When Time Ran Crooked

8 hours, 2 minutes and 47 seconds Until

St. Andrews Bar looked like the sort of place where nothing ever happened, until Claude Martin walked in.

I had to walk four miles from the gas station to St. Andrews, which I mainly ran (see, it sounds kind of impressive, but it's because I was listening to Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas is You on loop and that shit really gave me those running groves). So although it took me a while to get there, it wasn't so long that Claude could cause complete and utter chaos. But I guess I had never tried putting the whitest person I knew in the whitest bar I had ever seen. Because opposites attract, not those who are similar.

That's how I walked in on Claude Martin whacking another man with a chair. To be honest, I was kind of surprised he had the upper body strength for it.

Claude laughed as the other guy fell over. "Take that, motherfuuuuuuuuucker."

Claude was drunk.

At this point, the whole bar had turned to watch this fight break out over their gingerbread beers and Christmas sweaters as Silent Night played. A couple of them chuckled at Claude, who smirked lazily.

But then the other guy, who had just been knocked over by a fucking chair, started to rise again. He was not pleased. And he was much bigger than Claude was.

Claude squeezed the chair in hands, pulling it back for another. And then the Giant (because, I mean, that's what his opponent looked like) plucked it out of his fingers and threw it back. It crashed against the wall. I looked behind the bar for a bartender, but there was no one there. Honestly, where the fuck were the bar staff and why weren't they calling the police?

"I'm not scared of you," Claude mumbled, stepping forward and stumbling on his feet. "I'm a WWE champion."

A bunch of the guys laughed, including the Giant.

"I'll give you one more chance before I end you. Just hand over the shirt," Claude demanded, in such a falsely serious tone that he ended up giggling at the end. He put his hands on his knees, bending over as laughter took over.

As Claude laughed, I took the opportunity to look at what Claude was referring to. Indeed, in the Giant's hands, was a purple clump. Presumably the tee-shirt he had mentioned before, but I couldn't tell what was so special about it.

That's when the Giant punched him.

Honestly, it happened so fast that I barely even saw it happen. The Giant's arm blurred like he broke the very laws of time, wrapping Claude in it, until he fell back. I doubted Claude had ever been punched so hard in his life, and the poor man collapsed backwards, stumbling into the chairs behind him. He did not get up.

I ran to Claude, weaving in and out of the crowd until I was leaning over him. He had been knocked down, hunched awkwardly over a group of chairs. There was blood on his face. I grabbed his shoulders, pushing him gently up into a sitting position. Claude's head lolled over, hitting the side of a chair, and he moaned.

"Oh, shit," I cursed. I grabbed his cheeks, so I could look at his face. "I'm sorry, baby. Are you okay?"

He blinked, and then proceeded to giggle. "You called me baby."

I scowled at him. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't," I insisted, again, quickly frustrated. "And is that seriously what matters to you after I find you, drunk despite you stupid vow to sobriety and getting your ass kicked in a bar?"

But he's just giggling.

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, let's get you out of here-"

"Having your woman drag you out?" The Giant interrupted, glaring at Claude. "Even I couldn't have guessed something so pathetic."

And then the Giant laughed. I hadn't even realized I was angry until he started to. Because, sure, Claude was Claude. The first time I met him, he practically plowed through me so he could be the first in line to check in to his flight. He was an annoying bastard. But he was also so much more, especially more than this asshole. And I wasn't just about to let some asshole beat up my bastard.

"Who are you calling pathetic, Steroids?" I demanded, rising to my feet.

"Steroids?" The Giant repeated. "I'll have you know that my muscles have been naturally acquired, thank you very much."

"Naturally inquired? Well, so is my foot, which I will be promptly shoving up your ass," I snapped.

A couple of the bar guests ooh'd.

The Giant narrowed his eyes. "Look, miss, I'm not interested in fighting a girl."

"Well, I'm not usually interested in fighting guys who over-compensate for their micropenis with muscles, but I'll make an exception," I replied, coolly. "And, just so you know, I'm no one's woman."

"Oh, honey, you don't want to start a fight with me," he growled.

"Why, because you are supposedly bigger than me?" I retorted. "I think I can handle myself."

"You stupid bitc-"

And that's when I swung my leg out and kicked him in the crotch, as hard as I could. The Giant groaned, quickly falling to his knees.

I smirked. "Honestly, the crotch kick is the oldest trick in the book, and assholes like you never seem to expect it."

And then I punched him in the face, knocking him to his back, for good measure. Honestly, it really hurt my hand, but I was really appreciating that everyone was looking at me like I was a complete and total badass (which I was, but you know, the appreciation was nice), so I didn't say anything. Quickly, I leaned over and grabbed the purple clump for the Giant's hands, the one that Claude hand been so insistent on getting.

Quickly, I wrapped an arm around Claude's shoulders and helped him to his feet. He was still giggling, and his head rolled into the crook of my neck. I felt his lips stir against my skin. "Goodness, Bea. You're like . . . a warrior. A warrior goddess."

"I told you not to mess with me," I replied, but I couldn't help but smile as we reached the bar door. "Please tell me you have the keys."

"They're in my pocket," he murmured. After a moment of digging through the aforementioned pocket, he handed them to me.

I snatched them up from his hands, and pushed open the door. The cold washed over me as I spotted the rental car, and tugged us towards it.

"Hey, you grabbed the shirt," Claude mumbled as I unlocked the back door, so I could shove him in.

Indeed, the purple clump was still in my hands. "Oh, yeah. Why the fuck did you want it?"

"It's a present for you," he told me, kissing my neck.

I blushed, feeling the tender movement. "Get into the car."

"Look at it first," he insisted.

"I'll look at it if you get into the car," I told him.

Begrudgingly, he arose to the backseat of the car. I attempted to shut the door, but he kept his long legs in the way, sitting sideways.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Claude."

"What happened to baby?"

"Oh, fuck off," I snapped, but he was grinning and I hated it.

"Look at my present for you, babe," he murmured back, teasingly.

I unfolded the shirt. It was a basic purple shirt, but plastered on the front was a picture of Adam Levine advertising Maroon 5's latest tour. I scowled. "Claude, why the hell di-"

Then his voice floated into my head. What do I need to do to be a man? Should I ask Julian? Should I ask, I don't know, like fucking Adam Levine?

And then it all started to fall together.

I glanced up at him. His eyes were still glazed over because he was a total fucking lightweight, and his nose was bleeding and his right eye looked like it was going to swell shut. He smiled, sadly. "I told you I was man enough for you. I even asked fucking Adam Levine."

I couldn't help but laugh, even though it hurt. Claude did this to himself for me. I felt the self-loathing boiling my blood. "You shouldn't have done this."

Claude frowned. "And why not?"

"Because this isn't going to change my mind about us," I murmured, and now I couldn't look at him and those blue, blue eyes.

"But you said you needed me to be a man."

"Claude, you're already a man, don't you see that?" I demanded. "You were a man because you chose to not drink. You were a man because you made your own choices without feeling the need to comply to society."

"I'm a virgin," he argued, and his face clouded with shame.

"And you're an idiot for feeling bad about that," I snapped.

"You were the one who said they need a man in the sheets."

"You know what? I'm not talking about this. I want to get home," I told him. "And didn't you say you had that fucking Christmas party to go to? And then you go ahead and get hammered."

"Casse toi," he murmured.

"I have no clue what you just said, but right back at you," I hissed. "Now let me check if you're fucking concussed. I don't want a lawsuit because you can't handle your liquor."

*
Hey Reader!

Notice: so sorry for being the actual absolute worst with updating. I've just been so busy with college apps and then I stage managed a musical, and then have had semester finals so they've been kicking my butt. But now I'm back (hopefully), so I thought I'd give you guys two updates ☺️☺️

Thanks for being wonderful readers

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