FicWad

“Frank, I think you’re a little more than drunk,” Paulina told her companion.

He had knocked off two bottles of wine and was starting on bourbon. He had been too tipsy at the beginning of the trip to just take the bourbon in the first place, and now he was even farther gone. He had instructed the driver, in a slurred, shaky voice, to pull up at a Starbucks so he could run in, “f’r some fuckin’ coffee.”

“Don’ give me tha’ lip, P’lina,” he slurred, shoving her shoulder so that she hit the door of the limousine.

“Ow, Frank. Stop that,” she snapped, waving her finger harshly at her inebriated companion. “You shouldn’t go out like this. We should go home.” Paulina ignored the fact that she had just called that hell of an apartment “home.”

“You can’ tell me what t’do.” Frank crossed his arms sourly and turned towards his door, fumbling to open it. He turned back to Paulina. “Gimme one g’ d’reason why I shouldn’t go out.” He held up three fingers, then four, then three again, then five. Paulina sighed.

“First of all, look at what you’re wearing. You’re hardly dressed to walk into an inner-city Starbucks in the middle of the night.” To be honest, the place they were currently driving was anything but “inner-city,” and it was only eight-thirty, but Paulina figured Frank was too drunk to notice.

“Y’right,” he mumbled, beginning to fumble with the buttons on his shirt. A few minutes passed, and he’d only gotten one button open, and even that one seemed like it had popped out of its hole out of pure pity. Finally, out of drunken frustration, Frank just grabbed each side of his shirt and ripped it open, buttons snapping off and flying in all directions. He wrenched the tie from around his neck and dropped his clothes on the floor. “Bett’r,” he murmured, grabbing the door handle and forcing all his weight on the door while pulling.

He tumbled to the asphalt. Paulina sighed again. In the safety of the tinted windows of the car, she shimmied out of her gown and instead adopted Frank’s discarded shirt, so long on her that it tickled the tops of her knees. She got out of the car and walked around to help Frank off the ground, where he lay even after falling, seeming to be giving the ground a hug.

“Get up, honey,” she said, tugging Frank’s arm and looking at her hand, where the makeup had smeared off, now revealing a bit of the Virgin Mary on his forearm. “And give me your belt,” she added, which he complied with. She cinched it around her waist, hoping it looked somewhat normal. The last thing they needed was to draw even more attention to themselves, what with Frank leaning heavily on Paulina, making them both stumble around. “Walk on your own, please.”

Frank did his best to stand straighter, though not by much. “I love you, P’lina,” he giggled, throwing his arm around her neck and planting a big, sloppy kiss on her face. Paulina pulled away and quickly rubbed her cheek against her shoulder. “You’re s’ch a good girlfr’nd.”

“Frankie,” she said, wondering if she could lead him back into the limo without his noticing. No, he seemed intent on getting coffee. Paulina opened the door of the shop and quickly ushered him inside. “I’m not actually your girlfriend, remember? We’re just playing pretend. Remember?”

“But P’lina,” he whimpered, trying to press his face into hers for another kiss. “I love you. Don’ you love me?” Paulina glanced longingly at the counter, wishing they could walk up, order, and leave. She sighed.

“Yes, Frankie. I was just kidding. Now go get your coffee.” The man straightened to his full height, cracked his neck, and sauntered shakily up to the counter, where a pimple-faced blond boy stood, plastic cup and permanent marker at the ready.

“What can I get you, sir?” the boy asked in a bored tone.

“I,” Frank began in a voice that suggested that all should listen to what he had to say. “Will have a lot of coffee. Black. Like that shirt y’r wearin’. And she’ll have a big tea. The pink kind with lem’nade in it.” At this, Frank leaned into the counter, talking to the boy in a loud whisper conspiratorially. “She loves that stuff. I pr’tend like I don’t know, so I don’ seem like I care, but I know!” He tapped his index finger against his temple and nodded. The poor barista just looked at the drunk man, nodded, and scribbled on the cups.

“Do you want that tea sweetened?” he seemed almost frightened to ask.

“Yes. Thank you. I’m so sorry,” Paulina said, pulling out Frank’s credit card and signing the little machine on the counter for him. She waved grimly and walked him over to the bar end of the café to wait for their order.

“Wha’s wrong, d’rling?” Frank bit his lip sadly and aimed a pair of puppy-dog eyes down at Paulina, who, despite herself, allowed a small smile.

“You,” she said, grabbing their drinks and walking out the door, knowing Frank would follow wherever his much-coveted coffee was going. She nearly leapt into the seat of the limo, slamming the door closed the moment Frank was inside. “Are embarrassing.” She handed him his coffee, half of which he knocked back in three large gulps. He added a generous amount of bourbon to the remaining half, swishing it around for a moment to mix. He took a large swig and smiled, gulping down small amounts at a time, his full cheeks gradually shrinking.

“To the apar’men’!” he exclaimed, collapsing back into his seat, picking up the dropped bourbon bottle and adding more to his coffee. The driver sped off, obviously just as anxious to get the two out of his limousine as Paulina was.

The forty-five minute ride back was torturous; Frank was constantly hanging on Paulina, trying to kiss her more, professing his love for her, asking her to marry him. She accepted his offer three times and declined it nine. Finally, they pulled up to the apartment, and the driver himself got out, walked around, and opened the door for the two, closing it quickly the moment they were both out.

“Thank you,” Paulina said as the man was getting back into his limousine. “I’m really sorry,” she added, but he’d already driven off. Paulina sighed and grabbed the keys from the fumbling Frank, easily sliding it into the lock and pushing the door open. “Get inside,” she said. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“P’lina,” Frank said as she sat him down on the couch in front of the television. “I’m hungry.”

“Frank,” she said, looking at him disbelievingly. “We were just out. Why didn’t you say something then?” He just gave her puppy-eyes again, grabbing her hand and kissing her fingers. Paulina pulled her hand away. “Fine. Where’s your phone?” He foraged in his pockets for a moment before producing his cellular, which Paulina took and used to look up the nearest pizza place. She told Frank to be quiet while she was on the phone, and he nodded and laid his head in her lap.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’d like to place an order for delivery.” Paulina found herself pushing her hand through Frank’s hair where his head lay atop her legs. He was pretty peaceful when he wasn’t making any noise or moving. “I’d like one large cheese pizza. And…” Paulina thought back to their empty refrigerator. “You’ve got soda too, right?”

“We do.”

“Alright, we’ll take a two-liter of Coke, as well. Anything else?” She addressed the man with her on the couch.

“Cookies,” he mumbled, reaching his arms around Paulina’s waist and almost making her fall over on top of him.

“Whoah, whoah,” she said. “Sorry.” She returned to the man on the phone. “Umm…Listen, there’s a $50 tip in there if you stop at a bakery on the way and get us a big black-and-white cookie.” Cookies? Vaguely, in the back of her mind, Paulina knew what she should have done.

What she should have done was call the police. Or an ambulance. Or the Funny Farm to take away all five men that had held her captive for six months. Paulina looked back down at Frank, who was rubbing his cheek on the soft fabric of his shirt that covered Paulina’s lap. He was humming softly to himself, eyes closed, and his breathing was deep and even. She kept running her fingers through his shaggy, black hair. She couldn’t just leave him like this right now. He needed her right now…She closed the phone and placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Want to watch some T.V.?” she asked Frank, who nodded his head in her lap. She turned on the television and flipped through, landing on some old cartoons. “This good?” He nodded again. Paulina pulled her legs up and crossed them on the couch, now free to use both her hands to run through his hair. He sighed contentedly, which made Paulina smile, slightly. He seemed to be falling asleep. Maybe if he slept for a while, he’d sober up. Paulina could only hope. After about twenty minutes of the two beginning to nod off to sleep to the sounds of cartoons, the doorbell rang. Paulina groaned. “You go.”

Frank made a noise of objection. “You go. You ordered.”

“You wanted it.”

“I own you. Go.” Despite his words, Frank tightened his hold around Paulina’s waist. She sighed and stood, pushing him away.

“I need your card,” she said, stopping halfway to the door. A leather wallet came flying from behind the couch, which Paulina just barely caught. “Asshole,” she muttered.

“Here’s your pizza,” the delivery-boy, probably around Paulina’s age, said when she opened the door. He handed over the box, in addition to a white bag. “And your cookie,” he added pointedly.

“As promised,” Paulina muttered, smiling at him as she scribbled in $50 on the tip line of the receipt. She watched the boy as he walked away and trotted down the stairs, probably on his way to another delivery.

Paulina could have just walked out, left, and it probably would have taken the groggy, still half-asleep Frank at least a few minutes to realize it. She could get as far as a payphone, call the police, tell everything she’d been through the past half-year. But…She looked back at the couch, where she knew Frank was laying, waiting for her to come back so he could lay his head back into her lap, so she could stroke his hair some more, eat pizza with him, and maybe watch the cartoons that were on. Maybe he’d put his arm around her waist again, and hold her close. Maybe he’d sobered up to the point where he was back to his real self, where he could hold a conversation, and make Paulina feel safer in his presence. She closed the door, carrying the box and the bag over to the couch and setting the food on the coffee table, beside the phone that could have granted her freedom.

If she’d have wanted it.



So...it's been a while since I've updated that...it's been even longer since I updated my other story. Typically, my motto is that I update the story that's gone the longest without an update first, but I've come to terms with the fact that I'm blocked with that story, and am anxious to get this one rolling along. So I guess that other one's on hold, at least for now. So what did you think of this one? More happened in this one, you know. Paulina pussied out of running out, but is that a good thing? What do you think? I want your opinions on where you think this is going. Yea? Nay? Can you predict what I'm thinking of doing? Probably not, but I'd like to see you try. ;] Okay, so...go comment, rate, and subscribe, please, and I'll work on the next update. OverAndOutxx