Chapter 25: Drunk and Sad

Lydia stepped up to the front door of the Roadhouse, noting that it was slightly open. It was her third attempt to poof herself there, and after ending up beside a gynecologists' office and a random garbage dumpster, she'd finally hit her target. She sighed, feeling wary about entering should Beetle still be there. Instead, she opted to lean her back against the cool exterior of his home, gazing at the dark, ominous sky and listening for any signs of movement from within, much the same way that one would listen in the jungle to see if a jaguar was about to jump out and rip one's head off.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the particularly large doses of crazy that were simultaneously occuring at that moment. Eugene was currently BJ's contractual prisoner, she had completely choked up when face to face with him, she'd made a complete mess of things unintentionally, she'd finally gained powers, and last, but certainly not least, the infamous Beetlejuice, was in some kind of way about her. Lydia couldn't think about it as love, for the sole reason that she wasn't so sure it was. Did someone like him even have that capability? At what point did he begin to feel this particular way about her? And just why was she thinking about this subject again?

It had raced through her mind about a hundred times since he'd said those really weird things. And every time the thought accumulated, she'd automatically wonder about two things in particular. The first was why she hadn't seen it all along. She had noticed he had a bit of a soft spot for her, but she shrugged it off as a bit of a friendship. And it was. Sort of. Besides, Beetle's moods flipped from drunk and happy, to drunk and horny, to drunk and pissed, to utterly dejected, and the list went on. How was she even supposed to decipher all of that? During their first meeting in the Neitherworld the guy hadn't even realized who she was, and when he finally did figure it out, he wasn't too happy about it. It wasn't until their recent time spent together that she felt that he ever really liked her at all. How was she supposed to figure him out when he was so damned senile?

The second question that came to mind, however, made the first paradox seem like child's play. Inside the deepest, darkest recesses of her undead brain, she actually considered how she felt about him of all people...

Lydia gazed at the starless sky above, taking the silence as a cue to enter safely. She quietly opened the door and entered the house, to find it completely destroyed, most likely from a tantrum, no less. She walked by the debris in the living room and made her way to his kitchen, where her desperation led her to actually open his fridge and pull out a bottle of booze. She sighed, turning up a chair that he'd apperently thrown over, and pulled it up to his table.

Just what did she think of the poltergeist? She turned up the bottle and took a long, hard drink, and set to contemplating. The fact that she'd even took to studying on the matter rather than yelling a decise, adamant "no", was enough to worry her. She gazed at a nearby fly crawling across the table as she mused on the subject, head propped against a clenched fist. Well, it definitely wasn't a physical attraction. Beetlejuice was about as cute as a crime scene, and even that would take knocking a few pounds of dirt off of him. It didn't take a Harvard graduate to come to the conclusion that he was revolting. But then again, this was the afterlife - the Neitherworld to be precise. Everyone was gross. So by those standards, he was okay. She'd certainly seen a lot worse, especially those unfortunate civil servants she'd set eyes upon when she'd first arrived.

All of that aside, she did find herself quite amused by his off-beat sense of humor, his blatant ability to lie and be completely proud of it, and the sly, clever demeanor that stayed well hidden under all his general debauchery and foolishness. Of course, there was an aspect of the ghost that stayed hidden deeper than his smarts, and that was his very real, very human, pain. From early on, Lydia could sense that he was unhappy, depressed, and lonely. She was also quite glad he couldn't read her thoughts or she was pretty sure she'd be spontaneously combusted by now. He despised anyone knowing anything that he was really thinking. He only wanted those around him to see his persona - his invincibility. He was actually quite complicated - intriguing, even.

If Lydia had to be honest with herself, she did find him to be special to her, in a sense. He did bring her happiness. He was good company. He did save Adam and Barbara so very long ago, and if it wasn't for him doing so, her life wouldn't have been so profoundly influenced by two wonderful (albeit dead) people. He'd actually been quite pleasant, that was, until she choked a bit on another bargain. Truthfully, the only reason he'd become a complete and total asshole had been the fact that he'd been jealous of Eugene. Jealous that she hadn't completely gotten over a guy that he hated. A guy that almost took his place. Not to mention, he'd given her a home when she had nothing. He'd given her companionship. He'd given her hope.

"Shit..." she muttered, burrying her head in her arms. "I really am insane..." she groaned. It was no wonder that she wanted to set things right with him for breaking her deal years ago. That she always felt as if she'd done the wrong thing to a guy that had saved her beloved Maitlands. That she'd sometimes lay awake at night and wonder if he was still out there - still okay. Wonder if she'd ever see him again...

After a few hours spent drowning her sorrows, Lydia knocked over one of her many empty beer bottles as she pulled herself up from the table. She staggered to Beetle's bedroom, holding the walls for some much-needed support. When she stumbled through the doorway and dive-bombed onto his bed, knocking up dust in the process, she noticed a small, brassy object on the endtable. Or maybe three small, brassy objects. Lydia squinted, trying to focus her drunkard vision. Okay. One object.

She crawled to the endtable, reaching for the object and grabbing it for further observation. She squinted harder, realizing just what it was. This was the ring. His ring. The one that was meant for her.

Immediately, she felt regret for his unfortunate circumstances. He really did want out, and she did care about his wishes. She cared about him.

"Haha...Wonder...what it would have...been like..." she sniggered drunkenly, her intoxicated mind wondering into places far too private for her rational, sober mind to ever pry. She thought of what kind of husband that crazy bastard would be. Definitely an interesting one. Probably fun. Maybe awesome, even. He was pretty cool. "Haha..." she rolled playfully on her back, eyeing the ring. "Mrs. Lydia Juice...Haha..." she laughed to herself, sliding the ring on her finger. "I do."