Chapter Forty-Three: Old Flames
Beetlejuice stepped out of the glass elevator, an unconscious Lydia Deetz in his arms, as he made his way to her apartment. He was just getting ready to stagger through the door, when he remembered that Deetz would ultimately smash into it and thud to the ground. "Oh yeah, the whole bein' dead thing..." he muttered to himself, before trying to wake her up. "Deetz! Hey, Babe! Wake up! We gotta get you inside." he said, shaking her a bit.
"Huh? Are we still in the club?" she yawned, rubbing at her eyes, as he tried unsuccessfully to stand her up. She stumbled back against the wall, sliding down to the floor.
"Shit." he winced, before shrugging and sliding on through her apartment door, where he unlocked the other side. Then, he realized he was a dead guy that could have saved himself the trouble and juiced the damn thing open. "Fuck, I'm trashed..." he slapped his forehead, sighing.
He knelt down, grabbing Lydia by the arm. "C'mon. Let's get yer ass to bed."
"Okay." Lydia groaned, as they both stumbled up to their feet, Beetle juicing the door shut behind them. "Man, I drank way too much." Lydia mumbled, clutching his arm tightly, as he pushed the bedroom door open.
"That makes two of us." he agreed, as Lydia plunked on the bed, unsuccessfully attempting to pull her giant, thigh-high goth boots off.
"Shit. This was way easier when I was sober." she grumbled, trying to kick one off.
"Fuck, just stop it." Beetle shook his head, before staggering over to her. "Gimme that." he commanded, trying to be helpful for the same unholy reason that he'd been pretty amicable most of the night.
"You're going to help me?" Lydia appeared surprised, as she pulled the veil off of her tangled mess of hair.
"Yeah. Stay still." he stated, as she lifted her gown up a bit, revealing those huge-assed boots. He grabbed the top of one, feeling the top of her thigh hit his hand, and strangely enough, though it was pretty damned nice, for maybe the first time ever, he wasn't about to make a move on a woman. Maybe that was the freakiest thing of all. No maybe about it. It definitely was. He took the zipper in his hand, fiddling with it a bit, before realizing that again, he could just juice the shit off of her. "Dammit, why do I keep forgettin' I'm a fuckin' dead guy?" he shook his head, before juicing the boots off of her. Maybe it was because he wasn't feeling very dead right now.
"Funny you should say that..." Lydia grinned, her eyes lazy with intoxication. "I forgot too."
Beetle stumbled back to his feet, his blurry drunk vision locking onto her. "Ya think tonight was a win?"
"I know it was, BJ. This was probably the most fun I've had in years." she said, laying back and staring off into the distance, and appearing ready to go out again.
It was really fucking weird, but she wasn't the only one who felt that way. Beetle plopped down beside her, laying back with his hands propped behind his head. "Good to hear, Deetz." he replied, telling the truth while knowing he could back track at any time and blame it all on booze. That was what he was banking on, anyway.
Lydia began to yawn, turning on her side and pulling her pillow close. "I-I don't think I can stay awake..." she began, seeming to be on the brink of fading out again. Her heavy-lidded eyes were staring right through him.
"Get some sleep, Deetz. I'll watch the tube." he said sleepily, watching her watch him. If he wasn't so hell bent on being her mortal enemy, he would've done something really stupid right then and there. Luckily, he didn't. Nope. Not her. Not ever.
Lydia scooted to his side. "Goodnight, BJ. Love you." she said softly, and it had to be the alcohol, or the crazy night he'd just had, or maybe just throwing all fucks to the wind. Hell, it could have been just to spite Trixy, for all he knew. Maybe it was a little of all those things, but he opened his mouth and didn't scoff at her for once.
"Eh, right back at ya, Babe." he said, right before things went dark and he was overcome by his own inevitable intoxicated blackout.
...
"Ugh..." Beetle groaned, opening his eyes and feeling like twice cooked hell. His undead skull throbbed, begging him to drink some dead people coffee or something of that sort. He laid there a moment, hearing construction workers jackhammer concrete off in the distance, prompting him to grab his head and moan. "Fuck. Do they have to work so early? Is Fifth Street really that fuckin' important?! Some people are TRYIN' TAH SLEEP HERE!" he fumed, feeling like he'd hurl. Man, breather beer sure did a number on him.
However, he was pulled from his morning tirade by a warm, soft arm draping over his chest. He rubbed his eyes a moment, trying to focus his vision, and there she was. She looked a hot mess, equal emphasis on both parts, that was. Of course, what seemed all euphoric and awesome last night, quickly turned his insides. Even if he was planning revenge, why the hell was he stupid enough to let himself get that comfortable? Why did he let himself feel all that gushy shit? That was supposed to be stuffed down in the same way that breathers dealt with death and taxes, which meant that you just tried to tell it all to fuck off and go about your day.
"Whoo boy..." he quickly slid out from under her arm, all but falling into her floor. He staggered to his feet, clutching his aching head and wincing. "Juice, yer a stupid fuck..." he hissed at himself, quickly scrambling out of her room and far enough away not to want to jump out a window.
Why was he such a dumb shit? He knew better. He knew better, and he did it anyway. Hopefully she was too wasted to hear his dumbass love confessions, which he reminded himself, were all but nonexistent anyway. He hobbled about her living room like he had a peg leg, trying not to explode into panic. It wasn't just his actions. No. Those could be easily brushed off and bullshitted away. It was the fact that he still felt all that stupid, gushy euphoria at that very moment. He was sober now, mostly. What excuse did he have to care about the girl? He didn't. Now, the show had to go on, and he'd have to fight twice as hard. It was easy to be mean to the girl when he ignored all the fucking noise in his twisted brain. Now, his dipshit decision to have a night of fun had opened up a can of worms he'd have to fight like hell to put back into place.
He paced up to her bedroom again, peering at her around the door facing. She yawned deeply, apparently just waking up. He quickly slid back out of her sight, panting from panic. God, he was an idiot! This was the part where he'd normally poof himself out of existence and into his old place. The problem was, there was no fucking place to go! Trixy and Long Dong Johnson had become permanent squatters, and his place would be surrounded by sirens and flashing lights in no time if he showed back up again.
"Shit..." he seethed under his breath, hearing Lydia's bedroom door close behind him, as she probably undressed in there to put on some pajamas like she normally did. Okay, he had to keep his mind away from the thoughts of her without that dress on, or he'd have to stick his head down her garbage disposal to put himself out of his misery. Not that it would actually work, due to being a very DEAD fucker. "Oh, I'm fucked..." he whispered to himself, slapping himself in the head for being an unrepentant retard.
He knew there was only one thing left to do, and that was the most gigantic problem of all. He needed to split, and quick, before he gave into the feeling anymore. Immediately, he frantically began to dig down into his trouser pockets, pulling various bugs and snakes out, searching for the one thing he needed to get the hell out of there. "Shit! The ring! Where is it?" he hissed, as Lydia's doorknob turned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he stomped, coming up empty. It was all back in that drawer at his place! He had like a hundred of those fucking things back there, and not one in his own possession. He inhaled deeply, grabbing his throbbing skull. He'd use one of Lydia's if it would work, but it needed to be a Neitherworld ring, so that was useless.
"Goodmorning, BJ." Lydia smiled, stepping out of her room and wincing a bit, probably due to the same reason he was.
"Heya, Deetz." he answered, trying to stay as neutral as possible so not to give himself away any further. He made sure not to stare at her legs, since she'd switched into some really short shorts and a baggy, white T-shirt. Yeah, that looked like girlfriend attire. Maybe that was all in his head. Damn, he was confused.
"I think I partied a little too hard last night." Lydia laughed a bit, fixing herself a coffee. She bent over to grab something out of a lower cabinet, and his damned eyes locked on to her nice ass like a homing missile getting ready to fire at its target.
"Uh, yeah. Me, too. Kinda feel like hell today." he muttered, juicing all the snakes and insects off of her floor before she noticed and found anything to be off. He needed to get back to his place and pronto. "Hey, Deetz...I think I'm gonna step on out-" he began, only for her phone to start ringing.
"Oh, hold on, BJ. I'll be right back." she quickly pattered off, taking her coffee with her.
He stretched over, eyeing her as she picked up the phone. "Hello?"
He then stepped to the side, out of her view, and opened a small portal, looking through it and into his ex-girlfriend-infested house. "C'mon...Be empty, ya bastard..." he spoke to himself in a hushed tone, hoping no one would be there to call the cops on him. It would literally take like two seconds. He just needed to slip into his bedroom, open that drawer of his, grab a ring or maybe a handful for good measure, and get the fuck away from Lydia Deetz before she ruined everything again.
He started looking, only to be instantly disappointed when he caught Trixy doing some pretty nasty shit to Bill on the bed next to that damned drawer. "FUCK!" he hissed, slamming his portal shut.
"No, Rob. I don't care. No, I don't want to talk!" Beetle's head whipped around like he was possessed upon hearing that name. What did that fucker want with her again? He casually strolled into the doorway, leaning on it and crossing his arms over his chest, listening to her bawl New Age Fabio out. Unfortunately, he found himself more than pleased that she wasn't going back to some dick brained ex. Damn, he was in way deeper than he ever wanted to be.
"Christ, I need that ring..." he muttered bitterly under his breath, as Lydia slammed her phone down.
"Problem?" Beetle raised his brow, curious to what she'd say, and trying to fight the urge to hunt that Rob prick down and beat his ass.
"It's Rob." Lydia huffed, shaking her head and appearing exasperated. "He's coming up."
"And just why the fuck is that, Deetz? You two playin' makeup 'er somethin'?" he instantly barked at her, not able to control that nagging jealousy thing he had going on. Fuck, he had to get a grip on this shit NOW. "Uh, not that I care or anything..." he quickly added, though it didn't sound too convincing, even to him.
Lydia paused a moment, as if a brief thought crossed her mind, before she continued on. "No. I'm done with him. He keeps saying he wants to talk for some idiotic reason." she sighed, grabbing herself around the waist and appearing nervous.
"Don't let him talk yer ass into somethin' dumb, Deetz. That's how pricks like us, er...him operate. They tell ya just what ya wanna hear, then they jump in bed and get what they want. He knows yer not workin' for Medusa anymore, right?" Beetle leaned in, glaring and daring her to say something stupid, though not using words to do so. This time he could pass it off as a possible threat to his plan of vengeance, but it wasn't. It was a threat to everything, which was why he needed to get that damned ring and slide it on her finger before something else fucked it all up.
"No worries there. I can't stand him." Lydia muttered defeatedly, appearing bitter herself. She then turned to him, looking like she wanted something. No. She needed something from him, and inside he was feeling that warm, tingly feeling again. He really needed to get his shit together. "BJ...If things get too crazy, could you step in a little?" she asked him, those brown eyes looking unsure and hopeful at the same time, and he wanted to hurl just thinking of how he felt about that look.
"Eh, I guess I could." he shrugged, trying to play it cool and not appear like he'd punch himself in the balls if she'd asked him to. He really wouldn't do that, though. Would he? Okay, distance. He needed distance. Now. "Right. Well, Imma' go make muhself scarce." he pointed his thumb back to her bedroom. "I'll be catchin' up on that paternity show if ya need me. Heh. The bitch has like fifteen potential baby daddies. It's a real shit show in there." he laughed nervously, before edging his way into her room and quickly shutting and locking the door behind him.
He'd barely turned on the TV, when he heard a loud knock on her apartment door. Instantly, his blood began to boil. She'd better not start bumpin' uglies with that deadbeat fucker again. He sighed, feeling like he was going more insane by the minute. "Not much longer...I just need that ring..."
