Chapter Thirty-Eight: Three Words
"I said goodnight, BJ." Lydia cocked her head to the side like a Cocker Spaniel.
"Uh-huh..." he eyed her warily, wondering if he was losing his fucking mind at this point. "Anything else?"
"Yeah. I said love you." she shrugged like she was talking about a damn grocery list or something. This was something alright. Actually, he had no clue. Maybe this was another part of her wicked plans to tear him apart from the inside out. Unfortunately, the ultimate horror of horrors had happened, and Lydia-fucking-Deetz had found out the abominable thing he was hiding. He couldn't even mentally say it to himself. Now she was more than likely dangling those lovey-dovey words in front of him like a bloody steak in front of a starving wolf. Wasn't she? Or?
"Sure, ya do." he scoffed, knowing better than to give in to his inner reaction to that evil bullshit. He had to stay all strong and manly, so he promptly pushed his way in, casually tossing his empty beer to the side to assert his dominance in her clean, estrogen-filled house of horrors. She wasn't going to win.
"Look, it's no big deal. I just think you need somebody on your side right now. You're a good guy, BJ. You don't need Trixy, or Diamond, or Ruby..." she began, only for him to stop her blabbering before she listed every stripper within a fifty-mile radius of his used-to-be home.
"Okay, okay, Deetz! Wait." He paused a moment, realizing just whose name she'd said. "How'd you know about Diamond?"
"Lucky guess." Lydia sniggered, and Beetle's eyes rolled back so far, they nearly popped out and rolled across her carpet.
"Yeah right. Did that lucky guess come with a big, fake pair ah cans an' lips like a life raft?" he remarked, knowing full well that Trixy had spewed that particular bit of info in Deetz' direction as well.
He watched as Lydia slightly winced. "Probably?"
"So, ya know I'm the dirtbag, eh? That I fucked her over first, huh?" Beetle recoiled, automatically feeling defensive without the slightest idea why. It's not like he cared how Deetz viewed him, anyway. "Well, lemme tell ya, Trixy wasn't no angel, either."
"Yeah. I can tell." Lydia slid under her blankets, yawning and stretching her arms, appearing more or less unbothered. "Don't worry. We've all done crazy shit, BJ. I don't think any less of you." she smiled again, trying in vain to bewitch him with that cutesy act she was putting on.
"Do I look like I give a rat's ass?" he spat, making sure to be extra douchey about it. "Now, what's with the love shit? You can't be fuckin' serious..." he shook his head, feeling completely exasperated.
"Okay. Believe what you want, BJ. It's all good." she shrugged, grabbing a magazine off her nightstand and flicking through the pages.
Beetle could feel his jaw tighten. She was so full of shit. There was no way she actually gave half a fuck about his old, crusty ass. And just when he was about to scream or knock shit over to retaliate against her wicked cuteness, she started running that pouty little mouth of hers.
"You know what, BJ? I've been thinking...Since you're practically a permanent resident here now, maybe we can make the most of it." Lydia stated casually, her brown eyes grazing over each page of her girly magazine
Before the rusty gears in his brain could even begin to crank out a half-assed thought, he began to speak like a big, dumb shit. "What do ya mean by that?" his curiosity poured through, and at that moment, he quickly reeled it in. No way in hell did he need to be stupid enough to get his hopes up. Besides, even if she was the hottest, nicest, best wifey material this side of death - NOT that she was, or anything - he'd made his mind up about her long ago. "Cause it smells like bullshit, Deetz." he quickly added, mentally slapping himself in the balls for even implying something so idiotic. "Makin' the most of livin' with yer ass would be throwin' ya off the balcony and proppin' back and watchin' porn for three months." he cackled, trying to take another dig at her just to show her it wasn't going to work on him.
"Well, I was thinking that there is a place I think you can go...outside of here." she replied, seeming completely unphased by his badgering, which was unnerving, but his main interest was on what she was saying.
Okay, his curiosity had peaked, and it was almost too much to take. It was actually scaring the shit out of him, and he despised that fact. However, as much as he detested it, she was appealing to one of his deepest wishes. He hadn't been out in the living world for so long, and that was his chance to get a head start. She was willing to help him out, and that was fucking with him in a monumental way. He stepped over to her, fighting against the hot, burning feeling that was igniting inside himself, choosing instead to stuff it down. Hell, he'd beat it with a crowbar and throw it into a vat of liquid nitrogen if he had to. His revenge was too damned important. Beetle yanked the magazine out of her hand, tearing the pages in her hands, as she paused a moment, before looking at him.
"And just how the hell're ya gonna pull that off?" he growled, throwing the offending girly book to the side.
"There's an underground club I go to sometimes. Fridays are costume nights. It would be the perfect opportunity, BJ. I know you said you'd love to see a breather club. Why don't you come with me this Friday?" Lydia asked, her voice soft and sweet, while her eyes were doing that wide, bright, twinkly shit they always did when she was hopeful.
That was completely unexpected. How did she know exactly what to say to put him on the spot? Why did she care enough to even remember their awkward banter back at the strip club? Why was she always being so damned kind and never getting jealous or scorned or hateful, no matter how much vile bastardness he threw her way? Why did he begin to feel exhilarated with the very thought of what she was proposing? He was pretty sure his frank and beans were doing all the thinking at the moment. He was also pretty sure he was now the one looking like a confused mutt. "Wut?"
"Seriously. You'd have a blast. There's plenty of booze, drugs, pretty girls..." Lydia smirked, slyly taunting him with the last two words that came from her lips. Somehow, he found himself not liking the smug way she was teasing him.
"Can't mix with breathers, Deetz. I told ya." he grunted unhappily. What was all that love talk if she didn't care about who he stuck his moldy pole in? As a matter of fact, it was pissing him off enough for him to make it a thing. "I thought you were all lovey-dovey about me. Why're ya pushin' me off on other broads?"
"I just thought it would make you happy. That's all." she answered, the smile never leaving those lips. Yeah, he needed to look away from those for a minute.
"Huh." he studied a moment, strangely intoxicated by the idea enough to sit beside her on the edge of her bed and ponder on it. As much as he wanted to shove her idea right back at her at tell her to fuck off just to stay on track, he couldn't bring himself to do it that time, and that was fucking scary. It was probably the taste of freedom, and NOTHING to do with Deetz herself, he quickly reiterated mentally. It probably was the booze, the drugs, the party life, the breather chicks. It couldn't be her. It wouldn't be her. Ever. He swallowed down the strange sting of that thought, before turning to her again. He told himself that the question that left his grimy lips was simply a test of her bullshitting. "So, you askin' me out on a date, er...?"
"Is that what you want?" Lydia inquired in return, probably being a manipulative little shit about it, which prompted him to abandon ship.
"Pffft! Whatever." he purposely blew her off, though he watched her very closely to gage her every little reaction. He didn't care what sworn-enemy, deviant succubus, life-ruiner Lydia Deetz thought of him. He simply reminded himself that he needed to know what was going on in the head of his nemesis. That was all.
"Okay, then." she laughed, apparently shrugging it off. What the hell was that even supposed to mean? "How about two friends going out to have a good time and get wasted?"
Nope. He wasn't giving her the satisfaction of friend status. One didn't befriend enemies. Of course, he'd actually never befriended a woman in his whole existence. He'd slept with plenty and pissed off exponentially more than that. "Kind of a stretch, don't ya think?" he looked to her with much skepticism, mainly just to be a difficult prick. Something had to break her down eventually, right? Why was she so hard to break in the first damned place? She was a sniveling, pathetic pile of breather when she'd first called him back. Now she was all happy and full of rainbows and sunshine, and it was taxing as hell to be around.
"Hmmm..." Lydia looked away, studying a moment, but never really showing signs of being upset, which sort of pissed him off that much more. She then slid her hand over to him, placing it atop his own. "Then consider it another 'I'm sorry for ruining your afterlife'." she replied, that damned smile creeping across those lips again.
He found himself staring at her small, warm hand a bit too long for his own comfort. He forced his eyes to move up to her. "Fuck, if it'll make ya shut up, then yeah. I'll go, Deetz. Damn. Ya don't gotta be all weird about it." he grunted, before yanking his hand out from under her own. Okay, he needed to get the hell out of there. He didn't like the way he felt when shit lingered on like that. She HAD to know what she was doing. She really couldn't give a shit. No way, no how.
Beetle quickly stood, all but stomping out of her room just to let her know that her charms weren't really working on him. Of course, right as he stepped out her door and began to loudly slam it shut, she opened that damned mouth again.
"Goodnight, BJ. Love you." she said, a bit softer that time, as he stopped dead in his tracks and turned to her, saying as much fuck you as his face could express.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Deetz..." he scoffed, slamming the door shut. He took a few steps away from it, before wiping his hand down his face. What the hell was she doing to him? No. That wasn't true anyway. "Fuck, I need a beer..." he muttered to himself in defeat that he never dared to let her see.
