Lola goes home with Patrick and has an interesting conversation with Pete.
An update? Fuck yes. I've been quite the busy bee as of late. A mental block has been weighing down on my poor little brain, but inspiration annihilated it. I've been hard at work on chapter 3 of "Rock the Cradle of Love" AND the DoJ collabo. Crazy, no? I still have some technicalities to work out with the collaboration, but other than that, expect some insane updates. P.S. If you can tell me where the title of this chapter came from...WITHOUT Google-ing it, I'll love you forever...and maybe I'll throw you in one of my stories.
After our little heart to heart, Patrick offered to take me back home. It was obvious I wasn't in a party mood. Once I alerted my brother, we were on our way. The car ride was relatively quiet except for the radio softly gliding over the silence.
"So, am I taking you back to Pete's or do you want me to drop you off at your mom's?" He asked softly, expertly guiding the steering wheel. There was no way I could to back to Pete's. And I sure as hell didn't want to run the gauntlet of questions my mother would no doubt have regarding my coming home early from a party. He sensed my hesitation and smiled.
"OK, how about this. You can play couch commando at my and Joe's apartment for a while," He paused, briefly glancing over at me. "If you want." He threw in. I smiled widely at my savior.
"Thanks, Patrick." We arrived at a typical brick apartment building in the city. Nothing impressive. The florescent lights flickered and hummed as we made the trek to the third floor.
"Sorry, the elevator is out." He mumbled sheepishly as he pulled out a key from his pocket. With clumsy, hurried hands, he fumbled with the lock, continuing to act contrite and offer apologies. I found it unnecessary and quite frankly, annoying but his nervous mannerisms worked in his favor. It was kind of endearing.
He managed to work the lock open, giving way to a classic male apartment. Clothes littered the tattered couch while empty cans of various beer and soda overran the coffee table. I shuttered at the thought of what condition their kitchen was in. Or worse...the bathroom.
"Wow. This is...this is disgusting." He chuckled nervously before rubbing the back of his neck.
"We try." And succeed you did.
This was a new world for me. A world without hampers, without clean dishes, without visual shots of the carpet. This was man-world.
I gingerly sat upon the sofa and reluctantly leaned back. Patrick smiled down at me, clearly amused.
"Cleanliness is not our strong point." He sighed as he sat down next to me.
"Really? You'd never know it." He shrugged and grinned.
"You wanna watch a movie?" The male asked after a bit of silence.
"Sure. What do you have?" He quickly got up and headed to their entertainment center.
"Mallrats, The Fugitive, Beetlejuice, Release the Bats." He held up the familiar DVD case and wiggled it around in an attempt to entice. I crinkled my nose and shook my head.
"I'll pass thanks." He continued to rattle off a few titles.
"Star Wars, Return of the Jedi, The Empire Strikes Back, Road Trip, The Labyrinth, Lion King-"
"The Lion King?" I repeated, a smirk upon my face. He turned and frowned at me.
"It's got some sweet fight scenes." He said, making his voice a pitch deeper.
"Sure. You got the Little Mermaid too?" We shared a silly grin.
"That would be in Joe's private collection. Now, as I was saying; The Lion King, Sixteen Candles, Harry and the Hendersons, the-"
"Oooh, that one! Harry and the Hendersons." He nodded, grabbed the "chosen one" and placed it in the DVD player before returning to his spot on the couch. It wasn't long before the sandman was tugging at my eyelids, daring them to resist the urge to sleep.
I opened my eyes, only to be met something yellow blocking my vision. My hand blindly probed at my forehead. A Post-It? I yanked the golden piece of paper from my brow, taking some hair and probably some skin with it, and peered down at the note left for me.
Patrick and I went out for a while. We'll be back eventually with something edible. Don't burn the place down, the lease isn't up yet. Love you.
With a flick of the wrist, I tossed the note onto the coffee table. He just can't leave notes like a normal person, can he?
This was a golden opportunity. With the guys gone, I could do some serious hygienic damage. God knows the last time they Windex-ed. I was determined to get this place close to inhabitable. So armed with a spray bottle full of disinfectant, boat loads of paper towels, and courage; I pressed on, cleaning everything in sight. I was a dusting, vacuuming, and sweeping machine. Within hours, I had most of the apartment sparkling, the only exception being the boys' room and the bathroom. I wasn't strong enough to handle a mess of that magnitude. Now all that was left were the dishes piled up in the sink of the kitchen.
I turned on the water, letting the tepid liquid slip through my fingers until it turned hot. The textured sponge produced white, fluffy, cloud-like suds without difficulty. The front door opening caught my attention momentarily, but I brought my focus back to the grease-encrusted pan. Two warm hands slid around my waist as a chin rested on the top of my head. I tensed, feeling the heat rise to my face.
"Where were you last night? I came home and you weren't there."
"I'm sure you were fairly concerned." My voice stayed low and unexpectedly composed.
"I was. I called your brother and he said you crashed here. What's up?" I scrubbed harder, hoping it would keep me from ripping his head off.
"Ya know, you're quite the actor. I had almost forgotten." I spat, continuing to maintain my focus on the dishes.
"What are you talking about?" He asked, pulling away from me.
"Wow, maybe your stupidity and oblivion isn't an act." He roughly grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, sending the sponge in my hand flying.
"Talk to me." The male whispered, looking down at me with those deep brown eyes.
"You wanna talk?!?!" I screamed, sensing my hands turning to angry little fists. "Let's fucking talk about you and that fucking hoebageler!* I saw you with her last night!"
"Hoebageler? Would you calm down? It's not like that."
"Not like what? It's not like you ran right back to her after we hit a little snag? What kind of psychotic response is that, Pete?" I pressed my hands against his chest and gave him a sharp shove. He faltered backward slightly, eyes wide with alarm.
"What did you expect? You made it perfectly clear you couldn't forgive me!" His voice grew in volume.
"Apparently I expected too much from you. That's always been my downfall." He narrowed his eyes at me.
"You can also add frigid to the list, along with unforgiving and-"
"You wanna talk downfalls? Your inability to keep your dick in your pants, your propensity for fucking ugly trolls, you-"
"Well I did fuck you, didn't I?" My mouth dropped. Without hesitation, I grabbed a plate from the drying rack and hurled it at his head. After all this time, his reflexes were still good; he dodging the platter, letting it collide with the wall and shatter into numerous razor sharp shards.
"Get out!" I screeched, flinging a coffee mug at him. That too joined its counterpart on the floor just after it smashed against a barrier.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!?!" He yelled as he gripped my wrists and pinned them at my sides.
"You! You're what's wrong with me!" I tried to push him away, but he was bigger and stronger than myself.
"What the fuck is going on in here?" Patrick stood in the kitchen doorway, grocery bags in his arms. His bewildered stare shifted from us to the broken dishes then back to us. "Is that my 'Smurf's' coffee mug?" Using the moment, I pulled my wrists out of a distracted Pete's grasp.
"Nothing's going on. I was just leaving." He growled and made an immediate exit out of the apartment and hopefully, off the face of the Earth.
"Bye?" Patrick waved awkwardly and placed his bags on the counter. "Are you OK?" I nodded and meekly rubbed at my sore wrists. I stood vacantly as my brain attempted to comprehend what had just taken place. Any sort of reconciliation would be futile. Together, we managed to hammer away at the final nail in the coffin. Pride, stubbornness, and hurt feelings would somehow always prevent the making of amends.
I stared down at the mess on the tiled floor. When Joe no doubtingly passes Pete in the hallway and then feasts his eyes upon the destroyed flatware, he'd inevitably figure there was a confrontation. He'll have no choice but to inquire.
"Oh God. I gotta clean this up before Joe sees it." I frantically ripped open cabinet after cabinet in search of something to clean it up with.
"Lola, stop. You're freaking out when there's no need for it." He gently held my shoulders, keeping me in place. "There's a dustpan under the sink." Just as I knelt to sweep up the plate's remains, Joe emerged from the living room also carrying two brown paper bags. His light eyes immediately focused on me.
"What happened?" He asked as he placed the sacks on a counter. I opened my mouth to speak, but Patrick beat me to it.
"She was putting some dishes away but I scared her and she dropped them." I looked up at my brother and nodded lamely.
"You're such a girl, Lola." My sibling taunted and began to put groceries away. "So what did Pete want? He seemed like he was pissed or something." My new best friend fielded this question too, much to my relief.
"He just dropped off some lyrics for me to look over. You know how he gets when he's in writing mode." Joe bobbed his head in agreement.
"Should we be worried?" Patrick shrugged.
"Nah. Pete is just being Pete." I sighed quietly to myself and mouthed 'thank you' to my accomplice. He simply grinned and busied himself with helping Joe restock the kitchen.
*Aahahahhaaa, Loveline. My spell check nearly exploded at the sight of this word.