Chapter 9
I Don’t Have Hairy Nipples
I didn’t do a lot of productive things in my life. So, okay I was drunk most of the time, or doing some stupid job—usually drunk too though. But I wasn’t exactly productive. Aside for one thing.
My parents, being the anti capitalist they were, weren’t the kind of people to buy me jewellery. And I was a girly girl growing up, so I wanted god damn pretty things. So I had to do them myself. And thus began my probably only healthy pastime—making jewellery. I wasn’t extraordinary at it, and for instance, I’d never wear them on a date with Victor because he would tell me that if I needed jewellery he could buy me real ones and even if the prospect of free real diamonds was always appealing, I didn’t want him to undermine my own jewellery. I didn’t want it to be thought as less then any real stuff you could find at Tiffany’s.
So tonight was jewellery night which consisted of me sitting in the middle of my living room surrounded by boxes over boxes of beads and threads and all sort of things in the like, with a bottle of Scotch as my partner in crime while watching Skins episodes.
It was a sweet way to spend a night.
But when I was about half way through my Scotch, my night was cut short when I heard rattling at the door. At first I thought I was just starting to hear noise because of the booze, but then it got louder, like someone was trying to jam a key in the lock and it wasn’t working and they were getting pissed.
And I was getting slightly pissed too. For a second I considered ignoring it—they probably had the wrong door, but then whoever was at the door started to kick it and pound on it and shout incoherent things, so that’s pretty much when I realized I had to take matters into my own hands.
I got my baseball bat from my bedroom closet and took my phone, dialling 911 without pressing call just yet. For all I knew this might be Miss Beauregard trying to get her wicked way with me. I wouldn’t get it past her.
The kicking and grumbling was still going on—maybe we were getting attacked by trolls—so before I beat the crap of whoever was on the other side of the door, I looked through the peephole and was speechless for about half a second.
This is seriously not happening…
I jerked the door open and a drunken Landon stumbled forward, almost dropping the beer in his hand on my feet.
Miss Beauregard was sticking her head out of her apartment, shouting, “You don’t live here anymore young man! You have no right to cause such havoc in our building! You little trouble maker!” All she needed was a broom to shoo him away, seriously, crazy old people that don’t mind their own god damn business annoyed the crap out of me!
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, him, eyebrows raised, not amused.
“What are you doing in my apartment?” he said, trying to peek inside over my shoulder.
“You mean to say my apartment,” I pointed to myself to make sure he understood that by my, I met MINE.
He frowned, clearly confused. That made the two of us buddy. “I don’t remember us ever being roommates.”
“That’s because we’re not,” I simply stated.
He didn’t seemed convinced though, and, eyes narrowed, said in a sceptical tone, “If we’re living together, I want to see your boobs.”
“Huh?” I wasn’t ashamed of my boobs or anything—quite the contrary actually—but this was kind of out of the blue.
“How am I supposed to live on without knowing if half of your boobs are going to disappear when you take off your bra?” he explained and pushed me out of the way, getting inside. “Do you know how hard it is to be a man these days? We settle for a C plus and end up with an A minus.” At the end of his little rant he looked back at me, after having appraised my apartment.
I shook my head slightly. That boy was drunk off his ass. “And tell me why I’d be taking my bra off?”
“Come one.” He looked at me like this was obvious. Wasn’t to me. “You’ve pictured me naked too, it’s fine. And I’ll let you in on a little secret” He leaned in towards my ear. “I don’t have hairy nipples”
Well, I definitely wasn’t expecting that—not him not having hairy nipples, I mean, his telling me this. I faked a huffed of relief. “Thank god, I was so worried about that.”
Suddenly, Landon’s attention wasn’t on me anymore. He gazed around the room, turning on himself. “What have you done with my apartment?”
I sighed, annoyed. This was my night of jewellery fun and the drunk bastard was ruining it. “Okay, seriously, drunk Landon is getting annoying. You don’t live here anymore.”
“NONSENSE!” As he said that, he made big arm gestures and knocked a flower vase off the table by the front door. He looked at me sheepishly. “Oops.”
I glared. “Get out!” I tried to push him, but for some drunk guy, he was pretty steady on his feet.
“You can’t kick me out of my home,” he announced, almost offended.
Why did I have to explain this to him? “This. Is. NOT. Your. Home!”
He snorted. “Nonsense,” he called out, and walked passed me, heading for the living room. I tried to grab him, stop him, but he had other ideas in mind, and the second he saw the bottle of Scotch on the ground, he practically threw himself at it. “Oooh, look at that, more booze.” He took a swing and then spit it all out on my couch. “UGH! That’s disgusting.”
That’s it, bitch is dead. I slapped the back of his head and took my bottle back, cradling it. “I swear to god I will grab you by the balls and drag you out.”
He looked at me with a cheeky grin. “You want to grab my balls,” he said and giggled. I narrowed my eyes at him. The little bitch… “Maybe you should just kiss me first though, see how things go.”
“I’ll take the offer into consideration,” I answered absentmindedly, going over to my couch to appraise Landon’s spitting mess. Luckily, most of it seemed to have mostly it the plastic boxes on it, and not the fabric under, so it might not need to get the cushions to the cleaner.
Landon was oblivious to my washing-couch crisis and was just ranting. “You should, I’m an excellent kisser. I kissed a guy once and he became gay… or maybe he was gay and I kissed him…” he scratched the top of his head, his face scrunching into concentration. “I can’t remember…”
Before I could grace him with an answer, or maybe a kick in the shins, there was a knock at the door.
If it was some other drunk guy, I swear to god, I would use that damn baseball bat!
I almost did when I opened the door and came face to top of head, with Miss Beauregard. She skipped the greeting and tried looking inside my apartment. “What’s going on? Do I need to call the police?” she asked, going from her tip toes to the plant of her feet.
I thought about it for a second, but then realized I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, even if my reason for calling the cops would be more to see Landon’s shock face, more than to take care of the problem itself. I knew how to handle drunken boy—I usually involved me taking my clothes off, but I’m sure I could managed doing it without having to resort to all of my female attributes. “Everything’s fine.”
“Because I will, I have no problem with calling the police, I can call them right now if you need me to” Wasn’t she supposed to like Landon? Seriously, old people confused the shit out of me—or people in general really.
I answered with a nice, “But you see, if you do that they might find all the dead bodies in my living room,” and shut the door in her face.
When I walked back in the living room, Landon wasn’t wearing pants anymore and he was doing carpet-angels on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I love this carpet, it’s so soft,” he answered in a dreamy tony.
Wow, just wow. “Are you high?”
He stopped moving altogether to answer this. “Technically speaking, I’m higher than the ground level, and sea level, so yeah I’m high. You’re high too. WE’RE ALL HIGH! Well, not all high, because there are places lower than sea level, like New Orleans. But with Katrina, we’ve all seen that not being high is not a good thing. It’s a very bad thing. Everyone should be high.”
I just looked at him, speechless for a second. “I don’t even know how to respond to this.”
Landon turned to gaze my way and grinned. “Can you take your shirt off and show me your boobs.”
I grinned back. “Sure.”
He waited expectantly. After about a good minutes of us just staring at each other, he frowned. “Why aren’t you showing me your boobies?”
I smiled evilly at him. “You asked me if I can take my shirt off, you didn’t ask me if I would.”
“Oh you evil master mind, you” he chuckled and then added, “I LOVE THIS CARPET,” and rolled around. And then he actually sniffed the carpet. Gorram weirdo. “We should have this carpet cleaned. I had a lot of sex on this carpet.”
I nodded. “That’s always good to know.”
“If you sit on it without panties, I might actually get your pregnant,” he added.
It might be a bad time to tell him I wasn’t wearing any right now. “I doubt that’ll happen, but thanks for the warning.”
“Aw, Danika, what are we going to do now?” I frowned, confused by the change of subject. “We can’t keep on denying all this sexual tension. We need to DO IT LIKE THE DO ON THE DISCOVERY CHANNEL!” he shouted and the proceeded to sing, “You and me baby ain’t nothing but mammals, so let’s just do it like they do on the Discovery Channel” thrusting his pelvis up and down, still lying on his back, in the middle of my living room, over my jewellery stuff.
“Landon, I swear I will call your mom to come and pick up your drunken and probably high ass,” I warned him. A few weeks ago, I might have been pelvis thrusting with him on the carpet singing too, but lately I wasn’t so enthusiastic. I think some of it had to do with the fact that Neil was living in New York now. I hadn’t seen him since I had went to my parents place, but just the knowledge was practically unbearable.
And this was so not the time to think about that crap.
“I don’t wanna see my mom,” he whined, turning around, speaking against the carpet, his voice slightly muffled by it. “I make her sad all the time.”
“That’s what kids are for, making their parents miserable.” Or sometimes, it’s the other way around.
Landon turned his head sharply, appraising me. “Titty-Dani, I think you need to drink more of whatever the crap this is.” He pointed at the Scotch bottle. “You’re not drunk enough to appreciate my off the chart level of epicness.”
“You’re not getting out of here, are you?”
He yelled like a villain cartoon character. “NEVA!”
I sighed in defeat. “Aw, fuck it.”
And that’s how, after that bottle and about three quarter of another one, I ended up, leaning against the wall in my kitchen—because apparently it was the best one to use if we wanted Miss Beauregard to hear absolutely everything and traumatise her completely—screaming, “I told you my mother was off limits, I just didn’t know I also had to tell you not to go after my father!”
Landon covered his mouth with his hand to stop from laughing. “Oh please not the strap on!” he yelled and I bended in half, trying not to squeal in amusement, laughing silently.
I quickly recovered myself though and shouted, “But it’s what you love Landon! I HAVE to!”
It’s official, we are two lunatics. And Miss Beauregard must be pissing herself at this point and calling everyone in her little notebook.
“Please be gentle!” Landon begged loudly.
“Well you weren’t gentle with my father, were you?” Lunatic, complete gorram lunatics.
“I didn’t mean to! It’s just happened!”
“Oh so you just happened to carry around Vaseline with yourself?”
Landon took a few seconds before answering, his voice loud but worried, “I don’t have any right now.”
“And that’s why it’s going to hurt!”
“Oh no, PLEASE, Danika, have mercy on my asshole!”
“Mercy is for the weak!”
And then we were pretty much just banging our fists against he wall, screaming incoherent stuff—like I’m pretty sure Landon yelled at some point “DON’T USE THE BUNNY” or something like that—and moaning inappropriately. It was nice to know we both rocked the fake orgasms noises.
While we were getting into our third round of fake sex, Landon looked at me worried. “Are those police lights?”
I gazed towards where he had been looking few seconds ago and sure enough, blue and red lights were flashing at the window. “Shit…”
“QUICK, HIDE THE GOAT,” Landon squealed in an inappropriately high pitch voice, and broke into a run, to get out of the kitchen, but because he was drunk, slipped and fell on his ass. And because I was stupid and drunk and had the glorious idea of following his running lead, when he fell, he pretty much just knocked me on the ground, using me as his landing cushion.
I quickly shoved him off of me, while we both moaned and groaned in pain, rolling on the ground a little.
In between a few ow, ow, ow, I mumbled a “I think we shouldn’t be allowed to ever get drunk together ever again.”
Landon laughed an ow, clutching his head and painfully chuckled an “Agreed.”