Author's Note: Haha, my Chapter titles have been very Fueled By Ramen as of late. How about some Silversun Pickups:
Future Foe Scenarios
Unbeknownst to Lizzie and her stoic paramour, Mr. Collins's more ridiculous attributes did not go unnoticed by Charlotte; instead it was a simple case of her not caring very much.
Prince Charming and his shiny, white horse was something that happened to girls like Jane: those wispy, gentle-natured creatures that somehow remained ignorant of their staggering beauty and its power to drop a desirable man (Mr. I come complete with a car, a bank account, and a home mother-free) to his knees. Or, Mr. Perfect, Mr. Tall, Dark, Handsome, Conveniently Rich and Well-Endowed preferred the manic-pixie girls like, dear Lizzie; the sort of females that were all wit, quirkiness, and "fine eyes". Charlotte, however, belonged to the 'comfortable old shoe' lot of women – the type who seemed to have been broken in from birth. The 'old shoe' would make a perfectly respectable companion throughout life and a man would come to regard its faithfulness, its ability to have dinner on the table by six and have 2.5 fat, mealy-mouthed kids tucked into bed by ten, despite the shoe's plainness, its holes, and its grass stains.
Charlotte never dreamt of great, passionate love that inspired sonnets or insanity, or very possibly both. She was convinced she wasn't the type of woman that could ever produce such feelings in a man and never entertained any thoughts to the contrary (self-delusion, she thought, looked rather stupid on her). If Henry Collins offered her comfort and security, and 2.5 awful children, well then, he would simply have to do.
Though her mind was thoroughly made up on the subject, Charlotte listened quietly and intently to her friend's numerous grievances against the man:
"The Collins's are the reason there's no Bennet's left in Sun Valley. There are four others just like him, if you can believe that genetic joke. His older brother, Billy, thought the sun rose and shone out of Jane's ass, and he collected strands of her hair to make a doll. The dude made a Jane hair doll, Charlotte. Seriously. Dad upped and moved us all to Reseda after I graduated because getting stalked by a Collins was becoming a bizarre Bennet right of passage."
And, "Just be thankful you don't have any bushes, Charlotte."
When Lizzie colorfully ended her tirade with, "Henry Collins is like a two-scoop sundae of suck and fail topped with dumbass sprinkles," Charlotte looked up from the vanilla sludge that used to be her milkshake and said with a weary sigh,
"Are you done?"
"Not quite; you're way too good for him, Char – what the hell are you thinking?!"
She bristled. "Okay, I admit Henry's a bit much."
"A bit much?" Lizzie snickered. "The man is a fool."
"He's my fool!" Charlotte snapped and after taking the moment the newfound awkward silence had afforded her, she said, "At least, I may want him to be. Someday. But, Christ on a cracker, Lizzie, you act as if I'm betrothed to the guy and we haven't even been on one goddamn date!"
Lizzie shook her head. "But, you don't know what he's really like."
"I want to know," Charlotte said, "and I want you to support me. Please, can we not argue about this? Can you just be my bestie and let me make my own decisions?"
"But…" Lizzie began and a small nudge from Darcy's elbow put an end to her protest. She sighed heavily before taking one last bite of her fries. "Fine, I'll be supportive. Really, I just want you to be happy, Char – truly, happy."
That was the thing about Lizzie, she wanted so badly for her friend to hold onto fairytale notions ("we'll be great actresses"/ "one day, I swear we'll both be swept off our feet. No more losers, Char – only the most worthy, most perfect guys will get to monopolize our time from here on out") that she would cling to those dreams for the both of them.
"I know, honey," Charlotte said softly.
She should have slammed the door in his face while belting "fuck you very much, buddy!" at the top of her lungs, but all Danny had to do was give her puppy-dog wide eyes and say:
"I've really missed you, babe."
Sarah was putty in his hands.
"You won't believe what my life's been like for the past couple months," Wickham put on his best defeated voice as he pushed his way inside her apartment, "I lost my job, my apartment, I'm still dodging the repo-man when it comes to my car, and I guess you know how unsympathetic Sprint can be when you stop giving them money. This city's had my balls in vice grip – I just had to get out of here, you know, clear my head."
Lips pulled into a tight, thin line, she nodded. "So, where did you go?" she asked in an unsteady, quiet voice.
"Oh, uh…" Wickham flopped down comfortably on the couch and made a show of putting his feet up on the coffee table, "Kansas. I stayed with my Nana for a while which was just great; she's a remarkable woman, still feisty as all get out at eighty-nine years old." Smiling, he gestured for her to have a seat next to him. "C'mon, then…I know I've been a total asshole, disappearing on you like that, but the thought of you seeing me at my lowest, Sassy, it tore me apart."
What little resolve she might have possessed broke at that moment and Sarah found herself enveloped in his arms. Breathing in his scent, encircled in his warmth, his fingertips on the bare skin of her arm, this feeling was one she'd thought she would never experience again.
"You could've told me," she said burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I could've helped you."
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "No, sweetheart, this is my mess. I couldn't ask you to do that."
"Well, where are you staying?"
"Um, nowhere at the moment; I've only just got back into town and I had to see you before I made any sort of plans." He gazed at her with soft, longing eyes. "I was afraid I'd really fucked up."
Sarah giggled. "Oh you definitely fucked up; lucky for you, I'm the forgiving type."
"Lucky indeed," he said squeezing her tightly.
She sat up and looked him squarely in the eye. "You're staying here until you're back on you're feet – no objections."
"Sass, I don't want to impose…"
"What did I say about objections?" She playfully swatted at his shoulder. "I mean it and saying no to this offer is not an option."
"Look at you," Wickham laughed, "taking charge and everything. It's very sexy."
Sarah beamed and made a move to get up from the couch. "Let's go get your stuff…"
He grabbed her wrist. "There's time for that later, all I want to do right now is lay here with you in my arms."
Though her heart was sufficiently melted she couldn't help but notice the splint on his finger. "What happened?" she asked with a curious tilt of her head.
"What? Oh," Wickham shrugged with a lopsided smile when he caught her eye line, "screen door accident at grandma's."
In spite of the civil understanding reached at the end of their lunch, the car ride back to the Darcy's place in the Hills was a tense one. Charlotte had unsuccessfully tried to defuse the situation by putting in she and Lizzie's favorite mix with the hopes that a Britney, Beyonce, and Backstreet trifecta would get her friend to smile and dance her way out of being so utterly disappointed. Instead, it provided an inappropriately upbeat soundtrack.
Lizzie focused her eyes on the blur of cars passing by, Charlotte kept her gaze straight ahead and made a point to grip the steering wheel with both hands, and poor Darcy, caught in the middle of all this awkward, languished away in the backseat.
Sighing, Lizzie pulled the vibrating cell phone out of her purse:
From: Darcy
Collins wrote you poetry? Should I follow his example?
Her eyes snapped up from the text message to the visor mirror; Darcy's reflection was lazily slumped against the door and staring out of the opposite window. The corner of her lips jerking upward, she replied:
To: Darcy
Only if you never wish to get laid again.
She relished in watching a huge grin break out on his face and a moment later her cell buzzed with his response:
From: Darcy
Poetry is supposed to be the way to win a woman's heart. WTF kind of female are you?
She giggled:
To: Darcy
A complicated one that doesn't like her name being rhymed with every word that ends with an –izy.
From: Darcy
In his defense, it's hard to rhyme Elizabeth.
"Who ya talkin' to?" Charlotte jovially asked her.
"Jane," Lizzie answered quickly. "Charlie's trying to convince her to watch A Nightmare on Elm Street and she's close to giving in."
From: Darcy
You sit on a throne of lies.
Covering her mouth, Lizzie shook silently with laughter.
"Oh, god!" Charlotte exclaimed. "Talk her out of it! She'll be up for months – you know how sensitive she is."
"Yeah…she still can't handle the flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz. I can't believe she's even considering it."
To: Darcy
I don't want her to know we're talking about Collins.
From: Darcy
Who's talking about Collins? I'm trying to find the best way to woo you.
From: Darcy
… roses are red
violets are purple
I like you a lot, but, damn, nothing rhymes with that.
To: Darcy
Collins will be happy to know that he kicks your ass when it comes to prose. That was super lame, Fitzie.
From: Darcy
Unappreciative wench.
She laughed loudly earning a look from her friend. "Jane actually thinks she's safe because Johnny Depp's on screen." Lizzie shrugged with a lopsided grin. "It's precious."
"She's gonna make me go through the whole apartment with a bat later on. I fucking know it." Charlotte shook her head.
From: Darcy
The story of us…
Jack and Jill went up a hill,
to have a little fun.
Stupid Jack forgot his cap,
and now they have a son.
(or daughter) :)
To: Darcy
LOL. You've totally wooed me now. Take me, I'm your's!
From: Darcy
You can't type LOL when you're not actually LOLing! I can see and hear you, remember?
To: Darcy
Oh believe me, I'm laughing on the inside. Hard.
From: Darcy
So, you feel a bit better now?
Lizzie caught his eye in the mirror and smiled.
To: Darcy
A LOT better. Thanks, Jack.