#barely restraining myself from driving there and. either screaming or beating the shit out of someone or both. im so fucking fed up

[holographicbutch]

Full of so much rage and hate right now but all I can do is sit about it and that makes me even angrier

[pulpwriterx]

RESURRECTION: CHAPTER THREE

(Author’s Note: Yes, I am using this photo, O Best Beloved, because this is the Chapter with the naughty bits. So, warning for mature and explicit content. If that’s not your thing, wait for Chapter 4)

Chapter Three: A VERY Happy Ending

(Not the last chapter.)

The first thing Ben realised was this wasn’t just a tent, it was Rey’s home.

The only home she had in the world.

He was impressed by what she had done with it and upset by her abject poverty at the same time.

But that was OK.

Ben Solo had been as successful as a ruthless fucking pirate as Kylo Ren had been as a ruthless fucking warlord, so he was filthy fucking rich.

Meanwhile, Rey had made everything in the room out of scavenged garbage.

The bed was made out of part of a wrecked Star Destroyer.

She was in it.

He took the helmet off, and sat down, beside her makeshift bed.

This was what had made him fight his would be captors like a raging Wookiee.

Rey.

They were going to get that happy ending, and that happily ever after, too.

But first?

Ben touched her sad little face.

It was stained with tears, and she was snuggling with a dirty black rag.

The shirt he had been wearing on Exegol.

It was enough to break his heart.

“My poor baby. I am going to turn that fucking frown upside down. One Adults Only Surprise Happy Ending, coming right up.” He muttered to himself.

Ben took off the blast helmet, put it aside, moved back the covers and got into bed with Rey.

It was a little snug, but he didn’t mind having to be close to her.

Her little body felt good next to his, the way he had always known it would, and Ben rose to the occasion.

Admirably.

He put his arms around her, and nuzzled Rey’s neck with his nose.

Kissed her ear.

Put his hands under the A-line undershirt she had on to sleep in.

“Rey? Shake dreams from your eyes,  Rebel Girl. Your prince is here. Get rid of that dirty shirt and rub me all over your pretty little tits.” He whispered in her ear.

“Oh, Ben! I knew you would come to me in my dreams! I don’t ever want to wake up. Make love to me, please! I want you, take me now!’

“Oh, fuck yeah!”

Oh, fuck yeah was not the most romantic thing you could say to the woman you had come back from oneness with the Force to be with, but he had been waiting about five long years for those magic words to fall from Rey’s perfect little lips.

He hoped he could coax some more interesting obscenities out of those perfect little lips before the night was over.

Ben pulled his ragged shirt out of her arms, pulled the undershirt off of her, rolled Rey over on her back and kissed her, hard, on the mouth.

She seemed surprised.

“Ben! You’re really here!”

But he already knew that.

Did she think he was a dream?

Did he have to keep having a conversation with her?

Ben was rather in a stage of shameless hot lust that made conversation difficult, but he tried.

“Yeah, I am. You’re not dreaming.  Sorry I ripped you shirt. You can have mine. I don’t wear underwear.”

He winked at her, and got down to business.

He kissed Rey’s neck, and her throat, and her breasts, running his tongue around her nipples in tight little circles.

Rey held his head against her body and moaned.

But then she started making conversation, again.

“Ben! You’re alive!”

“You bet your hot little ass I am.”

Ben ran his tongue from between her breasts, down to her belly button.

He started planting little kisses along her thigh, snaked his tongue out and slid it, slowly from the middle of her thigh, all the way up to her clit.

Which was hot and swollen with the anticipation of his touch.

They both groaned with barely-restrained desire.

“But, how are you alive?”

Ben dropped his head onto Rey’s thigh, and began beating the fuselage of her bed with his fist.

This was not the kind of talk he was looking for.

He lifted his head and looked Rey in the eye.

“Rey, honey, my cock is hard as Beskar steel, and I’m licking your sweet, hot pussy. Can I answer all your questions, later? After you've come in my mouth, and deep-throated my fat ten-inch cock and I’ve fucked you, hard, so hard, so fucking hard in your tight, wet, undulating cunt that we both come our brains out all over each other? Can we talk then? Hmmm?”

“Oh, Ben!” Rey gasped.

Her whole body quivered under him.

That was more like it.

“Is that the dirtiest thing a man’s ever said to you, Rebel Girl?

Rey nodded.

“Do you like it?”

Rey nodded more vigorously.

“Wait until I do it. Then you’ll love it.”

Rey nodded, eagerly, none too gently inclining his head back to where it was.

Now that was more like it

Ben closed his eyes, sighing, and slowly slid his tongue up her sweet Rebel cunt.

He knew he was good, so he let Rey pull his hair a little.

It felt good to be alive.

***

Rey lay on her side, curled up against Ben’s chest.

He was holding her in one arm, and the other was behind his head.

He was smiling from ear.

“You did more than scavenge on Jakku, you bad girl! You take ten inches like a champ. I’ll bet you went to bed with flyboys like me.”

“I went to bed with a few flyboys. Not everybody. But none of them were like you! Ben, you were just…that was…I mean I never even saw...”

Rey was at a loss for words.

“Thank you. I practice. A lot. Sometimes by myself, even.”

Rey laughed.

“Do you want to hear the good news, or the bad news, first.” Ben asked.

“The bad news.” Rey told him.

“The bad news is, I have no idea why I’m alive. Or how I came back. Or why it took two days to do it. I didn’t see anybody. The last thing I knew I was trying to kiss you again, and everything got distant and cold. It felt like I was falling asleep, except I knew it was going to be the big sleep. But I had a dream. A real short dream. My grandfather, who kept changing from Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader and back again  was driving me across the desert of Tattoine in a speeder. I couldn’t talk and he didn’t. Then, he turned to me, and his face kept changing. Mask. No mask. Mask. No mask. And he told me to jump out of the moving speeder. I did it, and I woke up naked in a cave on Exegol. And there’s more bad news.”

“What?��

“You just fucked the most wanted man in the Galaxy. If there’s anybody left alive to suspect I’m Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader and not Ben Solo, Hero of the Resistance? I’m dead. Or in jail, forever.”

“What’s the good news?”

“I’m alive! Who cares why or what for! I’m alive and I’m free, and you’re free now, too. That and I have a place to hide out where I stashed money and supplies. It’s on Tattoine. I got about five years worth. And I have an alias and a story all lined up. That should be more than enough time for this Kylo Ren shit to die down, and the Legend of Ben Solo to replace it. I even have an X-Wing coded to me. So, we should get up, get dressed, you should pack, and let’s get the fuck off this rock before everyone wakes up.”

Then, Rey surprised him.

He felt her hand creep across his thigh, and close over the base of his cock.

“Everyone’s been celebrating for days. If the Force ghost of Lord Vader, himself came to the party? Someone would get him a beer. We have time.”

“Rey, honey, it’s not like I couldn’t do it again. It’s a big gun, I got more than just one bullet. It’s not that I don’t want to, either. But I gotta get out of here before my mother figures out I'm back.”

Rey gave him a dirty look.

Then she surprised him.

She got out from under the covers and positioned herself on all fours in front of him.

Pretty much sticking her ass in his face.

This was not good.

His resolve was quickly leaving him as all the blood left the part of his body he thought with and rushed to the part of his body he fucked with.

“Are you going to be bad now? I love to see a good girl go bad.”

Rey looked over her shoulder.

“I like to be licked from behind. Also to be fucked from behind. And, I’ve never let a man take me that way, before, but I want you up my ass.”

For a moment, Ben Solo, hotshot flyboy and sexual Death Star was actually shocked.

But not for long.

“Fuck it! It’s worth it!” he snarled.

***

Rey's attempt to be dirty was entirely dwarfed by Ben's ungovernable wicked lust and his capacity for absolute filthiness.

She had intended to drive him wild with lust, but Rey had no idea just how wild that would be.

He got out of bed and stood in front of her.

Snorting out of his great nostrils like a raging bull in rut, his dark ancient eyes on fire with his own heat.

“Suck my cock until I make you stop, you bad little Rebel Girl. And you are going to swallow every drop of my come.” he snarled.

And did she do it?

With great pleasure, and Ben wasn’t the sort of man who you had to be ashamed of anything in front of.

She looked up at him with an expression of heavy-lidded, misty eyed pleasure on her face the whole time, and Ben caressed her hair and lost himself in the way she was making him feel.

But he pulled his cock out of her mouth before he came, got behind her and started doing the things she had said she wanted him to do.

And the filthy sounds he made while he licked her and rimmed her, from behind were terribly exciting, and Rey knew she was going to say something absoluely filthy and awful.

But Ben would probably love it.

“Oooo, Ben! You’re so dirty! You make me feel so dirty! I’m going to come all over your face!” she moaned.

While she was still trying to get her eyes uncrossed from that series of orgasms, Ben got up on his knees, behind her.

He slid one of his hands all the way from the sweaty small of her back up to her neck, leaning his long body over hers as his hand moved.

His mouth was next to her ear.

“Is there a dirty little Rebel Girl under me who likes to get fucked in her hungry little cunt from behind?” he whispered.

“YES!” Rey screamed.

“Is there a dirty little Rebel Girl under me who wants me up her ass?” he whispered.

Licking her ear.

Chuckling, Satanically.

“YES!” Rey screamed, again.

“Good. Time for Little Rebel Girl to feel the true power of the Dark Side.” Ben whispered, silkily.

What was that she felt burning between her thighs, filling the secret places of her body with pleasure and fire with every thrust?

Only the sceptre of the Dark Prince of all her most forbidden dreams.

And the whole time that Ben was masterfully fucking her, he kept up his stream of increasingly filthy fuck talk.

Some of it at the top of his lungs, depending on how forcefully he was exploding into her.

“Take it! Take it all, killer! Who’s got his finger in your ass and his cock up your cunt? Who’s fucking you, honey?”

He slapped her ass, again.

“Say it.”

“You are!” Rey cried.

“What’s my name? Say it!”

“Ben Solo!” Rey cried.

Another one of those low, evil chuckles rumbled out of his throat.

“Louder!” he demanded.

“BEN SOLO! BEN FUCKING SOLO!” Rey howled.

“Baby, you’re good at this. I’m coming just for you! Squeeze my cock, you fucking sweet dirty whore, here it comes…oh, Rey, I love you, I love you so much!”

He came inside her, roaring like an angry Wookiee, and fell on his knees behind her.

What wonderfully filthy thing could Ben be up to now?

Only that he sucked, slurped and licked his own come out of her sex.

Was he going to swallow it?

Oh no. 

Ben hauled Rey against his chest and turned her face up to his.

He took Rey's face in both his hands and kissed her on the lips, pushing his come down into her mouth with his deep, passionate kiss.

Ben held Rey in his arms.

He put his mouth against her ear, again.

“And the monster, the Great Beast, breathed his red hellfire into Beauty’s mouth. So that she would burn, forever. Like the stars that belonged to them.”

Poetry?

Now Ben was going to break out in poetry?

He is a sexual Death Star, because after you’ve had Ben Solo, there’s nothing else.

“Is there a happy little Rebel Girl in my arms who wants just a little more?” he asked her.

“I want it all, Ben. All you’ve got to give me.” she sighed

Ben moved in front of Rey, still on his knees.

He slid his hand between her thighs, and slipped two fingers inside her while rubbing her clit with his thumb.

He took his cock in his fist and rubbed it’s soft velvety head across Rey’s lips.

She parted them, almost instinctively, with a small, soft sigh of slippery liquid pleasure.

It was too much; feeling this good for this long would surely kill you.

“Suck it, baby. My good little girl, suck the cock that just fucked you. Suck it while I finger you. Come for me one more time, baby. One more time I’m gonna come for you and I want you to swallow every…fucking…drop.”

When the tent’s flimsy door opened, Rey's eyes were closed in a filthy esctasy of sexual abandon that she had never known.

She was lost to the world around her; she wouldn’t have known if the planet was exploding or just her.

Ben heard the door,  turned his head, and reached for his boot, ready to throw it.

He was on his knees, Rey was on her hands and knees in front of him, and he had his hand on the back of her head.

He saw a shocked face in the crack of the door, and hung his head back and started to laugh.

“I can’t stop…I’m too close, and it’s too good…”

He turned his head; some people shouldn’t ever have to see the look on your face when you blow your load.

“Oh, fuck me, I’m done! That’s it, I’m done! Rey, honey, don’t open your eyes.”

Ben was still laughing.

“This is so bad! Don’t open your eyes, Rey. I mean it.”

He kept laughing as he staggered to his feet, and turned to face the tent’s flimsy door again.

Rather than embarrass Rey, Ben used the Force to speak to the person standing in the doorway frozen with embarrassment.

Hi, Mom! Guess what? I’m not dead!

Leia heard him, and his words snapped her out of it.

She put her hand in front of her eyes.

Unfortunately? I’m not either. I rather wish I was, right now. You look busy. I’ll go. 

She left, locking the door.

Rey sat back on her haunches with a sigh.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

“What was bad, Ben? What was so funny?”

She made her way over to her bed and flopped into it with a happy little sigh.

“Some jerks were looking at us through the window in your door. I just pulled the curtain over it. Rey, honey? Can I get into bed with you? You knocked me out. My knees are weak. Please?”

Rey moved the covers.

Ben got into bed beside her, covering them both with the blankets.

They were both sweating, but it was a cold night.

“Did I give you everything you wanted?” he asked.

“Ben, you are  a beautiful man, and you make very dirty, but very beautiful love. You made me feel as shameless as you are. And I  love you. You've given me more joy tonight than I thought was possible. I wasn’t a virgin, obviously, but I wanted to give myself to you in a way I never had to any man, before. Considering how big you are, I’m surprised it didn’t hurt.”

“It would have. That was just two of my fingers up your hot little ass. I figured since you never took it that way, you were just trying to get me hot. It worked, too. But I didn’t want to hurt you. Another time, another place. I'll break you to ride, and I’ll make you love it. You’ll see. I have not yet begun to fuck you. Tonight was just hello.”

“But you…you put your tongue in it! And I’m not even ashamed that I liked it.”

Ben turned Rey’s face to his, and kissed her.

“You’re such a prude. It’s so cute. I’m not ashamed, either, Rebel Girl. But I gotta go outside for a minute.”

“Why?”

“We made too much noise. I think somebody called the MP’s. You stay here. I’ll explain everything.”

[queenevaine]

Some Ace having a bad day, because when I say I love a character, there’s a 50/50 chance I love hurting them, too.  

Ace Visconti always smiled, no matter the circumstances.  Even a hook through his chest or his throat being ripped out didn't take that away.  It was part of his charm.  He knew the gravity of his ever-present smile, and how it inspired the others, albeit quietly.  He didn’t fully trust the others, but he trusted them enough to have their backs in trials, and occasionally give them a nice item he found in a chest.  

That didn’t mean he trusted the others enough to share more than that with them.  They were only people he knew because of their circumstances, they never would have met at all.  Ace was just a little cautious, knowing full well what desperation could drive some people to do.  He was too clever of a man to be taken down by naivete.  

Being in trials against the Doctor made it worse, when even Jake, the Iron-Willed loner, would scream at the slightest provocation of electrical “treatment”.  Ace tended to stay away from the others, he would rather be caught because of his own slip-up than one of someone else.  But that tended to lead to either very quick trials, or very strenuous ones.  This one was of the latter.  

It hadn’t even been that long and already someone was dead on a hook, and the other two were in states of madness and hysteria.  Ace kept as far from them as he could.  Someone had to keep working on generators if they wanted to survive.  By the time he completed his, another person was on a hook, struggling with the Entity.  He shook his head, moving on to another generator.  

He heard several more screams as he worked.  The consolation was that when he finished this generator, he could find the hatch and escape.  He was only half done when he saw the third survivor on the hook, failing their attempts to escape themselves.  The static started to build around Ace’s feet, and he silently cursed.

He couldn't stop the shout he let out, breaking into a zig-zagged sprint.  He needed to get away, and fast.  His heart raced faster and faster.  He looked briefly over his shoulder and saw the white coat, muttering shit! under his breath.  He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest.  He quietly vaulted through a window, gasping as he felt a hand on his leg.  

He was yanked to the ground, smacking his forehead on the brick wall he was climbing through.  He heard the Doctor rubbing his hands together, and he tried to crawl away.  There was no offering for a memento mori, the Doctor wasn’t supposed to be able to simply electrocute him.  He saw the faint glow around a totem not 10 feet from him, and he sighed with annoyance.  Of course there was a Hex.  

And even with Devour Hope active, the Doctor didn’t kill him just yet.  Ace felt the electricity surge through his body, making every muscle twitch and convulse against his will.  It was a terrible feeling, to not be in control, and Ace hated it.  He cried out in pain, trying to push himself to his feet.  

Another shock made him fall to the ground again, this one stronger than the last.  Was the Doctor testing him?  He just wanted it to stop.  He struggled to catch his breath, keenly aware that his mind was starting to play tricks on him.  He rolled onto his back, staring wide-eyed at the Doctor behind his sunglasses.  When had he started panicking?  The question was quickly put aside as god knows how much electricity surged through his head.  

He fell limp as his eyes closed.  Was he dead?  He stayed still, hoping that if he wasn't, he would be left alone.  He didn't know how much time passed before he opened his eyes and slowly sat up.  

He was in a completely different forest than in the trial.  Why do I still feel like I'm going crazy?  Outside of trials, madness didn't affect survivors.  There wasn't any point to screaming like a lunatic with no Killers around to pick up on it.  His breath was shaky as got up and looked around.  He just had to walk to the flickering light of the campfire and he could calm himself and recover.  

Every step he took towards it felt more like a step backwards as the light got farther away.  Was he imagining all this?  He shook his head, looking around and noticing Claudette and Quentin walking through the woods.  

“Hey, Claud!  Quentin!  Wait a sec!”  

It was like he hadn't spoken, with how neither of them even flinched. He had to be going crazy.  Or were they upset?  Were they in the last trial?  Ace didn't know.  He jogged to catch up.  

“Hey, did you hear me at all?”  

Claudette turned, and Ace swore he had never seen such a look of disgust on her face.  He faltered, pausing as she simply walked on.  No, he had to be going insane.  That just wasn't like her to be so cold.  But maybe he deserved it?  He left the others to die in the trial.  Ace shook his head again, trying to convince himself that his mind was playing tricks on him, that he was hallucinating.

But what if it wasn't?  He took a deep breath, rubbing the sides of his head.  He blinked and saw the campfire not even 5 feet away.  Where had that been before?  He turned to walk in the other direction, letting himself wander in the surrounding forest.  He had to clear his head, first.  

David, however, had spotted him and walked into the forest to check up on him. David reached out to grab Ace's attention. He took a surprised step back when the other spun around with a grimace.

“Don't touch me.”

“Th’ fucks got you wound up?”  

“I just need time to myself.”  

David scoffed, crossing his arms.

“Bullshit.  You took one look at the fire and then walked off.  No charming bullshit or anythin’.  Somethin’s got you real bothered and some ‘time to yourself’ ain’t fixin’ it.”  

He’s going to be upset when he learns what you did.  Ace’s voice echoed in his head.  It was no secret to the others that David was a part-time debt collector back home.  He sometimes bragged about the people he ‘coerced’ into paying.  Ace trusted him the least, being a sometimes in-debt gambler himself.  His mind raced with thoughts of panic, how he couldn’t trust David and being here, alone with him, was going to end terribly.  

“Just a little rattled.  I’ll cool off and come back fine.”  

He just wanted David to leave him alone.  But even that was too much for a stubborn scrapper who enjoyed a good fight.  

“Not ‘appening.  Th’fuck happened, Ace?”  

“Mind your own business, King.”  

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, the tone in his voice so venomous that David was caught off guard, then his expression turned into one of anger.  

“Fuck off, Visconti.  I’m askin’ cause we’re all worried about you, and you say it’s your own business?  It’s all our business if you’re gonna sulk and mope the entire damn time and not say a single fuckin’ word.  Spill it: what th’fucks your problem?”  

Ace let out an annoyed sigh, eyes narrowing as he glared at David.  

“I don’t owe any of you shit.”  

David took a step forward, staggering backwards when Ace shoved him.  

“Fuck off, King.  Head back to the fire.”  

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do.  You tryin’ to piss me off, or are you just doin’ a real fantastic fuckin’ job of bein’ a bastard?”  

Ace saw how David’s fists clenched, all too eager to hit something.  He’ll beat the hell out of you when your back is turned.  Just wait.  Ace’s eyes darted past him to the campfire, noticing now they were being watched by all the others.  How long had they been there?  And not one made a move to stop what was happening?  Were they enjoying this?  David stepped closer again, sure that he was going to get a punch in the face.  Strike first.

He reached for the nearest branch and whipped it across David’s face.  He shouted in pain, a red line quickly forming across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.  The barely restrained sigh was the clearest indication that David was pissed.  He moved surprisingly quickly, swinging at Ace’s face and hitting the sunglasses clean off his face.    

He knew he was not going to win in a fight with David.  Everything was screaming to run, to escape, but he’d be right back at the campfire.  This was an inevitable he’d have to face.  He spun the branch in his hands, aiming to stab David in the shoulder with it.  David caught his arm, making him drop the branch.  David caught his other arm when he attempted to punch him in the side.  

“CALM TH’FUCK DOWN, WILL YA?”  

“LET GO OF ME, DAVID!”  

Even in David’s grip, his arms shook.  Fear, anger, hysteria settled in like a thick fog.  He hadn’t even noticed Bill jog up beside them, forcing himself between their conflict.  

“Quit the horseshit, both of ya!”  

Ace let out a long breath, swallowing afterwards.  His heart was pounding in his chest, thoughts still racing.  David grit his teeth.  

“Tell that to ‘im.  Freakin’ the fuck out on me for no fuckin’ reason.”  

Bill had simply looked over to David, who shook his head and walked back to the fire.  Ace caught his breath, cautiously turning his gaze over to Bill.  

“Alright, do you wanna explain what’s got you so goddamn riled?”  

Ace crossed his arms, gripping his upper arms tightly.  He was at least thankful that Bill kept his distance.  

“..No.  Not really.  Just the Doctor messing with my head.”  

Bill shrugged, turning around to walk back to the fire.  

“Sure, come back to the fire whenever you feel like not snappin’ and beatin’ the everliving hell outta somebody.”  

Ace watched Bill walk off, then turned to grab his sunglasses that somehow weren’t broken and walk deeper into the forest.  

[pjbehindthesun]

chapter 5: yellow daisies and white rabbits

Sunday, June 24th, 1990

I shuffle my high tops in front of her door uncertainly while I wait for her to answer my knock. Has it been long enough that I should knock again? Would that seem needy or demanding? Maybe she just didn’t hear me the first time, right? Or maybe I’m being creepy enough just by showing up on her doorstep unannounced and I’d better not push my luck. I’m just about to lose my nerve and turn around when Lucy answers the door, wiping her hands on a turquoise dish rag.

“Hi, Jeff!” She says, looking pleasantly surprised, and her smile blows away all my anxiety like a warm breeze. Until she furrows her brow. “Wait, how did you know which apartment was mine?”

Busted. “I, uh…” I’m mumbling to the dingy carpet in the hall, “I remembered your last name and I checked the mailboxes in the lobby.”

But instead of slamming the door in my face for being a desperate stalker, that smile dawns over her face again. “What for?”

“I, uh,” I try to fight some words out past the grin on my face, “I think I just felt bad that my drunk idiot friends just took over your car last night and we didn’t get to, like, say goodnight, it was just sort of rushed.”

I had been trying so hard to get fuckin’ wasted Stone and Mike quietly up to my apartment to sleep it off that I barely got to wave goodbye to her as we continued up the stairs, and all I’ve wanted to do since then is run back down here, find her apartment, and keep asking her all about her life story, getting to know every little thing about her. The hour that I got to spend talking to her at the Off-Ramp last night (after we found a spot outside where our various asshole friends couldn’t interrupt us anymore) was the most exhilarating hour I’ve spent in I don’t know how long. My slightly hungover friends shuffled off this morning, and I’ve basically just been pathetically wasting time ever since, watching the clock and trying to figure out when’s an appropriate time to show up at her door.

“Well, you’re either really late or really early, it’s like 12:30,” she giggles, leaning against the door frame.

“So I guess we just have to keep talking, then. Kill time until the next goodnight.”

“Seems like our only option.”

“Well, uh, and only if I’m not interrupting anything, that is… since we’re powerless against the force of time and all, do you… wanna go get some lunch while we wait?” Please say yes. Please say yes. I have no idea where I’m finding all this courage, except from the smile that she’s giving me that feels like a sunrise in my chest.

She nods with a little flush of her cheeks, and I have to fight to keep myself from jumping in the air from the adrenaline. “Let me just grab my bag… wanna come in for a second?”

I edge inside her apartment while she ducks down the hallway and into her bedroom. It’s the same layout as mine, just flipped around on the opposite side of the hall. The same boring curdled cream-cheese colored walls, the same scratched up wood floors, the same cheap dingy kitchen. That’s where the similarities end, and I’m disoriented and fascinated by everything else.

Everything in here is a different, vivid color. In the kitchen, she’s hand-painted a trail of daisies on the wall over the tops of the cabinets, and the dishes in her drying rack are bright yellow to match. On the wall leading out of the kitchen, there are some bizarre old botanical drawings in beat-up wooden frames, and the windows are flanked with glittering patterned purple curtains. In the window seat, she’s got a bunch of orchids and cactii in brightly colored pots under an array of neon paper lanterns. The living room… the living room is something else. There’s a beat-up but ornate blue velvet couch, a giant golden tassled floor pillow, and a screaming orange floral recliner resting on an ancient Persian rug. I’m just craning my neck down the hallway to get a load of the mosaic of mismatched, loudly patterned Moroccan tiles covering the wall when Lucy bounces back out of her room, slinging a little light blue backpack over her shoulder.

She gives me a smile that’s almost a wince or a squint, the way it wrinkles her nose. “….what?”

“This… this is your place?”

“Uhm, if it’s not then my life’s about to get a lot more surreal… why? You hate it, right?”

“No! No. It’s insane. I love it. It’s like you live in a fucking Basquiat or something.” I’m grinning like a fool but I don’t care. Something about this place just makes me so deeply happy. It’s all so bright, and chaotic, and loud, and off-beat, and mysterious, and confusing, but somehow so coherent.

She nods. “Somewhat less thought-provoking social commentary. And less heroin.”

“Let me go on the record saying that both of those modifications are fine. Where the hell did you find all of this stuff??”

“Uhm, well, a lot of it I found at garage sales and random thrift shops. Some of it I made, like that” – she waves at the cornea-searing orange chair – “well, I upholstered it anyway, and those” – the curtains – “but the rest of it I’ve just picked up all over the place.”

“Wow. I mean, I’ve picked stuff up off curbs and yard sales for my place too, but it’s all beige and brown and boring.”

Lucy giggles. “And yet you’re the artiste, hmm?”

“Hey be nice, I never said I knew shit about interior design,” I chuckle.

“It’s a lot in here, I know,” she hedges, toying with her hands as we make our way to her front door.

“It’s pretty perfect, is what it is,” I mumble, and I’m not sure if I’m even still talking about her apartment. “So, where should we go?”

***

“Cora? Hey, CORA! WAIT UP!”

The bell at the top of the door to the Cyclops is still ringing in my ear as I step out onto 1st Street and try to figure out who’s yelling at me. I spot Stone about a half a block south of me, waving his arms and breaking into a jog with Mike trailing behind him, toting two guitars over his shoulder.

“Hey, stalkers,” I grin as they catch up to me. “Stone, I thought you weren’t speaking to me after last night.”

“I really shouldn’t, what with the restraining order and all.”

Mike’s watching us with a completely lost expression on his face. Oh, poor thing was so drunk he doesn’t even remember the ride home. “Sorry Mikey, Stone here got his feelings hurt over some crap on the radio.” Mike mouths a knowing “ahh” with a nod.

“Crap on the radio?? See, this is why the court ordered you to stay 500 feet from me. I can’t have someone brutally assaulting my taste in music all the time.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t recognize the ruling, on the grounds that loving Steely Dan that much cannot lawfully be described as ‘taste.’”

Stone gapes at me in horror. “You’re a monster, Red.”

“Takes one to know one. How long have you been following me, creep?”

“Ha ha,” Stone drawls. “We were actually just heading to your building.”

“That makes it so much less creepy, obviously.”

“To see Jeff,” Mike injects. “Stone’s piece of shit car won’t start so we left it back on 3rd. We’re trying to get up to a guitar place in Fremont to get these things looked at, so we were gonna try to bum a ride from Jeff.”

Mike checks his watch with an anxious look, so I start taking baby steps north towards home, and the guys follow along.

“What were you doing up on 3rd? Do you guys live around here too?”

“No, I actually live up by Fremont and Stone here lives with his parents, which is an extremely rock and roll thing for a 23 year old to do.” Mike cracks me up with an exaggerated serious look.

“Whatever, assholes,” Stone grumbles. “Anyway we were just checking out this new practice space back that way. I think it’s gonna work out, so we might be your neighbors soon after all… please, not on the street,” he says as I mime puking in my mouth.

When we get back to my building, Jeff’s not answering the buzzer, even though the guys spotted his car in the parking lot. Stone’s brainstorming out loud about jogging back to a payphone to call a cab and Mike’s fidgeting and cursing Jeff’s name when I decide to speak up. After all, Alex is gone for the afternoon with his buddies, I’ve got nowhere to be.

“Listen, I can drive you guys. You said Fremont, right? That’s not far.”

“Yeah?” Stone asks with a skeptical expression, but Mike’s already making a beeline toward the line of cars I waved towards as I spoke.

“Excellent. Which one’s yours?”

“The white Rabbit,” I say, grabbing my keys from my pocket and pointing at it. Stone’s shoulders drop as he issues the eye roll to end all eye rolls.

“Okay, Grace Slick. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I’d give you a jump but the cables are in Alex’s trunk, I think.”

“Of course. Thanks Alex,” Stone says in an acerbic tone, his face darkening into a frown. “Really, you don’t mind? It might take a while, Mike’s a freak about letting anyone work on his guitar.”

“Dude, she said it was fine, let’s go! Shotgun!” says Mike, who’s already hanging on my passenger side door handle like a child, and I let them both into the car.

“So, what are we listening to?” Mike’s rummaging through my tapes as Stone belts himself into the back seat.

“Please, dear sweet god, no hillbilly tunes.”

“STONE GOSSARD IF YOU CALL ME A HILLBILLY ONE MORE TIME –”

“Ooh! Rust Never Sleeps.” Mike pops the tape in with a contented grin.

The sniff that comes from Stone as I fire up the engine indicates that even he can’t think of an objection to Neil, and I quickly stifle a smile so he won’t catch it.

“So this practice space? Does that mean you guys are getting more serious about getting a new band going?” I ask as we turn onto 1st, with Mike occasionally reminding me of directions.

“Oh yeah. Born serious, baby,” Stone says, leaning forward and sticking his face between the front seats.

“Yeah, well if you’re so serious, you’d work harder to get Jeff on board,” Mike shoots him a pointed look.

“Not that crap again, Mike.”

“I mean it! We’ve gotta get Jeff Ament in here.”

“Fuck Jeff Ament.” Stone sits back in a huff, and Mike and I exchange significant looks.

“I thought he was your guy?” Mike asks. “You’ve been playing together forever!”

“That doesn’t mean shit. He’s my friend and all, but I can’t be in a band with him again. I can’t handle his fucking attitude anymore.”

I was going to stay out of it since I obviously don’t know the whole story, but come on. “His attitude? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

Laughter explodes out of Mike as Stone punches the back of my seat.

“She’s got a point, dude,” Mike notes. “I’m pretty sure it took two of you to fuck things up this badly.”

Stone mutters something about a fucking ambush under his breath before grudgingly saying something to the effect of, “I guess I can give it a shot,” making Mike pump his fist and grin.

*

We unload in front of this dingy little music shop that Mike directed us to, and he gingerly picks up the guitars and practically sprints for the door. Stone and I share a shrug before following him inside.

A blast of freezing air hits us as soon as we walk inside, and I shiver involuntarily.

Stone casts a lazy glance over at me before looking over at a wall of guitars. “Cold, Red? Some Arctic explorer you must be.”

“Shut up, Stoner, you forget I’m a Southerner. It’s fucking frigid in here. Come here.” I rest my hands against the little bit of skinny upper arm sticking out from under his shirt sleeve, alternating pressing my fingers front and back to warm them up. He slowly looks over and down at me with his mouth slightly open and massive eyes that remind me of an owl’s.

“Haha okay okay fine, personal space,” I joke, pulling my hands back and stepping away. Stone’s still gazing at me with the same hallucinatory look as the shop clerk heads to the back of the store carrying the guys’ two guitars, with Mike on his heels and peppering him with a million nervous questions.

Stone’s stare is starting to freak me out, so I move away from him to the wall of guitars and brush the strings of an acoustic with my thumb a couple of times. Unable to help myself, I pull it down from the wall and strum a couple of sloppy chords.

“Do you play?” Stone says from just behind me. I might have jumped, except that his voice is so quiet.

“What? No, no. I’m awful.”

“Which is it?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t play, or you’re awful?” he asks, still in that same hushed tone, peering down over my shoulder.

“Two things can be true.”

“You’re, uh, you’re muting that string. Here, like this…” he takes my hand in his, very carefully adjusting the angle of my fingers on the strings. I want more than anything to sneer at him, but as I play around among the small handful of chords I know, I have to admit that tiny adjustment made things a lot easier. He drops his hand back to his side and listens.

“Thanks,” I glance up at him, and he quickly looks away at another guitar up on the wall.

“Uh, sure,” he coughs. “So did you teach yourself, or what? Because you were right, you’re pretty fucking terrible.”

“You’re a peach. Uhm, I learned a few things a long time ago, but yeah, I guess I mostly taught myself.” Dad taught me to play when I was 8, but I’m not about to tell this guy I barely know about that.

“Well, it shows.” Just like last night, there’s that snide tone accompanied with an encouraging smile, just pleading for me to see through his bullshit and play along.

“And I suppose you’re Hendrix, huh?”

“Nah, that’s Mike. I prefer Page, myself.”

“And so modest, too.” He bats his eyelashes at me. “So you think you’ll really talk to Jeff, or –?”

“Oh Jesus, not you too. Yeah, I’ll talk to him.” There’s a snap in his voice that wasn’t there before, so it’s clearly off-limits and I let the subject drop. I hang the guitar back up, and he seems to sense that he’s been a little spiky.

“So what’s life like for you this summer? I mean, you’re a student, obviously you don’t have class, but you’re still working?” He’s fumbling his words a little, trying to recover.

“Yeah, when you’re a grad student, your work is never done. And if it is, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Sounds fulfilling as a flesh-eating parasite.”

“You’re not wrong. Anyway, I’m actually going to Alaska next Friday for three weeks. Soil sampling trip.”

“No way? Wait, when do you get back?”

I scrunch up my face while I hunt for the date in my mind. “The 20th, I think. Why?” I ask, suspicious of the huge grin dawning on his face.

“That’s my birthday. And Chris’s. He’ll be back from their European tour by then and we’re having a party, you should try and make it. And bring this fabled boyfriend of yours. If you don’t freeze to death up north, that is…”

I’m trying to decide whether to punch him in the shoulder for being a dick or thank him sincerely for the invitation when Mike appears out of nowhere, looking a little brokenhearted.

“Gonna need a few days for repairs,” he mumbles. “You guys ready to get out of here or what?”

***

“You did not.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, no, you just didn’t strike me as the type to…”

“…castrate something? You underestimated me, clearly.”

“Clearly,” Jeff says with a wide-eyed smile that’s somewhere between amused and terrified. “How did you… how?”

“One of my best friends back home lived on a cattle ranch, and I used to help her family with the calves all the time. Castration’s not a big deal –”

“That depends on which end of the knife you’re on, Lucy!” he shrieks.

“Okay, so I didn’t actually wield the knife…”

“I knew it! Thank fuck.”

“Haha can I finish? It’s really not a big deal, you just need someone who can help hold the calf down on one end and someone who can sprinkle cauterizing powder on when it’s done. It’s over really fast and they heal super quickly. I usually did the powder part but when they were small enough I could help hold them too.”

“Jesus, Lucy. Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Oh come on, you never encountered shit like this in Montana? You said you lived in cow country too, right?”

“Yeah, but the difference is that I got out of there as fast as humanly possible. I didn’t hang around the ranches, I hung around my hippie uncle with the record collection.”

His expression darkens a little bit when he’s talking about where he grew up, so it’s probably best to change the subject. “You said you got out of there fast? Did you come straight to Seattle, then?”

Nothing makes him light up more than talking about music or art, and I’m completely mesmerized by his face and the excitement in his voice as he tells me about the time he went to California when he was 12, how that trip connected him to skating, to punk music, and to everything outside of Big Sandy that he wished he could have. How he couldn’t wait to go to college just to find some like-minded people, but even then, he could only find a handful of other guys in Missoula who were into punk rock. How even that tenuous little tribe wasn’t enough of a home to keep him there when the college decided to close down his graphic design program, and how he came to Seattle looking for more. As we’re walking back home from lunch and he’s telling me all of this, and I think about everything he told me last night at the Off Ramp about Mother Love Bone and Andy, I marvel at how intensely protective I feel of him already. I’m the typical clichéd small town kid who left home looking to belong, too, so I understand where he’s coming from, but I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who feels that drive quite as fundamentally as Jeff still does, even all these years later. Except maybe Cora. Sort of funny that they have that intensity in common.

We round the corner and wander into the parking lot of our building, in no real hurry to get home or anywhere else in particular, still talking about what brought each of us to Seattle, when I notice Cor’s rusty little white Rabbit pulling off the main road. I take Jeff’s hand and give it a quick squeeze. “Let’s go say hi!”

He trails behind me but allows himself to be led over to the car, and he looks as surprised as I feel when Stone and Mike climb out along with Cora.

“The fuck are you doing hanging out with these two losers?” he laughs at her.

“Bite me, Jeff,” Stone grumbles. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Can you even hear yourself when you talk?” Jeff asks, shaking his head, but Stone continues undeterred.

“My car needs a jump back on 3rd, and I wanted to show you something over there anyway. Can you give us a lift back?”

Jeff glances back at me and it’s immediately clear he’s thinking the same thing – shit, not again, why do the same people have to keep interrupting us?

“Uhm, yeah, man, sure. Just, uh, give me a minute.”

“Lucy!” Cora calls. “Are we hanging out tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me call you later though? I had a huge lunch, I need a nap.” She’s smirking at me and I know for sure that she isn’t buying it, but at least she has enough sense to nod along and keep Stone busy outside for a few minutes. She strikes up a conversation with him about something, but I don’t care enough to eavesdrop as I shoot a grin at Jeff.

I follow him upstairs to the third floor, and once I key into my apartment, I turn around to face him.

“Hey, I’m really glad you tracked me down,” I say, picking his hand up in mine and giving it a squeeze.

“Stalked you, is more like it.”

“Well, I’m glad you stalked me,” I giggle. “You should do it again sometime.”

“Promise,” Jeff says in a low voice that makes my heart thud. He leans against my door frame. “Maybe tomorrow night? Second date?”

“Wait, was this our first?”

“Shit, that’s how smooth I am, you didn’t even know it was happening,” he laughs, and I could swear he’s blushing just a little.

“I think you’re smoother than you think,” I grin, biting my lip as he leans in a little closer.

“I think you’re trying to spare my feelings.”

“I think… I think you should go help your friends, they’re waiting.” But I lean in anyway, savoring the way time has slowed down.

“I think they can wait a little longer.” And as his lips find mine, I’d have to agree.

***

Monday, June 25th, 1990

I’m still daydreaming about our kiss, way up on Cloud Nine, as I make my way through the mostly deserted hallway to my desk. Not even Greta’s customary bitching when I asked her how her weekend went could kill this high. I drop my lunch in the break room, wondering whether I’ll get to see him again tonight, and the only thing that breaks my reverie is an unfamiliar package sitting on my desk. What the hell?

It’s wrapped in beautiful blue paper with a silver ribbon. Cautiously, I check the card to confirm that it’s actually addressed to me, which it is, and I look around for answers but of course no one else is here yet. No one’s ever sent me a present at work before – there’s no way Jeff did this after only one date, right? …right?

I slide the paper off the box, which is a glitzy golden color, and when I open the lid, a folded piece of paper falls on top of the ornately decorated chocolate covered strawberries inside. I crack it open with a shaky hand and eventually decipher the loopy scrawl:

“In defense against the strawberry-free life. Yours, Jake.”

What?

After racking my brain for several minutes, I remember our conversation at the end of last week about his patient, the one with the allergy. He seriously thought about that all weekend? And bought me strawberries because of it?

Wait… “yours”?

…oh, shit.

[hornetdiaries]

Sour Patch

I believe that I am a caring person.  I believe that I am the kind of person who takes care of others.  But I also believe that I have a goddamn limit and if I wanted to live with incompetence I would go back to North Carolina’s school system.

    It all started one fateful night. I had watched a bunch of the Walking Dead and was a scared little freshman getting ready for bed at one AM so I could be up in time for my eight AM class.  This was bad when I wasn't able to live off a solid three hours of sleep nightly. Now, everyone has always warned me to lock my doors, but at this time most people knew not to fuck with me so I didn't bother.

    I went to sleep, everything was fine, and in the morning I woke up bright and early and set about starting my day.   It was while halfway dressed, I felt the uncomfortable sensation of another presence.  Slowly I turned towards my roommates bed which should have been empty since she left to go home for the weekend early.  But instead of it being void of life like it had been when I feel asleep, there was now the perfectly cocooned shape of a human, wrapped completely face and all with her blanket.  The only thing I could see where the feet uncovered at the end.

    My mind ran down the list of possibilities as my hands started shaking.  The feet were too big to be any of the girls I knew, and the only man who would remotely attempt this was black which definitely did not match up with the pasty mayo colored feet in her bed.  I realized that I had absolutely no idea who this was that I had been sleeping beside for who knows how long.

    Carefully I grabbed the first thing available which turned out to be an empty juice jug laying on the floor.  It was probably a good idea that I forgot I had mace in my desk.  I began my approach with barely restrained horror, knowing that the main two possibilities would be for this man to either be someone who wandered in drunk off the elevator and barged into my room, or he was a zombie.  Having been fully immersed in zombie violence the night before I was absolutely certain that should it be necessary, I could beat him to death with my bare hands.  I was probably still half asleep even with the adrenaline because I was more than a little certain he was a zombie.

    I took the edge of the blanket by his face in one hand and whipped it off as fast as I could to determine what level of violence was necessary.  I was met with the hideously unattractive sleeping face of the dude who had slept with my roommate a few nights prior.

    “Nick?” He didn't wake up to my call so I shook him by the shoulder roughly.  He seemed to fidget a bit and mumble a few things.

    “Where's Emma?” He garbled unintelligently.

    “She's been gone for a day now, she went home.  What are you doing here?”   

    “I want Emma!” He threw his hands up and then flopped over onto his side, a loud rattling snore already leaking from his putrid face.  I tried again to prod him awake but he refused.  With no other options and time running out to get to class, I had no other choice but to hurry off to global health.  All the while my restless leg was more violent than usual as I waited for the starving children of Romania to stop needing help.  I just wanted to get back, reclaim my room, and get back to what was supposed to be my fun solo weekend of not talking or seeing anyone.

    I was the first one out the door, crossing campus and bursting into my room with record time.  The atrocity was still asleep so I threw my book bag down as loudly as possible.  Then I did it a second and third time, still getting no reaction.  He wasn't snoring anyone and his head was tilted awkwardly to the angle towards one side, his face not showing even a twitch of sleep.

    Beginning to worry I hesitantly put two fingers over his jugular.  When I didn't immediately feel the thump of a pulse my body shot ice cold, the image of my zombie suspicion flashing through my head with the force of a freight train.  But then pushing deeper I found the small little thumps of his gross veins.

    Now that I wasn't afraid of desecrating a corpse, I grabbed him by both shoulders and started shaking him with all my might.  He groaned and batted my hands away.

    “Wake up!” I shouted, actually getting him to open his eyes this time.

    “I feel sick” he grumbled, rolling onto his stomach like a beached whale.

    “Are you drunk?”

    “Noooo” he whined, arms outstretched as he rolled back to his original spot.  I could see the wiggly lines of the Saturn tattoo on his chest, the circle not completely round and the ring uneven portions around it.  He had explained that he had gotten drunk with a friend and he left him give him a tattoo right on his chest.  Apparently he had been given quite the surprise when he woke up with it the next morning.   

    I sighed and put my hand on his forehead, finding him to be running a bit of a temperature.   He wouldn't open his eyes for me but I already knew his pulse was sluggish.  Suspecting a fever, I knew I was completely screwed because there was no way I could throw out a sick person from my room, even if I did hate their guts and everything attached to them.

    “Are you sure you aren't on anything?” He whined at me and so I took it as a know.  I got him some water and a couple Advil, then tucked him back into bed.  Every time my clock turned another hour I thought he would rise and go find someone else to bother, but before I knew it, a rough estimate of twenty hours had gone by where he just slept.

    But finally, after I returned to the room from something or another, I finally found the bed empty.   Relieved that not only hadn't he died, but he also was out of my hair now.  That was of course until later that night when my door swung open and the fake blonde prick walked back into my life, a tall guy following him known only to me as ‘stoner sloth’ at the time.  We had a bad habit of only using nicknames to talk about people so it would take months to figure out who someone was.

    “Uh, did you forget something?” I asked as the two morons ignored me in my own room.  Nick put down his book bag on the bed and started going through it

    “Yeah man I got like, forty-five bars on me from ODU, it's good shit like, you only need to do half of one to get high, that's why I'm selling them for seven bucks each”

    “Wait, are you doing a drug deal in the middle of my room?”

    “Shit, I know they're in here, we were messing with it in the car driving back”

    “Did you come here just to make a deal?!” As he continued to ignore me and fumble with the bag, he soon found that the bag containing his large score of drugs was missing.  His eyes went wide as he became even more pale and sickly.

    “Oh shit, I think I remember now.  We were sharing it in the car, oh fuck, I think that's why I'm sick” the stoner sloth floated away once the drugs were off the table, leaving Nick to pace around the room looking deeply concerned.

    I wanted to tell him that there's no way he could do forty-five bars of Xanax in a three hour drive, even between a car full of people, but I honestly couldn't put that past him.  Every time he opened his mouth, something new and awful would crawl out, and for some reason he had bewitched my roommate into thinking that he was the hottest thing this side of the sun.  Even though living with Emma made my life hell on a good day, there was still a deep need in me to take care of her and put my own feelings aside for her happiness.  I thought of my father and how he would bring out the guns and show them to the boys I brought over, and I realized that my father just wanted to show off guns, not intimidate these boys into respecting me more.  I could either be wielding the juice jug to be the father figure that my roommate might need but didn't want, and make my life better, or I could be the opposite of whatever a pseudo redneck father is.  I don't know what fathers do above the Mason Dixon line.

    “Hey I'm going to have a friend over, could you go back to your place?” I asked, very kindly after he had decided not to leave my room and instead just bide time on my roommates still empty bed.

    “Wait it's that Pierre dude right?” I don't know how he knew that since I was fairly certain he didn't even know my name.

    “I mean, we're friends but he's not the one coming ov-”

    “No man it's fine, I can be here” I had to take a second to reaffirm myself that this was in fact my room and I wasn't mistaken.

    “Sorry but you really can't, you're gonna have to go”

    “Naw, my roommates have sex in front of me all the time, it's chill”

    “I am never in my life going to let you watch me have sex”   

    “Don't worry it's cool”

    “It's not!”

    He persisted on, trying to convince me that including him in my already pretty messed up romantic endeavors was a good idea.  Eventually it got to the point where I just kept yelling at him, borderline crying as I envisioned myself bashing his head over her desk and throwing it on top of all the fucking animal cracker crumbs he left lying around.  Finally he grabbed his jacket in a huff, extremely irritated.

    “Fine!” He shouted, “I'll be back after dinner” and with that he slammed my door shut.

    “YOU DON’T LIVE HERE!” I screamed, already hearing the elevator ping to take his slimy sack of skin down and into the world so he could infect it.

    Sure enough he was back after dinner, and with the return of Emma only brought him closer to my life.  He lived with us, he kept his things in our room, and he made my life hell.  At three AM he would return from his endeavors, come into our room without knocking, strip naked in front of my bed, and then wake up my roommate and have sex while I tried to curl up and block it all out.  At three AM when you have class at eight, there's nowhere to go, and if I did leave to go sit in the kitchen I would just wake up more and boil myself into a steaming pot of hatred that would result in me once again going into the woods to scream.

    If it wasn't bad enough that he was making my life a bigger waste of time than freshman year already was, he was also a complete child to my roommate.  Upon one occasion he got high and ate all the macaroni she owned and then informed her that she needed to go buy more.  He also guilted her into buying seventy feet of bubble wrap.  Seventy feet.  Seventy feet would not be enough to protect the world from him.

    On one occasion while I was trying not to vomit as I listened to him talk, he expressed how mad he was that his roommate had thrown his pants out their window which held his key to the room.  He ranted and raved for a long time about how inconsiderate and terrible this guy was.  I thought it was odd but disregarded it all the same.  Later, as I walked back from class I eavesdropped on the conversation of the girls in front of me, having nothing better to do.  The story I heard would change my life.

    So her boyfriend lived in a triple, and since there were only a handful of them in the campus I had a pretty good guess who this was about.  Apparently some time during the weekend at around three am, his roommate wandered in drunk as hell and proceed to walk into the middle of the room, not saying anything, and just shit his pants.  From there he proceeded to fall down and pass out, and the smell was so horrid that her boyfriend had to strip his pants off his unconscious body and throw them out the window.  Then, when the roommate had woken up he wondered why he was covered in shit and where the hell his pants were.  He screamed at the roommates and then left and hadn't returned since.

    There was no price I wasn't willing to pay to hear that story again.  But all good things had to end and shortly after that I met the breaking point to my ability to deal with him.  During the time he was in the middle of being kicked out for being caught with no small amount of weed.  There was a student trial that would be held soon and from there he could attempt to repeal his expulsion.  So while the end was in sight, it would not come fast enough.

    In my room I possessed a bowl of candy, sour patch kids to be exact.  My exams were coming up and I was a stressed little nursing major, just appreciating the small things in the world that made me happy.  Well who decides to take my bowl of candy?  And who decides that he would eat them all the way to his room and back?  And who thought that he should put the bowl down in front of me as I studied and informed me that he ate my candy before walking away?  Flunk out tattoo wannabe pothead borderline coke whore fake blond douche of the century, Nick.   

    Because not only does he eat my candy, he leaves the yellow ones there.  No one likes the yellow ones!  They taste like someone pissed Into a bottom of lemon pledge!  But Nick is apparently too good to eat yellow sour patch kids.  Jesus spent most his time starving in a desert but he can't even have the decency to leave a flavor other than sin for me.   

    I was more than livid.  At my friend's apartment I told my story of woe to the small group attending as they repeatedly supplied me with wine.  It was in the kitchen that I realized I was just intoxicated to really just let out everything that I was feeling, and as soon as I heard his name mentioned in the living room I knew it was time.  I marched into the room, red in the face and screamed at the unsuspecting crowd,

    “NICK WILL EAT ASS BUT HE WON’T EAT YELLOW SOUR PATCH KIDS!” Which was at the time really the best I could put together.  Everyone stared up in horror and I realize that I had definitely let that cat out of the bag.  See, Nick was a playboy, if one who never showers can be called that, and there had been quite a few girls before my roommate to unfortunately become intimate with his repulsive visage.  There was one in particular that had the misfortune of sleeping with him, during which she had instructed him “Slap my ass” and he had misheard her to say “Lick my ass” which played out as one might expect it would.  Nick was a fan, girl was not.

    However, I had planned to keep that one to myself because it was not just about the horrible depravity of this single man child.  But now that I had presented this information in such a dramatic and catchy way, it wasn't very long until anyone who knew him also knew a weird fun fact about him.  Thankfully though there was no shortage of girls who were involved with him and so the girl's identity was never compromised.

    To finally top off the last straw on the stupidity haystack, my hopelessly puppy loving roommate took the liberty of writing his appeal to the judicial board.  She even brought it to one of the faculty in charge who said that if this was presented he would probably be allowed to stay.  For a girl who almost never went to class or finished assignments, this was an amazing feat.  Yet, the day of the trail Nick was too lazy to come by and pick up the appeal, so he went to the trial and got kicked out of school.  Could have spent two minutes to not waste thousands of dollars and ultimately his life, but he just couldn't do it.

    So had I possibly done a terrible thing to him by perhaps giving him a very odd reputation?  Yeah, but if while I'm not an ‘eye for an eye’ kind of girl, I do feel like deserved it a bit.  Sometimes people go to college and the problems they have in high school just explode, and it's no ones fault but your own.  Nick was just a large drugged up child, whoever he was in high school wasn't the kind of person that could work in college and so instead of growing he just gave up.  I hated him not only for all the crap he put me through, but because I had been that bumbling child people thought was smart or mature because they could look the part.  While I was more or less forced into rising to the occasion, Nick just went back to what he knew which was drugs and laziness and being a genuine asshole.  The greatest accomplishment of my semester was when my roommate informed me that Nick hated me because I was too uptight.  If I managed to be the one person in his very brief college experience that wasn't kissing the ground he walked on and reassuring him that school was useless and he could make it out there without a degree, then I had done something right.   

    But also fuck that guy.