and soon. I open my eyes a slit as I hear Tristan stand I wonder what he is doing.
I groan as I see him reach in his pocket and pull out a bloody apple. He then proceeds to slice and eat it, all the while watching me lie in the bed. I hope desperately that he thinks I'm asleep.
"You know, you still owe me an apple." Of course I knew that I couldn't fool Tristan, but I groan again in frustration anyways and roll over on my back.
"And I told you you're not getting it." I sit up and steal the apple from him and cut myself a slice before handing it back. "You eat them too much, you're going to start turning green or something." I mumble. I'm not making much sense, but I don't care, I just want to go to bed and wake up in my car, freezing my butt off once again, waiting to go back to school and lie about how great my Thanksgiving break was to anyone who cares enough to ask.
"I want that back." Ridiculous, he can't have it back, I swallowed it.
"No, I ate it." I lie back down and face the wall.
"You are very stubborn. Why do you hate so much?"
"I don't hate, I dislike very much but tolerate nevertheless. Were I to really hate everything, I'd probably kill myself by now."
"I see." He sits on the bed and leans his back over my legs and against the wall. "I must say I agree, much in this world needs tolerating."
"Like living in a foreign country and fighting for someone else for half your life?" I sit up intrigued by the conversation.
"Yea, like that." He takes another bite of his crisp apple and offers the apple and knife to me. I think I may be able to appreciate this guy.
"I see." I reply, mirroring his reply a few moments ago. I feel myself start to think things I normally wouldn't be thinking and I mentally slap myself. No, keep it together; don't think about doing that, especially not drunk. I shake my brain loose of any such thoughts and put my stone faced uncaring attitude back on. "Well that's your problem, not mine. Goodnight." I lie back down and refuse to answer back to anything he says. Tristan however has no intentions of saying anymore and leaves the room. I may have been facing the wall once again, but I could hear the sound of a clay jug being lifted from the table followed by the slam of a door. I tell myself that I don't care and with difficulty fall asleep, dreading the headache I know I'm going to have in the morning. Unbeknownst to me, Tristan sits in the hall, head against the wall, finishes off the wine and with thoughts of me, mostly curses, falls asleep in the hall.