A/N: Please don't be upset by how long this update took to post. I wrote most of it at least a year ago, but I didn't feel like writing the dialogue. Then Mark showed the world what a dickface he is, so for a minute or two I actually hated Puck. But there's also the fact that I haven't written anything in awhile...life got really hard 'round here and I had to break up with fanfic temporarily. We've made up now, so enjoy...
Disclaimer: I hate Mark. I don't own Glee.
Friday Night's Alright for Fighting...
So that now you know about some of the quote/unquote "good times" in me and Mama's relationship, I feel like I need to clue you in on some of the shit we went through that wasn't so good.
Before we get into it, I want to make sure nobody misinterprets what I'm about to say next. Don't get the game fucked up; Mercedes Jones is my motherfucking be-all, as well as my end-all. We fight...or argue, or butt heads, or whatever...just as much as any other couple. Partly because we live together and my girl stays up my ass about dumb shit like me leaving funky-ass socks all over the bedroom floor. And I get real damn pissy whenever she goes on a "cleansing spree" where the only shit that gets thrown or given away belongs to me. Then you have to consider that every couple has issues that come up from time to time... just on GP. But please know, that if I'm ever dealing with my girl and I get the feeling that she's close to reaching that stage of "fuck this dude and all he stands for?" Sex shark or no, I'm kissing her perfect ass until she realizes how sorry I am...even if she's in the wrong. At the risk of sounding like a pussy, my relationship with Mercedes means everything to me. That being said, fights are impossible to completely avoid, and I want y'all to get a true picture here. Plus, all of 'em taught us something about our relationship. So I'll describe a few of them for you.
The first big argument me and Mama ever had was right after Tina, Artie, Sam and Britts all graduated from McKinley. My girl and I weren't there to see them graduate, but we got plenty of gossip about everybody's plans. Sam obviously gave up on coming to Cali, thanks to me; so he was moving to New York to bunk with Gayberry and Blaine. He'd be living close to Artie, too, who was gonna live in the dorm at whatever film school he got into. Tina went away to some big-deal college in New England I never heard of, and Britts was leaving with Santana to hang out in every place they could find with the letters "LES" in the name. Satan was actually the one who told us all of this stuff.
So, on this particular day, Mercedes and I had just woken up. She and I hadn't boned the night before for whatever reason, so she was still wearing this red nighty from the big-ass lingerie store Tina and Unique dragged her to on their visit.
-side note: that thing was beautiful on my girl, and hot like fire. Cherry red so it made her pretty skin glow in the sunlight, and cut like a tube top or something on top. From the front, the twins were standing at attention,and in the back you could tell that the teddy part barely covered her ass, because the matching lacy undies peeked out at me from below-
Anyway, Mama got up to to turn on the shower and when she came back in to grab a more work-friendly pair of draws to start her day in, I jokingly asked her if she'd turned the temperature of the water to "hell" or if it was cool enough for me to join her in the tub. You know how women love scalding hot-as-fuck water. At that point she wasn't mad yet, so Mercedes just laughed and admitted it was "muy caliente, papi." Now, I don't know if it was the red teddy, the Spanish, or the the fact that I was thinking about Hell, but something made me blurt out "Thanks, Satan." At which point, my girl was no longer in a good mood.
So I'mma just let my inner asshole out for a second and say that I know for a fact that my girl was premenstrual when she picked the fight that came immediately after this. I'll tell you exactly how I know later, but just know that I know. And I also understand that you're not supposed to blame women's mood swings on their cycles, and dudes get hormonal sometimes too; but hell... If the tampon fits...
So Mercedes immediately adopted her Diva-face and took about three seconds to stab me right in the eye with her most vicious glare. It completely caused my balls to recede back into my body. Then she put her right hand on her hip, lifted her left hand and practically shoved her index finger up my nose, looked me up and down like I was some dog shit under her foot and asked me in this icy voice that I know she learned from Quinn, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
At that point I was still reeling from the complete and total overhaul of my girl's posture and facial expression, and it didn't even occur to me to respond to her question. I wouldn't have known how to even if I'd wanted to. She went on.
"I don't know what kinda crack rock you recently started smoking," Mercedes pursed her lips while taking a dramatic pause, "but you got me fucked up if you think I'm cool with you calling me by another chick's name..."
That's when I figured out that my girl had somehow come to the conclusion that I made a mistake as opposed to making a joke, but when I tried to speak up she interrupted me.
"I don't give a fuck about the fact that you were a manwhore before me, and sometimes a player just forgets..." she continued, rolling her eyes. "...cause that shit sounds like a personal problem; and if you can't keep bitches' names straight in your own damn head, maybe you shoulda just kept your little ashy dick in your motherfucking pants. I won't be disrespected like this in my own house," she let me know, "and you can kiss my ass if you think I'm the one, the two, the three, the four OR the five..." she sassed.
"Mama, I didn't," I started to explain, and she cut me off again.
"Like, I can't even believe you would do something like that to me," she continued, building up a major-league head of steam. "I don't want a man in my life who's capable of being that insensitive..."
I tried again to explain myself but Mama wouldn't let me.
"...it's disrespectful as shit! I mean, how the fuck would you like it if one day we were fucking and I called out the name "Sam?" she asked, finishing with the big guns.
So at that point, I was aware, in an intellectual sense, that Mercedes only said that shit in order to win whatever argument she thought we were having. She'd reached that level of pissivity -all by her own damn steam, I might add- where winning the fight becomes more important than your partner's feelings. And I think deep down I was reacting to that when I said...
"Whoa!" I was hurt by her accusations and also building up my own head of steam. "Where the fuck did that shit come from?"
Mercedes raised her eyebrow and looked at me with actual repulsion in her eyes, and I knew she had no reason to be talking to me like that, so I jumped in with all my hurt feelings to take control of the argument back.
"You know, you talk a real good game,Mercedes..." I started, getting mad. "...we've been together four months now, and every time we talk about the past, you tell me how much you know I've changed and how much you love me. You run off at the mouth about the way Sam tried to break us up but couldn't because we got it like that...and you're constantly bragging about how much you trust me more than anybody else you ever dated..."
She gave me the "and?" face and I went on.
"For your fucking information, I tried to be a good dude and wait till you were done with your ex before I moved in on you," I reminded Mercedes. "Even with you in my bed trying to seduce me left and right, I made sure it was your idea for us to hook up. And you know that shit, which means there ain't no reason for me to be sittin' around thinking about what would happen if you call out his name."
She started to cut in and I didn't let her.
"I've changed, so I don't deserve to have you throwing my past in my face like that, just to prove some janky-ass point."
I focused on the "Sam" part of her argument and became even madder.
"Second of all, that Sam shit was a low blow. The fact that you would say something about your ex at all, lets me know he's been on your mind. That you still think about getting down with Trouty from time to time..."
That thought alone could have turned my anger into disappointment, but I didn't let it. Instead I embraced the mad.
"The worst part..." I continued, "...is that you waited until the first time we ever get into it, and one of my exes names comes up, just to let me know that the dude is still on your mind."
If it's even possible, my girl looked like she got even more pissed off when I said that but I didn't care.
"I can't do anything about it if you're still think about sittin' on the dude's face," I went on, chest feeling heavy. "But you have to be nasty as hell to throw the shit in my face, just because you know it's the one name that would hurt me the most..."
Mercedes still didn't look apologetic at all, and completely ignored the second part of my argument when she said, "I didn't ask you to wait on me! I'm not a child and I don't need anybody walking on eggshells around me. I can take care of myself. So it's not my fault you wasted all your time."
She smirked.
"And don't try to tell me what I can and can't say based on the fact that you were acting like a bitch-ass then, and now your little fee-fees are hurt..."
"Well, to me it looks like maybe I didn't waste enough time," I replied, hurting like hell. "Apparently, my sweet little girlfriend can't get past her ex, no matter how much time I give her to."
I stood up.
"And if I'd have waited longer maybe I would have found out that your ass turns into a raging-ass she-beast whenever you want to win a fucking dumbass argument! And now I know that for as long as we're together, I can't piss you off without you bringing Trouty into it..."
"If you don't like it, you know where the damn door is..." Mercedes rebutted, still unapologetic.
"Fuck that," I snapped. "I ain't going anywhere... but its some bullshit that you're still thinking about fucking Sam. "
"Well, I'd like to know what the fuck you plan to do about it?" Mercedes still looked mad as hell.
"I'm gonna tell you that you're acting like a freak," I headed for the door. "And whenever you feel like apologizing, you can find me in my old room!"
I started to slam the door, but then I remembered that my girlfriend and I were arguing over something that had never actually happened, so I turned around and added...
"And anyway I only said Satan's name because you were speaking Spanish and wearing something red and sexy...I never called you by her name in the sense that I'd forgotten yours," I continued, pointing my-damn-self by that time. "But if you think for one fucking minute that I could ever forget who the fuck you are under any gotdamn circumstances...then you're the one smoking the good shit," I finished.
By that point I was a little disappointed in myself for not just saying that part first, so I stopped moving toward the door.
"For real?" I could tell the exact minute that Mercedes stopped being mad. Her body relaxed a little from the tensed-up stance she'd taken, her face softened and that hard look in her eyes went away.
"You shouldn't have to ask," I could feel my own anger melting too.
So then she apologized to me for jumping to conclusions, and not listening to her when I tried to explain. Mercedes told me that she wasn't sure why she did that, asked me to forgive her for bringing up Sam. She also promised to never do it again because honestly, he rarely even popped into her head. I forgave her, then I said I was sorry for accusing her of shit I knew she would never do. While the shower was still running and wasting hot water, we had a hot make-up sex quickie.
Like I said before, she was PMSing like a big dog, and I knew it right away when Mercedes ran for the bathroom post-boning. She hopped in the shower, and without being too graphic, left a parting gift in the sheets that let me know why her hormones were in flux. I ain't squeamish so I cleaned it up and washed the sheets so my girl wouldn't be embarrassed, but still. The fight was scary as hell, because it was the first big one; but it taught us a lot about what we needed to be mindful of the next time we had any issues.
Puck Don't Play...
Of course, Mercedes wasn't the only one in this couple that fucked up from time to time. I have faults, and those faults have caused a few scuffles, too. Now, I'mma always be the Puckasaurus, so most of the shit that makes other dudes trip in relationships won't apply to me. I ain't insecure, I ain't jealous, and I ain't worried about any other dude coming around to steal my girl. Even if I thought for one minute that Mercedes was still hung up on an ex, I could roll on and just try my best to make her forget the motherfucker. But on occasion, another guy will step to her in a way that lets me know he don't give a fuck about the fact that she's already taken. And I won't get mad at her for it, but I will let the motherfucker know what time it is. Only problem is that Mercedes doesn't like that shit, at all...
I guess it's really all Sam's fault, if you think about it. Sam used to start arguments with Mercedes about Tinsley liking her, and instead of giving her actual evidence to support the shit, he'd just get mad at her for not seeing it. They butted heads over issues that one good conversation could have solved. But unlike Trouty, I always had receipts. My girl is contrary as hell –honestly, I consider this to be the most fucked up thing about her- contrary enough that she wasn't too crazy about my way of handling things, either. In this particular circumstance, you just can't win with the chick.
Like this one time, when Mercedes' record label sent her to New York for a month to work on her first album. The head honchos wanted her to sound more Black or something, so they got her all settled into this nice brownstone in Harlem with her backup singers. They moved in, and immediately started writing music. That part was cool; we talked every day and I came up on weekends to spend time with my girl. I saw all the New York City transplant Gleeks, and it was nice. But I got really busy around the end of March doing my pool rounds so my regular customers would remember who kept their shit clean the summer before, and started coming less. Around the same time, Mercedes started recording music, and some of her songs required a collaborations with new people
One of these new motherfuckers was this dude named Tank. He was a gospel singer and musician with a little bit of a following in whatever tiny-ass town in Alabama he was from. Mercedes' label introduced them and they worked together on this really cool song she wrote about our relationship called Colourblind...Tank was a big white dude with brown eyes, freckles and black hair; really tall and kinda stocky with what she called a sexy Southern accent. Not quite a football-player build...he actually reminded me of a pro-wrestler type. You know, muscular thighs and biceps with toned abs but nowhere near a six-pack. I know Mercedes thought he was hot, because she told me; she even made a joke about him being her type and said dating all of us skinny boys had become a habit she picked up in Glee. She and I were the type of couple that let each other know when we found someone else attractive, so that wasn't an issue. But Tank liked my girl a lot...so when the song was finished, he made it his business to still hang around.
I knew about Tank's continued presence in Mercedes' life, because my girl doesn't keep secrets; but what I didn't know was that they no longer had any professional ties...Mercedes hadn't realized that I'd find that information interesting. So when Kurt got gay-bashed and all the Glee kids came together to come see about him, I got a little bit of a shock.
Mercedes took me to her studio so she could sing the song to me live, and the dude was there doing his background vocal bullshit. His voice was okay, but Lil' Mama made him sound phenomenal...I knew they both would get a lot of attention when it came out. Afterward, she presented me with an advance copy of the single on CD, and it was all mastered and packaged and shit so I knew Mercedes and Tank were done with one another in a work kinda way. But when the three of us went to a coffee shop together afterward, Tank kept bringing up all the different times he and my girl had seen each other in the last few weeks, and I took it as his way of throwing that shit in my face.
You should have heard his ass. He was all, "Can you believe Mercedes had never watched The Facts of Life before I introduced it to her?" and "I remember this one time Mercedes and I got bored and went all the way to the original Nathan's in Coney Island for a hot dog." He asked her, "Do you remember how cold it was the day we went to Brooklyn Bridge and threw money in the water, then we rode a merry-go-round together?" And told me, "Mercedes' background singers are awesome; we had coffee with them not too long ago." By the time Tank took it upon himself to describe how Mama invited him to Gayberry Mansion for dinner with all her friends, I was pissed. Partly because Mercedes obviously didn't see anything wrong with this dude for trying to make me feel like a stranger in front of the love of my life, and I knew I'd resent her if I didn't speak up; but also because some days I'm just an asshole.
So you already know I wasn't about to let that kinda blatant disrespect happen on my watch, right? It was crystal-fucking-clear to me that this dude wanted to make me doubt my girl's loyalty by telling me all that shit in a way that would make it seem like they were constantly together. And I didn't' take the bait...but it offended me that the asshole would try. That's why I saw no reason to respond to him in any way other than how you talk to a fuckboy. I even went in order for his stupid ass.
"Yeah, dude..." I started. "...Mercedes told me your gay roommate sexiled you, and since you were already in Harlem laying down tracks that day, she offered up her couch for you to sleep on. My girl has a soft spot for homeless motherfuckers. She also explained that you were downstairs watching The Facts of Life when she came down to tell your loud-as-hell ass to turn that shit down."
Tank's self-satisfied-ass smile faded just a tiny bit.
"Mama also let me know that you were big-boned motherfucker who's obsessed with hot dogs like some kinda oversized fucking two-year-old," I laughed. "She said that your doctor told you a long-ass time ago to chill out with the damn nitrates, or else you're gonna be fighting Type 2 diabetes before long. Mercedes only went with you so she could stop you from eating five in a row."
His eyes narrowed, but at that point I was just gettin' started; by this time I was counting on my fingers.
"Mercedes told me all about the time you two went to Brooklyn for a video shoot...the label wanted to put out a cover of Natural Woman for some tribute they're doing for Carole King, and the merry-go-round was part of the set. She said you got fussed at by this tree hugger lady, for throwing money over the gate. And then you gave Babygirl all this bullshit about her image and tried to talk her into throwing out the fur I bought her for her birthday. Which she absolutely did not do..."
By this time Tank was seething and I found that shit hilarious. I went on.
"Mercedes actually thanked me for not being as ignorant as you were when you two had coffee with all her background singers. Apparently, you're enough of a dumbass to get in front of a bunch of Black women and start asking questions about quote/unquote 'ghetto names.' And don't even let me get started on fool-ass White folks touching other people's hair without permission. Do you even watch the news, dumbass?"
Tank pretty much didn't let me get to the part where he never actually came to dinner at the loft because that was the day Kurt got bashed; the dude jumped up and hurled himself across the table at me. I ain't no punk, so I gave as good as I got. He didn't even really surprise me with the jump-attack. I saw that shit coming from a mile away. I was on bottom for a hot second, but Tank's country ass couldn't even sock me, because I made sure to throat-punch him from below before he could get the leverage to try. While Tank tried to get air back into his lungs, I rolled us over and started wailing on him while the people in the shop responded to the pandemonium. I knew spending the weekend in a New York City holding cell wasn't the business, so after I got my licks in I grabbed Mama and hauled ass. I knew she was gonna bless me out, but it was worth it to make sure that dude felt uncomfortable around my girl going forward.
The fight that went on when we got back to her brownstone was epic, and at first pretty much one-sided. I just sat there nodding while she fussed at me. Mercedes accused me of purposefully alienating an important business contact by disclosing things I'd told her in confidence.
I didn't even deny that shit.
She told me that I'd humiliated one of the few non-New Directions friends she'd made in NYC, and probably gotten him arrested. The worst part was that I'd done it on purpose.
Again, I replied in the affirmative.
Then Mercedes called me a hothead for making Tank look stupid when all he'd wanted to do was let me know I was being watched after in New York, and at that point I had to take issue with what she was saying.
"Babygirl..." I started. "...I know you think this dude had all kinds of good reasons for wanting me to know that you two are becoming good friends. But can you do me a favor and answer a few questions for me? I think I can justify some of my actions if you make the effort to be totally honest with me and with yourself."
She glared at me, "What kind of questions?"
I put on the puppy dog face, and she softened a little.
"Fine."
"Has anyone ever had a crush on you that you didn't realize had a crush on you?"
"What kind of dumb question is that?" she scowled. "How would I know?"
"Well, have you ever been anybody's girlfriend after being just their friend for awhile, then found out that they liked you in a romantic way even though it never occurred to you before?" I knew I had her there.
Mercedes obviously considered the fact that Sam and Shane, as well as me, all fit into that category. She shrugged and allowed, "Yeah... so what?"
"And have any of your boyfriends ever told you that some other dude liked you, only for you to argue with them and deny it?"
Again, she had to admit, "Yes."
"So isn't' it possible that I saw something in that Tank dude that let me know he's got his eye on you, even though you yourself didn't see it?"
Mercedes averted her eyes so I couldn't see that she knew I had her cornered.
"And isn't it possible that even if I did tell you, you wouldn't have believed me, anyway?"
"Fine," Mercedes rolled her eyes, making up her mind to stop before I got started with the gloating. "So he likes me. And I probably would have let him crush on me forever without realizing it..." She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Congratulations...you win. But you didn't have to come for him like that, and you didn't have to embarrass him or me by picking a fight. Next time, handle it better..."
"How," I challenged. "Please inform me of what best way is to deal some random fuckboy wanting to steal my girl, knowing that she won't believe me if I tell her, and knowing the dude will take advantage of us fighting?"
She couldn't give me an answer, so we just declared a do-over and called the fight over. I apologized to her for being a dick, and promised to speak to her directly in the future if I felt like somebody new wanted all up on her. Mercedes promised to be open minded if I ever did. So this particular argument wasn't even huge enough to cause me and Mama any turmoil, but it is the first one that taught me how easy it is to make your partner see your way of thinking with a few carefully chosen words. I know now that I don't have to go to the asshole place first and foremost, and I'm grateful as hell I learned that shit.
The Pooch...
The last fight I wanna describe was a doozy, I ain't even gonna lie. It was crazy as hell. This one was right after Rachel's opening night on Broadway. Mercedes was wrapping up her album in New York, and I came for a visit to catch the show. I didn't have anything pressing to get back to LA for, so I ended up staying with my girl for the next twelve days or so. It was a cool vacation or whatever, we saw the sights and got into a rhythm and fucked every day. That was cool. But there was a lot of Glee drama in the air, and all of it kinda led to the argument.
In the beginning all the stuff our friends were going through was funny as shit. None of it affected me or my girl, and we had a blast talking about that stuff late at night. But most of the drama was kinda intertwined and shit, so I can't describe the argument without starting from the beginning. Stay with me, it's a long-ass story.
First off, one day Artie told me and the rest of the Glee-bros that he picked up some strange somewhere... and then he picked up the clap. Like a lot of freshman dudes in college, he met a few cute girls, realized they were gonna let him hit, and decided that since they didn't have mouth sores or walk like their shit was burning then they musta been clean. He then proceeded to raw-dawg all of 'em across the board like a motherfucker. One of the chicks was burning like hell, so my boy picked up chlamydia.
He got his penicillin, handled his little dirty-dick problem, and rolled on. The problem is that all three or four of the chicks he was boning broke up with him. So did the girl he liked that hadn't even fucked him yet. So by the time Rachel's opening night happened, 'Ole Robonerd felt like the only single person in the clique and started feeling lonely. He packed up his shit and took off for some film festival thing in Rhode Island.
While Artie was leaving for an extended break, Santana was moving in. She basically decided that the Island of Lesbos sucked, so she didn't wanna be there anymore. Lopez missed New York, and all her friends, so she kissed Brittany goodbye and left her there to come back to the Big Apple. Satan and Rachel had been butting heads the entire time she lived with them in the loft, and unbeknownst to me and Mama, hadn't fully healed yet from some issue involving Funny Girl understudy auditions. So she moved in with us at the brownstone. This is important because in true Rachel form, Berry turned into a major-league bee-yotch right after her critically acclaimed debut.
Lil' Barbra, after she'd had her fill of all the accolades and pats on the back that came with killing it on the Great White Way, decided that she wanted to be a movie star or some shit, and started trying to one-up herself. So while Satan was basking in the warmth of my girlfriend's bosom and getting ready to perform a duet with Mercedes on the album, Rachel was burning bridges with Broadway by missing an important performance. The theme that week musta been friendship because Mama extended her hand to Satan, then Satan turned around and did the same for Rachel. She saved the heifer's job by doing the same understudy gig Berry fought her on in the first damn place! It didn't do much good in the long run though; Berry eventually got fired.
Next, Rachel went all crazy in the head; she started barking at people and stamping her feet throwing tantrums all the time. It was funny as hell. One day, she decided to kick Sam out of the loft because she felt like she needed to take control of her life and couldn't do that with freeloaders sleeping on her couch. Fair enough; but to my way of thinking, the bitch just wanted to spread some misery. Anyway, Kurt can usually handle Berry when she's in despot mode, but he and Blaine wanted their den back. Artie was out of town and wasn't around to talk her down. Santana figured it wasn't her fucking business, partly because Rachel tried to kick her out once before, and partly because she was living with us. So it was decided that Trouty would move out. He didn't even fix his mouth to ask to stay with us in the brownstone, but his agency put him up in this huge apartment with all these model-types. Sam shared a room with this chick who was also named Sam, who had this tiny little teacup Yorkie dog which she kept in her puppy purse.
Now, Trouty, before he and my girl became a couple and he got more comfortable in his own skin, always had issues with body image. He worked out compulsively, watched what he ate, and spent way too much time focusing on his appearance. Those behaviors returned after they broke up the third time. Which was bad because when he became a model, the dude was constantly in the presence of motherfuckers with the same damn issues. On Sam's first night with his roommate Sam, she confided in him about all the different ways she kept herself thin. She described the different pills she took for anxiety, water retention, appetite suppression, depression, and insomnia before offering to share.
Girl-Sam scared the shit out of Boy-Sam with that stuff, so he turned her down.
Then she told him how a bunch of her model friends swallowed shit like tissue paper and cotton balls to fill up without calories and keep them from feeling too empty.
Sam pretty much thought she was joking and laughed.
Then after she described all the ways a person can make themselves puke after a meal, Girl-Sam told our boy that she had an ace in her purse...anytime her parents said something to her about not eating, she just fixed a plate then slipped the food piece by piece to the doggie.
That was the last fucking straw for Trouty. Dude loves dogs, and can't deal with cruelty to animals under any circumstance. So he basically told his roomie that he would help her find a therapist to help them work on their eating disorders together, and also offered to become her trainer so she could eat healthy while maintaining her weight if she wanted. He always was a sucker for a damsel in distress. He also informed her that she needed to give up the dog to somebody who wouldn't abuse it. Teacup dogs, Sam explained to her, shouldn't weigh any more than four pounds, and they gained weight easily because most of them were too small to get much exercise. By feeding her pooch anything other than a very specialized diet, Girl Sam was making it harder for it to breathe, and putting pressure on its tiny little legs and hips. He begged her to let him find a good home for the pup, and the bitch probably only did it because she wanted to fuck the shit outta Trouty, but it worked.
He gave the puppy to me and Mama as a gift. There was no other way around it of course...Artie was in and out of Rhode Island following his film festival, and if I'm not mistaken seeing Tina on the sly. Plus he lived in a dorm, anyway. Santana didn't have a long-term place of her own, preferring to couch hop because it was free. Kurt and Blaine were way too fastidious for an animal, and Sam wanted to make sure Girl-Sam never set eyes on the dog again. So we had no choice but to take it.
Now, I already told you I plan on eventually making a life with Mercedes on some real permanent-type shit. And I think I already suggested that us getting a dog to baby while we waited for the right time to have a real baby was in my plan too. But I hadn't made any definite steps to get one just yet. To my way of thinking, it was way down the line...plus I wanted a real dog, not a toy one. But Mercedes was in love with the little fucker from the get-go. She went out and bought a carrier, a doggie bed and a big bag of this hella-expensive dog food (that she said was the best food in the world because it didn't have any corn or fillers in it) before we had the dog for even an hour. Mercedes bought a huge kennel for when we visited our parents and took the "baby" with us, she found all kindsa dog clothes to dress the mutt in, she bought a retractable leash and several different collars in different colors and a dog tag with our names and numbers on it. My girl even named the dog Obama...she was sprung. And I was okay with the presence of the mutt, for about ninety-five minutes. Then it started getting on my last motherfucking nerve.
First of all, Obama loved Cedes to death. He would stare at her wearing this huge doggie-grin while wagging his tail, and it started from the minute Sam dropped him off. The pooch could identify my girl by smell early on, and apparently loved the scent. If you wanted him to sit or heel or whatever, all you had to do was let him sniff something of hers and the dog was putty in your hands. Mama fed him out of this glittery ass bowl that he loved and got happy as hell every time she brought it out. And I honestly thought the little asshole was in love with my girl on some inter-species shit. Mercedes was Obama's soul mate. But the bad part was that he couldn't stand me.
I'm not gonna lie, if that dog treated me half as good as he treated my lady, the fight never woulda started. But by the time Mercedes closed up the brownstone and we left for good to return to LA, it was pretty much apparent to me and everybody who loves me, that the dog wanted me gone. I lived my life in a constant state of fear that the little fucker would come find me one night and smother me to death in my sleep. If I bought myself something to eat and put it down on the table long enough to wash my hands? Obama made sure to make that shit fall off on the floor so he could pee on it. If I bought a new pair of tech boots, the dog took a massive and unapologetic dump...half in the right one, and half in the left. Whenever me and my girl kissed, her puppy hopped right up and started licking us in the mouths, wet and sloppy enough to gross us out so we'd stop smooching and go brush our teeth...neither one of us was the doggy-kissin' kind. And Obama cock-blocked every damn chance he got.
If I had a dollar for every time I looked over while licking my woman out, only to find that little asshole dog on the bed next to Mercedes' naked-ass hips staring at me with his head cocked to the left... I'd be a damn millionaire. A horny-as-fuck millionaire. And I stopped getting head completely, because Mama said it made her feel weird to slob on my knob while the dog watched. Obama yipped and growled at us from the floor whenever Mercedes rode my dick. Plus the dog barked loud enough for our neighbors to complain whenever we tried to go fuck in the shower. And this one time when I was balls deep on top of my girl, I swear I felt his fucking sharp ass nails on my butt cheeks.
This one time, we made an effort to recreate the closet sex we had when Trouty was visiting before, and had just gotten into deep stroking. He started making that noisy yip-yip sound, but we were able to ignore it long enough to take care of business. When we finished and congratulated one another for finally outsmarting the little fucker and getting our rocks off, the joy was short-lived as hell because Obama destroyed our room waiting on us to come out the closet. He got inside the bottom drawers and chewed up shit, pissed all over everything, and even ate some of my girl's hair weave! But even that wasn't enough to make her wanna give him up.
I bet you're wondering why we let the little dictator stay in the room with us, right? Well, Mama and me tried to put his dog bed in the laundry room when we first got home, and for awhile he slept there fine as long as Mercedes put one of her dirty shirts in with him to sleep with. But the shedding hair was making my girl a little bit resentful, and she decided that it wasn't worth it. So we moved doggy central to our bedroom where he could smell the real thing.
The fight came on the tail end of Mama's pet taking taking shit to a whole 'nother level by hopping on the bed with us and trying to sleep on my pillow. That was a fucking deal breaker in my book...I didn't want any fucking animals in my bed, in my kitchen, or in my bathroom. Those are all places where sensitive shit happens and I couldn't see sleeping, cooking, or shitting anyplace where a dog farts, sheds, and sneezes. Mercedes agreed with me when I said it, but when I picked up the little fucker from my place in the bed, picked up his bed and bowl, then walked all that shit downstairs to the laundry room because I'd finally reached the end of my rope? She wasn't having it...
"Puck!" Mercedes whined when I got back. "Don' take him downstairs...I want my baby to sleep in the room with us!"
"Oh well," I said while I stripped my pillow and got another pillowcase. "You're lucky you got to keep him this long. But tomorrow, I'm taking that little rat bastard somewhere far the fuck from 'round me. "
"Baby..." she shifted in the bed and kicked the covers off. "...you don't mean that. You're just mad. And I promise from now on I'll do a better job of keeping him out of your hair..."
"No," I was through being a nice guy about the damn dog. "You're not getting your way this time, Mama. Tomorrow we become puppy-free!"
Mercedes got in a kneeling position on the bed, then placed her hand on her hip.
"Obama is my dog..." she told me, pointing. "...and I'm not just gonna and watch you give him away."
"Oh, don't worry," I replied. "I plan to make a big-ass profit on his ass. Do you know how much those hamster-looking dogs go for on the Internet?"
She tried the baby voice on me. "Please, Baby?" Batting her eyelashes to hell and back. "Obama loves us, and he'll miss his daddy if he leaves..."
"Tough titty," was my reply as I laid down on my now non-dog-shit-smelling pillow. "I'm sure we'll both get over it."
"But he's just getting used to LA," Mercedes whined. "He's been living in New York with that nasty model-chick since he was born. I'm sure once he settles into the new climate and place to live..."
"Fuck that," I cut her off. "It's a done deal; I've made up my mind..."
I knew that it was never a good idea to lay down the law or put my foot down with my girl. But by that point my frustration was preventing me from speaking diplomatically. So I should have seen it coming when Mercedes responded to my decision by calling me an overbearing, unsympathetic, controlling-ass buttwipe. Then I told her that somebody had to be, because she wasn't teaching the little shitface any discipline and somebody needed to. After that she called me cruel and retorted that Obama was being abused by his previous owner, so she was showing him compassion...something I obviously never heard of. To which I replied saying that it was all fine and good to be a nice pet owner, but she was raising the Rachel Berry of dogs and I for one refused to live with it.
So I slept in our bed that night and Mercedes slept in my old room, with the dog I might add. We didn't speak for twenty-four hours and I was totally miserable. After we both cooled off, Mercedes made it a point to ask me if we could talk and we did. While the I sat on the ottoman and Mercedes took the sofa and the dog sat between us on the floor turning his head left to right like we were playing a tennis match, we hashed everything out.
My girl apologized for putting the dog's comfort before mine and promised that if we kept it she'd put it in obedience school and get it house trained. I promised not to send the little fucker to the pound until after we gave it another month. Eventually Obama started to behave better, so I let him stay with my blessing. But that fight taught us that the power of compromise. Before that one, I never knew it was a bad thing for one person in the relationship to always get their way. I figured, "Happy Wife/Happy Life." So I never really spoke up about things that bothered me. After the dog episode though, I knew we could both be content in our little condo as long as we both made sure to be honest about our feelings. And it feels weird as fuck to admit it, but shit still works till this very day.
A/N: I wanted to convey with the first fight that Mercedes was responsible for picking the fight, but Puck made it worse by getting in his feelings. That's how fights between me and my husband go...No matter who started it, the other one makes damn sure that the shit goes on too long lol.
The second and third fights are just my way of including canon elements from season 5 but with a Puckcedes spin. The third one specifically is my take on what I perceive as a pretty recurrent theme in the Samcedes ship.
Like, am I the only one who noticed that Mercedes never said "no" to Sam during season 3? Every time that boy tried to win her back, she could have walked away and let that be the end of it. Yet he was constantly getting his way because she couldn't tell him no. Season 5 is where the relationship matured and she stood her ground: no sex in the champagne room. No dog. And that's kinda how I want to frame my Puckcedes relationship...Mature enough to withstand minor conflict.
My headcanon has always been that Mercedes gets her way with Puck because he's pretty fucking undemanding where women are concerned. I think he liked Lauren's ass strictly because she was so hard on him. But I want him to learn to stand his ground. Hence the dog fight.
This is the next to last chapter. The next one is the last...an epilogue to fill in gaps. I won't acknowledge the issue of Mercedes losing her first record deal here, or Finn's death. Instead I'm gonna do my best to make Puckcedians proud.
Be easy,
Kay