Save Me From Myself

Chapter 18- Collisions

Danny's POV

On an official and unofficial note I may win the award for the worst boyfriend ever. Worst. I arrived in Dublin a few days before Al and I literally trashed her apartment. I can imagine her going inside the apartment building, taking the lift, fishing for her keys in her bag. I can hear the clicking of her heels on the marble floor in the hall and I can see her face turning from happy to furious in less then a second when she will see this mess.

The mess me, Mark and Glen made while we were trying to fix a damn shelf. You would think three grown men can fix a shelf. Three grown men, not us, we were great at destroying things, not fixing them. It all started with me, letting her know I'm coming earlier.

"Baby, if you're coming earlier please let the landlord know about the shelf in the living room and the washing machine. He'll let you know when the handyman arrives, so you can let him in."

And my answer was.

"Baby I'm a grown man I can do that myself! The lads will help! We have everything under control!", I boasted as she kept on telling me I wasn't a handyman and the lads wouldn't be of any help either.

The house looked like crap. Me, followed by Mark and Glen and a couple of toolkits we found in my mom's basement entered the nice, posh apartment she had.

We couldn't start doing anything without taking a break first. After a dozen beers, two bottles of wine and one bottle of vodka, our brains decided to think that we were handymen. The best ones there were. Now the shelf is down the wall, barely holding itself in two bolts, the wall where the shelf initially was all cracked and the washing machine, instead of making the weird noises, made a big puddle.

Apart from that the whole room was filled with beer bottles, wine bottles, crisp bags and pizza boxes. Oh and of course a hammered Mark, a sleepy Glen and me with a bruised ego, mainly because I hit myself with a wrench a night before.

I started pushing both Mark and Glen, forcing them to wake up. Al will fucking kill us and paint the room red with our blood.

"Wake up idiots!", I started screaming in their ears as I was shaking them.
"What happened?"
"Al, Al texted me, she's coming tonight and the whole house looks like a shithole!"
"What? Wait! She is?", Glen said as he realised the storm this whole site will cause.
"Oh, hold yer horses Dan, you'll get laid!", mumbled Mark from underneath a pillow.
"I will get killed! No, the three of us will get killed! Oh shit! Grab some bags Glen, let's clean up the whole mess!", I said ripping open a plastic bag and throwing the rest in Glen's lap.
"Why are you fucking screaming so much Dan! You fucktard! I wanna sleep!", yelled Mark still underneath the pillow.
"Because Al will freak when she sees this!"
"Al is fucking 5'7", you're 6'4" you'd know better than to be scared of her! It's not like she's lethal or anything!"

Just as Mark finished his sentence I heard the key in the door twisting. Oh shit! There is only one person apart from me that had the key to the apartment. I could hear the troller being rolled down the hall and the click of heels. She was home.

"Oh shit she's home!", I whispered to Glen.
"At least we cleaned the mess, partially...Now we'll just have to pray she is in a good mood.", whispered Glen back.

I heard her voice on the hallway calling out my name.

"Dan, baby, boys are you here?", her voice started getting louder as she was approaching the living room.

No chance of hiding this. I will have to face the irony and the sarcasm, probably for the next ten Christmases. My children will hear the story that starts like this.

"Do you kids wanna know how daddy fucked up mummy's apartment when they were dating? He thought he was a handyman!"

"In here baby!", I yelled back gutted.