Chapter two
It's late afternoon when I'm awoken by unfamiliar sounds. Across the house I hear footsteps, and it takes me a moment of panicking before I remember I'm not alone. I now have a 200lb Australian roommate that I never wanted. I swing my legs over the bed, noticing immediately how the floor isn't the sheet of ice I'd expected. It's then that I realize my room isn't even cold, it's warm and cozy; the vent on the wall blowing gloriously hot air.
I move cautiously down the hall to the living room where the Tv blares the sound of gunfire. I find Digger sprawled on the couch, a can of beer in one hand, and the other tucked snuggly in the waistband of his pants.
"Are you watching Die Hard?" I ask, and he startles.
"Don't go sneakin up on a feller like that. Ya nearly gave me a heart-attack."
"You would've heard me if the Tv wasn't up so loud." I retort, flopping in the adjacent armchair.
"I had ta tune out ya snorin somehow darl."
I don't snore, or do I? Denny never said anything, but he slept like the dead, so he wouldn't really know either.
"Nice place ya got here by the way."
I honestly can't tell if he's fucking with me or not. My house if far from nice, not dirty, but old and small. The kitchen and living room are connected. The bathroom is essentially a closet with a toilet, and my bedroom isn't much bigger. The guest room takes up the entirety of the upstairs, save for a small closet that I store blankets and boxes in. To me, it's cozy, but to someone else it would probably resemble a cheap apartment.
"Thanks." I frown. "You fixed the heat?"
"And stocked ya fridge." He informs me, raising his beer.
I will admit, I wasn't too thrilled about the situation when I went to bed last night, but I'm starting to see this whole thing in a new light. If he's gonna pay bills, buy food, and fix things, then this might not turn out horrible. I might even be sorry to see him go if it wasn't for that sweet ten grand he's giving me. I'll save what I can while he's here, and then combine it with what he gives me, and when he leaves, I'll have more than enough for school. This entire ordeal might just be more of a blessing than a curse for once.
"I'll whip something up before work." I tell him, stretching my arms like a cat.
"I think we're gonna get along real well, darl."
OOOO
It's been just over a month since the Australian saved me, and forced his way into my life. Actually, thirty-eight days, but who's counting? Not me. Digger's a dream to live with, aside from all the qualities that make him a nightmare, which is nearly everything. I just love the way he passes out drunk on the couch with the Tv blaring European football. Or the way that he drinks straight from the milk carton with no regard for anyone but himself. His favorite pastime is invading my personal space, like when I'm sleeping, working, eating, showering, watching Tv, leaving to go anywhere, on the phone, or anytime I can't constantly keep an eye on him. He's also gone and convinced Mrs. Costenello that lives next door that he's my jailbird husband, and we're madly in love. Yep, a fucking dream.
"Ten-thousand dollars." I whisper to myself. It's become my mantra in the last month, and I often find myself repeating it over and over when Digger's around. That charming 'first day' persona slipped away slowly as the weeks passed. The more comfortable he became around me, the worse he got. The sexual innuendos are relentless. He's dirty, annoying, loud, obnoxious, and if I hadn't witnessed him get up to get a beer, I'd never believe he leaves the couch. On the plus side though, I've yet to be murdered and I'm not starving, but I may die from his incessant chattering.
OOOO
"I'm working till midnight tonight, so you'll have to find dinner on your own." I say, as I fold laundry. Somehow, I've managed to get roped into washing his clothes along with mine. "And if you cook, please don't destroy my kitchen." I shudder, remembering the breakfast he was kind enough to make for us a few weeks ago. Bacon, pancakes, sausage, eggs, toast, hash browns, and biscuits; the sink was piled high with dishes by the time it was over. The stove had been covered in a thick layer of grease along with sporadic drops of dried pancake batter, and toast crumbs littered the counter. Before Digger, I never believed it was possible to eat so much in one sitting. It's like his appetite is never ending, and because of that, my kitchen is in a constant state of destruction
"Why ya always workin?" He asks from the couch. "That's all ya ever do."
"I'm poor." I laugh. "I'm also saving up."
"Fer what?" He mutes the Tv, suddenly interested in something other than Wheel of Fortune.
"School."
"Why?" His brows furrow, and his lips curls in disgust.
"So I don't have to work as a waitress for the rest of my life, why else?"
"Listen." He says, rising from the couch. "Why don't ya just call in sick and hangout wit me tonight? Ya deserve a day off."
"I'd rather not." I reply, folding his clothing into one pile and mine into another. "I see enough of you as it is."
"That hurts." He dramatically places his hand over his heart. "And it ain't no fun gettin drunk all alone."
"I'm not lying to my boss, so I can sit here and get blitzed with you all night. Besides, I don't drink when I have company." It's not technically a lie, considering I never have company, but the last thing I want is to be alone with drunk Digger, and have him hit on me even more than he already does.
"Just this once, darl. I promise, no funny business." He winks, repeating his words from when we first met. "Ya need ta cut loose a bit, anyway. Quit being so uptight."
"I am not uptight." I snap, quickly regretting it as that's exactly how I sound.
"Prove it, then." He smiles, his gold tooth standing out.
OOOO
I'm not proving anything, I tell myself as I toss back my sixth shot. I don't care what he thinks. The only thing I care about is how well his cash spends. His opinions are his own, and I really couldn't give a shit, but here I am anyway; next to Digger on the couch watching "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles", both of us borderline inebriated.
"See, darlin, told ya this'd be fun" He grins, sucking the last drops of tequila from his glass.
"Well yeah, there's alcohol." I pour another shot. "Alcohol always makes things fun."
I can feel myself getting hot under the collar. I'm not borderline, I'm drunk, and my head is swimming.
"Gimmie anotha." Digger slurs, and I realize the tequila's hit him as well.
"I don't think we need it." My stomach agrees with an angry gurgle.
"Psh." He snatches the bottle; pouring himself another shot. "It'll take more then that ta get me where I need ta be."
I watch him carefully, or rather as carefully as I can while my vision spins, and it hits me that I don't even know what his real name is. I guess it really could be Digger, but something tells me he isn't the type to give out his real name when meeting people. Whether it's my drunkenness, or my curiosity about him finally overwhelms me, I blurt out the words more as a demand than a question.
"What's your name?"
He stops just as the glass grazes his lips, eyes darting to me. He hesitates but downs the shot anyway.
"Why ya wanna know?" He asks, giving a satisfied sigh.
"You're living in my house. You know my name. Fair's fair."
"I know ya first name, ya know mine, it's already fair, love."
"Your name is not Digger." I poke him in the arm; grinning when he recoils.
"As far as ya concerned it is. I don't go blabberin my business ta just anyone."
"Why won't you just tell me what it is?" I frown, crossing my arms.
"What do you think it is?" His voice deepens, as his eyebrows wiggle. He looks ridiculous.
"Hm." I prop myself on my knees, eyes studying his unkempt hair and clothing as the Tv blares in the background. "I'll bet it's something average, probably John, James, or Dick." I can't help but grin. "You look like a Dick."
"Ya hilarious."
"What is it then? I promise I won't tell anyone!" I bounce on my knees like a child. "Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!"
"Christ, woman, would ya calm yaself? It's George."
"George." I repeat, sounding it out. "I like it."
"Do ya, darl?" He scoots closer to me. "I like yers betta. Karolina Carpenter."
It sounds so funny with his accent that it takes me a moment to wonder how he knows that. We've been on a first name basis since the beginning, and no one other than Vince knows me as Karolina.
"I brought ya mail in the otha day." He reads my mind. "And ya last name's on ya mailbox."
"Carpenter is my ex's last name. I use it sometimes."
He quirks an eyebrow at me, obviously thinking he'd had all his facts.
"About that." He changes subjects faster than a coked-out auctioneer. "What'd he pull a runna on ya fer? I know ya a pain, but ya ain't that bad."
"You're too sweet." Sarcasm has become my second nature. "And I don't know. He just up and disappeared one day. Stopped coming home, stopped showing up for work. Two weeks later, I get a postcard from him, saying he's sorry and he's fine. Said he moved on and met someone else; said I should too." I suddenly feel the need for another shot.
"Man's a wanker, doll. Ya betta than that."
Was that a compliment? He isn't giving me that salacious look he adopts when he's hitting on me. No, he seems sincere. Like maybe he means it. It's odd.
"Remember that guy from the alley?" Now I'm the one changing subjects.
Digger nods, recognition filling his eyes.
"He was looking for Denny. Said he took something important.
"He say what?" He's very interested now.
"No, just that he took it, and no one's seen or heard from him since."
I can feel the sadness creeping in like a thunderstorm; dark clouds hanging ominously on the horizon of my mind. Denny, Denny, Denny. I try not to think about him, or what he so easily left behind. He was my first love. The first man I slept next to. We had plans, or at least I did, and it wasn't supposed to end like that. I loved him, and I trusted him, but neither of those were enough to make him stay.
"What about you?" I turn back to Digger. "You got a girl somewhere?"
I instantly regret asking as I watch the conflict cross over his face. He does have someone, or at least he did, and from the sad look in his eyes, I'm assuming that it didn't end well for him either. He's quick to shut it down, to pretend like there isn't some long, depressing story in his past about lost love and whatnot, or maybe I'm just drunk and seeing things that aren't there.
"I got girls everywhere." He grins. "Why, ya wanna be one of em?"
"Not on your life." I can feel the mood lightening.
"Awe, c'mon darl, tell me ya ain't thought about it?"
"Sorry to inform you." I frown. "But you're not really my type."
He doesn't immediately respond as I expect him too. Instead, I turn to find him staring at me, a look I can't place dancing in his eyes. I can feel the shift in his demeanor, as the tension in the air rises. I watch him as he trails his tongue across his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth. I shudder. This is turning into something. He's turning it into something, and I'm far to drunk to understand what it is or means. I just know it's something. Something I should get the hell away from.
"Ya know, I've heard that before." His voice lowers an octave as he leans in. "And it never turns out ta be true."
Oh god he's going to kiss me. No, no, no, that can't happen. I'm too drunk, too out of control. If I let him kiss me there is no doubt in my mind what it will lead to, and I'm not ready. I'm not ready for one-night stands and dating, not that he's the dating type anyway. Everything with Denny is still too fresh. I still have the ring in the bottom of my sock drawer. Backed into a corner, I blurt out the only thing that I know will make him back off.
"Why are the cops watching you?"
He halts inches away from my lips, and I silently praise whoever was kind enough to answer my prayers. His eyebrows pull together, and he leans away, a sour look on his face.
"Ya know how ta kill a mood." He growls, reaching for the tequila.
"I think I have a right to know." I stammer. "You are living in my house."
"Ya wonderin if I'm dangerous?"
"I have enough bad luck, I don't need you adding to it." I say, and it seems to resonate with him. He looks at me from the corner of his eye as he pours a shot.
"Don't worry." He tells me. "They're lookin fer one of me mates. Keepin an eye on me in case he comes round. I ain't gonna cause ya no trouble."
I don't necessarily believe him, but I drop it for now, vowing to pick up when I'm more coherent, and less easily manipulated.
"It's late." I inform him. "I'm going to bed."
I try to stand, but the alcohol is working against me, causing my legs to buckle like a newborn baby deer. I take a step and end up falling backward, half on the couch, and half in Digger's lap. He catches me with a hand on either side of my waist and holds me against him.
"Need some help, love?" Even if I can't see his face, I can hear the grin in his voice, and I don't doubt he's loving every minute of this.
"I'm fine." I try to push myself back up, but the blood rushes too quickly to my head, and I find my vision spinning. I lean back into him, dizzy and somewhat disoriented, fighting the urge to throw up.
"Ya sure?"
He doesn't wait for me to answer as he gently pulls me closer, looping an arm beneath my knees and another around my back. He stands, lifting me effortlessly, as my arms lock around his neck.
"Don't drop me." I whisper, my head falling against his shoulder. Whether it's my drunken state or because I'm alone and missing Denny, I actually enjoy it as he carries me to bed; the smell of him filling my nostrils.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Herro! Sorry it took so long to update. An idea for my stories hit me the other night, and I've been working non-stop on TLOGAM & Firefly ever since. Thank you to everyone for reading! As always, feedback of any kind is appreciated, so if you're feeling generous, leave me some thoughts about the story so far! If you haven't yet, please consider reading Firefly as it is also in the same fandom. Thanks! -Lana