He turns on his heels and I watch him march off through the snow. “You can’t just leave me here!”
“You know it wasn’t my fault!” I call down the sidewalk.
I turn in a circle, taking in my surroundings. “Eric!” He keeps walking.
My breath escapes into the cold air from an exasperated sigh. I recognize zero of the buildings on the narrow street, aside from the library we just came from. I wrap my coat tighter, fighting the cold air. I guess I could go find the man that caused this fight.
“Hey!” I call across the silent room, earning myself a few annoyed glares.
The stranger gives an arrogant smirk. “You missed me!” He extends his arm, as if welcoming me back.
“Yeah right, asshole.” I won’t dignify his cocky behavior, which is currently overriding his rugged good looks. “Your flirting,” I jab my finger firmly into his chest. “Got me into a fight with my boyfriend.”
I wondered if he could see the steam pouring from my ears.
“Doll,” He drawls, poking out his lower lip.
How does this guy even stand up right? Doesn’t his neck hurt from having such a BIG HEAD?! I grit my teeth “Listen, I just need a ride back to my apartment and considering it’s your fault I had to trudge through the snow, just to come back in here…” I think I’ve got the point into his thick skull.
I expected no less of his car, he had expensive taste. Everything about it screamed privileged white guy. It was everything I could do not to reach across the car and punch him directly in the nose.
“Doll, I know I’m handsome, but didn’t your mom ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
Ughh. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to harass women?” I retort with a roll of my eyes. I face forward setting my eyes on the road. I point down streets, making numerous wrongs turns, praying to God I can get back to my apartment and away from this guy I will never, ever have to see again.
2 am, that’s what time I got home, 2 am. It feels like a monkey is banging those tiny little cymbals things, those stupid brass round instruments in the middle of my brain. Maybe, it’s from over-rubbing my forehead at the immense stupidity of that moron. I stare at my reflection, bloodshot eyes stare back. My brunette hair is disheveled, possibly from the several occasions where I passed out on his dashboard. Even my eyes were hallucinating, sudden movements would flash by the bathroom doorframe. I was delirious without sleep.
I swivel around on the balls of my feet, this was no hallucination. A six foot figure was swaying towards me. In a drunken swagger a man with a possible weapon in hand, made his way backwards from the front door which was currently ajar. I thought out my ways of escape, sizing up my attacker and the distance between us. In the end, I decided he had at least 75 pounds on me and even if I somehow miraculously got past him it meant running and I knew I was in no condition for that. There was only one thing to do and at the very least it would piss him off. My scream pierced through the air, leaving my throat dry and my lungs breathless.
“Damn, doll you’ve got a set of pipes.” I could smell the liquor rolling off his tongue.
It took me about .2 seconds to get over my fears and straight into anger, this guy really brings out the worst in people.
“What in the world are you doing back at my apartment?! I asked for a ride, not a body guard and what the hell you’re -shut the front door- drunk. You came back to my apartment at 2 am drunk, which also means you were drinking and driving, which is the dumbest, most irresponsible –I said shut the front door- thing you could ever do. You could’ve gotten into an accident and been killed or even worse killed someone else, possibly an innocent child.” A smirk has crossed over his face. “Are you even listening?! Because I’ve asked you twice to shut the door and it’s still wide open. Someone could walk right in and kill us both, which by the way is what I thought you were doing. Plus, damn it, it’s winter and I am standing here in really short shorts freezing.” I would probably blush with the mention of my less-than-conservative pajamas if it weren’t for the fact that all the heat had already risen to my face when I first started screaming.
He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face, I wasn’t sure if he could form a coherent sentence even if he wanted too. “You’re slow, stove, so hot when you get mad.” He proceeds to tip over onto my bed, spreading his arms and legs open like a child. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me, stumbling, into his chest, which is currently covered in warm sweat. His other hand, also sweaty, goes directly to my butt. I lift my chin to confront him, but his only response is a low snore. I could not carry a snoring, 175 pound man 40 feet to his car. I have been defeated.
The smell of cookies wafted through my small apartment, was this what a burning building smelled like? Unless, I sleep-walked into the kitchen, started the oven, scooped dough onto a platter and baked cookies, my building was on fire and it smelled like cookies. I rolled my eyes open to a shirtless man in jeans in my kitchen. I did not own a shirtless man. “Sleeping beauty has awoken!” The handsome, shirtless man with a perfect smile grins. This was like a scene straight out of 13 going on 30. I, who looked nothing like Jennifer Garner, woke up in a strange place (well, actually, I don’t think I’d consider my apartment strange because honestly it was the opposite, it was bleh) to be greeted by a hot naked man (again, an exaggeration, he had on pants) who was calling me names like babe (or sleeping beauty.) Never mind, it was nothing like 13 going on 30. “Dude, you have 10 seconds to get out or I’ll scream, leave the cookies.” I didn’t feel like dealing with this crap today. “Oh gosh, not again.” His Australian accent drawls like the plea of a child. “Again? Dude, please just get-“ Hmm, it took me this long to remember last night’s events? “You drive me insane. I don’t even know your name and you feel like it is okay to just waltz into my apartment and crash on my couch after nearly scaring me half to death then getting up at 10am to bake cookies?” He smirks, leaning lazily against the handle of my oven, half of a chocolate chip cookie dangling from his mouth. “It’s Christian.”
