Yeah man, 1,200ish words!
Thanks for all the reviews guys and sorry for the wait!
I'm a mature adult. And I can assure everyone that this is not a midlife crisis (I'm only nearing twenty-five years old, you shitheads).
But I do admit, calling Victor fat was totally uncalled for.
And then later, when he tried to apologize, perhaps ignoring him and spitting in his drink was uncalled for too.
And yes, Mari yelling at me was totally warranted.
But honestly, the big fuss over this small issue is a no biggie. Victor just needs to get over himself and drag himself back to Hell, that's where he belongs anyway. Oh wait, I meant Russia (same difference).
"Stop sulking in your room, Yuuri. You're being extremely immature! This isn't you!" Mari yells, pounding on my door, yet again.
What's with her and doors anyway, why's she always hitting them?
"I'll come out when he leaves!" I shout back, pissed off.
"Oh no, you're coming out now!" She yells, slamming open my door and dragging me by my collar.
Whether it be today or next week, sometime during my stay home Mari is going to rip my door off the hinges. I swear to God, that lady is like the freaking Hulk...
"Okay, okay." I mumble defensively, putting my hands up in a surrendering position. Not really expecting a slap or anything, I quickly straighten up and wait for her to speak. We stand there for a moment or so, just taking in each others presence. Mari looks me up and down, as if deciding just how much trouble I should be in right now. Her soft brown eyes are washed with relief to see me home but also with anger at my obvious hatred for Victor. After a few more seconds of awkward silence, she finally makes her decision.
"If you can manage to not make an ass out of yourself again, maybe you'll be allowed to have some kutsudon." Mari declares dramatically, still somewhat seething about my apparent immaturity.
However, her eyes glisten at the bribery, she acts as if I would jump to the bait— which she's right, I typically would— however I merely say, "Oh, no need to bring out the pork. I have no wish to get obese again." I never was actually obese, but let's be real here... Being nice about it, I guess I could say I was only pleasantly plump.
Mari looks at me shocked by my statement, but not before hitting me upside the head. Her quavering voice hisses out, "I don't know who you are, but bring my little brother back." I watch as she storms away, and I can't help but feel bad for the way I've been acting. She's right, this isn't me.
Instead of following her and making amendments, I decide to clean up the banquet hall. I can't possibly make things worse there.
Send My Love, Lenore
Throughout my childhood, whenever there was a particularly terrible blizzard— or really if anything upsetting happened, like a skating defeat or failed test— my mother would always cook hot cocoa on the burner and would drown marshmallows in it for my brothers and me. Oddly enough, that always calmed my one easily-frightened brother and was always a nice treat to pick up the spirits for myself.
Even to this day, hot cocoa always puts a smile on my face.
However, statistically speaking, I'd need approximately 187 quintillion gallons of hot cocoa to soothe my shattered heart at this current moment. Had I really thought winning Yuuri back was this easy? Because, well, I was way off in that one.
"What'll I do?" I groan sulkily into my pillow, currently dying from humiliation and soul-crushing sadness.
"Maybe stop whining, you—" Yurio starts to say before getting whacked in the face with a pillow.
"Stop cursing and being a brat," Yukov demands, successfully shutting up the sulky teenager. "And you, stop being such an airhead and explain why you left him!" He continues on, his loud voice booming and shaking the inn's windows in the joint room.
I nod, my face still absorbed in the silk pillow, and let out a muffled yes as I listen to Yurio grumble about annoying adults.
We sit there in near silence; in the background crickets chirp and birds sing, the sky turning a delicious, plum-colored purple, but still I continue to await the dreadful encounter I will soon have with my Yuuri tomorrow. Without another word, I leave the room swiftly and hop into a taxi and head toward any establishment still look open at this late hour.
Finally, after what feels like hours, I pass by a flashy building, one as loud as a lions roar and as flashy as a drag queen's lips. I beckon to the driver for him to stop and let me out. Stumbling around for the correct amount of change, I make my exit quickly, as it the car had suddenly caught fire.
"Here's fine, thanks," I say cautiously to the driver, not wanting to make it obvious that I was looking for a drink to ease my mind. Obviously not understanding my English dialect though, the fat, toad-like man only grunts as I begin to pay him, leaving me with just enough cash to get drunk off my ass.
The building, as flashy as it was on the outside, is even more obnoxious on the inside. Sparkly violet confetti litters the floor— amongst puddles of suspiciously colored substances— and steel poles on top of flashy stages. An astonishingly large group of horny men and women alike stand waiting for a dancer known as "The Steel Striker", which is a rather strange stage name in my opinion...
"This is a strip club?" I mumble quietly to myself, continuing to look around in the odd room in silent shock.
"So it's true... The lighter your hair, the stupider you are," A hulking man says, sticking out a hairy hand suddenly. "I'm Joven, hope to see you from the stage." He says flirtatiously, adding in a wink for me.
I try to reply as cheekily, but only manage a half-hearted nod and hello. He seems disappointed at my lack of reaction, even though he greeted me by calling me an idiot and then proceeds at attempting to arouse me.
"Bet you're here to see me, am I right?" Joven purrs out, "I'm best known as the Mystical Moew." He claws out sexually, as if he were a lion hyped up on Viagra. His grey-brown eyes sparkling like two great, big shits in a toilet bowl.
What's really mystical about him though is that he's still a stripper at what, age ninety?
"No, sorry. I'm here for... not that reason... Who even knew it was a strip joint though?" I laugh out, creating more stiffness between us. The glowering man stalks off, muttering about some apparent show stealer named "Eros", as if I were expected to know who that even was...
The Meow guy continued to sulk near the bar for a few moments more before finally leaving the room.
After only a few shots my world starts to spin. Man, vodka usually doesn't affect me like this...