(no subject)
hahaha found this original fic that I'd like to work on... if I ever remember what the hell I had in my mind when I wrote it up. I write such crack. Really. It's not complete, but that goes without saying XD
Hello. My name is Chanel Yamazaki.
God, that sounded like the intro to an AA meeting, and that you’ve maybe stepped into some sort of trailer trash novel, except for the part where my last name is Japanese. I think we’ve gotten off to a bad start. Let me start again.
I am Chanel Yamazaki. My name’s about the only exotic thing about me. Everything else is average. Brown hair, brown eyes, 5’4”, 130 lbs (are you awake still?) The only feature I have to be proud of is the fact that I still have my own teeth and I’m not bald.
At this point, you might be tempted to close the book, click the back button on your browser - whatever. To be quite honest, I can’t blame you. I cannot offer you much in the way of excitement. I lead a boring life. I wake up each day like clockwork, and I go to work. I grab whatever’s readily available, and I might a half-ass effort in thinking about working out. But it’s usually too exhausting for me, so I head towards McDonald’s and get my usual McChicken combo (like a good Asian should). By the time I get home, it’s time for a few hours of mind-numbing TV where I get to pretend that I’m one of the characters on screen before it’s time to go to bed and start again.
Are you tired of reading about my life yet? I know I am. Perhaps this was what prompted the events that followed. I really believe it was the fact that I was making out with Brad Pitt, and then waking up from near suffocation because I had practically devoured my pillow that threw me over the edge. This normalcy was pretty much like white noise to me - you know, that drone that your lights make, and suddenly, you wake up one day, and you’re chewing on synthetic down and calling up the HazMat hotline to make sure you haven’t poisoned yourself.
It was that sad realisation that made me hijack a helicopter along with the hottest man I’d ever seen.
All right, I might’ve exaggerated a little. He’s not THE hottest man I’d ever seen, but he’s the most gorgeous hostage I’d ever seen. You know, you ever wonder why hostages are never particularly attractive? Understandably, they’re afraid that some madman is going to kill them and their lives at stake, but it does make me wonder if a bigger ransom could be had if the hostages were hotter.
I digress. Where was I? Ah yes, my attractive hostage. The man honestly could NOT drive. It was as if he never owned a car in his life, or had his driver’s license. At this point, I finally think to ask him if he can drive.
“I’ve been telling you the last 10 kilometres that I don’t have a license!” he practically growls in frustration.
“Look, Ken…” I begin by telling him.
(At this point, it’s perfectly obvious that I might’ve exaggerated about another fact. The helicopter is in fact a car, but you had to admit, it hooked you in, right? Who would want to read a story about a girl hijacking a car with a fish no less?)
“MY NAME IS NOT KEN!!!” he screams at me.
“Eh? It’s not?”
“Argh, if you’re going to make up a name, at least give me a BETTER one.”
I quirk a brow and stare at him. “Look here, I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate.”
“And if I weren’t this bored, I wouldn’t be here. You have a FISH as a weapon.”
Okay, he got me there.
“Which you are allergic to?” I ask hopefully.
“No.”
“Damn. Is there something you’re allergic to?”
“Nuts.”
I mash him on his pretty silver head with the fish.
He nearly sends us into a ditch. “DAMNIT THAT’S GROSS!!!”
“You prick!!! STAY ON THE ROAD!!!” I shriek at him, clutching at the handlebar of the car, which fell off in my hand.
“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE!!!”
“… well, I guess we’re screwed then.”
---------------------------------------------------------
Are you still reading the story? Oh damn. I guess I better continue telling the tale then. At this point, I’m driving the car, and the hot, if somewhat stinky man, is holding on to the fish.
“Roll down the window, will you?” I tell him. “You smell.”
He narrows his icy blue eyes at me. “Whose fault do you suppose that is? And don’t think fluttering those lashes will work either.” He pauses. “Or that pout.”
I retract my lips. “Fine, asshole. We can BOTH smell then, instead of inhaling all that fresh air.”
The bastard rolls down the window then, and we both choke from all the industrial smoke pumping from the factories in the area.
“Damnit! Whose bright idea is it to put chemical plants next to the highway?” I growl.
He grins - flashy pearly whites no less. Could the man not have a crooked tooth? Or ten? “Mine actually.”
“Roll the windows back up!!”
The smirk widens. “Only if you ask nicely.”
“Now asshole, before I slam on the brakes and have your forehead bond with that dirty dashboard.”
“Nice threat,” he sneers, but he rolls the window back up anyway.
I should stress at this point that I am really not a bitch. The years of monotonous behaviour and boringness had made me a little crazy. You ever feel so trapped by your life that you don’t know what to do and you just want to scream? It’s the same deal here. The difference is that while most people figure out a way to deal with the stress, I simply choose to react a bit more outrageously, except now, his holy hotness is being the biggest pain in the ass.
My freaking hostage is not cooperating.
And why the hell am I driving the car anyway?
“Stupid jerk.”
“Excuse me?”
I shoot him a dirty look. “You heard me. Stupid jerk. This is all your fault.”
“How is this MY fault? You kidnap me…”
I laugh at him. “As I recall, you were asking for directions, Ken.”
“STOP CALLING ME THAT.”
“And you practically RAN ME OVER on the sidewalk. Come to think of it, that should’ve been my first clue that you were too stupid to drive!!!”
He whirls around to glare at me, fish and all. “Not everyone can drive you know!!”
“Awww, poor Kenny boy. Don’t worry. I’m sure you compensate in other areas.” I look at his lap. “Or maybe not.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
For some reason, seeing him that pissed off makes me grin. “Hey, I’m pretty sure that’s a crime, which would cancel mine out.”
“I can always plead insanity.”
“So can I. God this car sucks. Couldn’t you have had a better car?”
“I don’t pay my lawyer very well.”
“Ha ha. You are not Richard Gere.”
“You’re certainly no hooker,” he retorts.
“Gimme my fish back.”
He raises an imperious silver brow at me. “What?”
“My fish!!”
“You actually want your fish back,” he says in disbelief.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He tosses the fish at me. In my haste to catch it, I forget one single, basic fundamental law when it comes to driving a vehicle. At least one hand should be on the wheel.
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Who has the driver’s license again?” he smirks.
“Shut up, Ken.”
My head is pounding and throbbing. To be quite honest, I can’t believe you’re still reading this. Is this really that entertaining? Must I continue this story? I’ll give you a few more minutes. Gather your thoughts. Ponder why you’re reading this. Maybe have some juice? Steak?
Fine. Have it your way.
So I had crashed us into a ditch. The car’s in pretty bad shape, what with its front crunched up like that and one wheel rolling somewhere down the highway in front of us.
“At least my forehead came out undamaged,” I shoot back.
It’s true. Call it instinct (or a half-assed airbag that partially deployed), but I somehow threw my arms up front to stop my face from greeting the steering wheel. While my arms are a little sore, I’m none the worse for wear. My hostage, on the other hand, got up close and personal with the fish.
“Did you want a moment to say goodbye to Sakana? I’m sure her death must be hard on you.”
He rubs his lips and shoots another dirty look at me. “Shut up.”
I’m standing on the side of a near deserted highway, down a particular stretch that no one really traveled on with one of the sexiest guys I’ve ever met, and I just flop down and start laughing.
“What the hell? Don’t tell me you’ve finally gone crazy?”
I laugh and laugh, with no real idea or reason as to why I’m laughing. I’ve stranded myself thoroughly, and ended up back in square one. I still have no idea if I’m coming or going, but I’ll say this much, it’s more exciting than it’s been. For one, I have to figure out how the hell we’re going to survive the next little while - or at least till the next car shows up. It’s apparent that all of God’s blessings went to this man’s looks and little else.
He looms over me, his solid body blocking out most of the sun.
“Is that you God?”
He growls at me.
“It’s sexy when you do that. Do it again.”
He does, and I laugh obnoxiously because I somehow know it irritates him.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he demands.
Drawing my knees up to my chest, I reply, “Aside from being stuck on a highway, no.”
He makes this mottled sound of rage and steps towards me. “What the hell are we going to do?! There’s no gas station for at least 100 kilometres, and there is no town! We have NO food or water…” Words stop when he sees the smirk on my face. “What? There is water isn’t it? Or food of some kind?”
“Not until you ask me nicely.”
“DAMN YOU. I’D RATHER STARVE.”
I turn my head, resting it against my arms and look down the endless stretch of highway. If you look down it far enough, you can see these strange waves that make the horizon look blurry. “All the better. More for me.”
He growls in exasperation and sits himself down next to me. “Why are you doing this anyway?”
“What is this? A getting to know each other session? Buzz off.”
He swipes my head lightly. “Aren’t you supposed to take care of your hostage?”
“You’re lucky I’m not beating you to death.”
This time, it’s his turn to smirk. “What? With the fish?”
“Shut up.”
“Or your massive size?”
I turn around just in time to see him folding his arms across a rather spectacular chest. The dark T-shirt he wore certainly emphasizes his physique. What a man whore.
“Listen, if you’re going to slut it up, at least show some leg so that we can get a ride or something.”
His blue eyes bulge out of his head. Definitely not his best look.
“What?!”
I laugh again. “Look, if we’re depending on my looks to score us a ride, then we’re going to become food for the vultures.”
“Slightly overdramatic there? We’re not even in Arizona.” He glances over at me curiously. “Besides, I didn’t think you were the type of person to fish for compliments.”
Now, I’m staring at him as if he’d grown a second better looking twin. “Say what?”
“You know, am I supposed to say, no, you look fine the way you are.”
“Are you a liar on top of an idiot? I meant it when I said I wanted you to show some leg, and score us a ride to some place civilized.” I roll my eyes. “Fishing for compliments.” I add a snort. “Hey, is this reverse psychology? Cos’ I could tell you how PRETTY you look despite how much you REEK of fish.”
“And whose fault is that?!” He turned away from me. “Besides, I know I look good.”
“Ego much?”
He grins broadly, and runs his fingers through his hair. “When that many ladies throw themselves at you…”
“Buddy, do I look like the type to stuff bills down your pants? God, it’s hot here.”
“You want me to take off my clothes?” he mocks.
“If it means us getting a ride out of it, go for it. You might make some money out of it too,” I tell him nonchalantly, while telling my hormones to calm to hell down.
I’m sure he’s glaring at me at this point. Plain Jane (or Chanel in this case - my mother had a cruel sense of humour) giving Handsome Ken that much grief. I’m sure the guy hasn’t had this much trouble with women.
“You know, for a stripper, you certainly have a lot of attitude.”
He chokes. “A what?!” he sputters.
“If I need to educate you about the birds and the bees, I’m going to start walking.”
He reddens at my words.
“Oh for the love of god. When a man and a woman get together…”
His hand slides over my mouth. “JUST SHUT UP FOR A SECOND.”
I bite down, and he jumps away, cradling his hand in pain. “What the hell did you do that for?!”
“Your hand TASTES like fish,” I tell him in disgust, trying to get rid of the nastiness in my mouth. For a second, before I had been assaulted by that, I’d been trying to clear my head from his nearness. I do apologize for the girlishness I’m about to display, but I am female, and I can’t recall the last time I had sex. Imagine yourself in the arms of a man a good ten inches taller than you, firm muscular body and when you have to remind yourself to breathe, you remember that the rotten taste of fish in your mouth is not really supposed to be part of the fantasy.
“I’m sorry!! What the hell was I supposed to wash it with?” he sneers.
“I’m almost positive that’s assault. I think that’s jail time for you, what with your pretty boy looks, I’m sure you’ll be a HUGE hit in the prison cells. Watch out for that bar of soap.”
I burst out laughing when I hear him snarling, and content myself with the sun’s rays beating down on my face. I’m sure that it’s not doing wonders for my complexion but it’s been ages since I’ve been able to be outdoors like this. The last few months have been terrible weather-wise - sunny and beautiful during the workweek, but absolutely rotten on the weekends.
I sometimes wonder what it is that chains me to my job. It certainly wasn’t anything special and it certainly wasn’t anything I went to school for. I had graduated from university with a degree in psychology and filled with this hope that I was going to help people and I was going to make a difference. In the end, I had wound up at a desk job, shuffling papers, and being at the beck and call of some bastard of a boss. If I was helping the corporation gain a profit, I certainly wasn’t seeing any share of it.
“With that type of attitude, it’s little wonder that you don’t have friends.”
It was hard to make friends. It wasn’t that I wasn’t nice enough because contrary to my behaviour towards Ken (and I keep repeating that I’m really not that big of a bitch), I’m a nice person. But there’s nothing that stands out about me. My hobbies are dull, nondescript, and most people gravitate those who are beautiful or have something to bring to the conversation. I’m not that person.
I like reading, but the books I read are far too terrible to be mentioned in the light of day. Who can take a person who reads Harlequins seriously? Certainly not me, and I’m talking about myself here. I listen to music, but it’s all of the Top 40 variety. I’ve tried listening to other genres, and all I’ve gotten for my efforts is a really large headache, and several other free CDs thanks to the frequent buyer cards.
Don’t even get me started on sports. I’m born with two left feet. Musically, I tend to send birds crashing from the skies above. Poor things never knew what hit them, be it from my vocal cords or whatever musical instrument I’m torturing (seriously, my band teacher actually formed a club for the prevention of cruelty against musical instruments. I was their number one target). I’m certainly no intellectual, but I do play a mean game of Win, Lose or Draw. Again, for some reason, it’s not a friend magnet, or is it a boy one.
Are you feeling sorry for me yet? Good. Please send all your checks to PO Box 3050, Kakura City, 4953. I’m still working on being a registered charity. For some reason, the government gives me grief on the whole legitimacy of my eligibility.
“Hello? You still there, nutbar?”
“Whatever, Fishboy.”
I stand up abruptly. “We should get going,” I announce.
“Wait, don’t tell me you really have no fri…” His jaw falls. “Where the HELL did you get that Mars bar from?!”
“Mmmm… sooooo filling,” I somehow mouth around the mix of caramel and chewy goodness that gives me energy.
“Damnit woman!!! Gimme some!!!”
I avoid his arms and try to shove as much of the bar in my mouth as possible. “No… canb… do…”
“THIS MEANS WAR.”
My eyes widen as all six feet plus of him jumps at me and tackles me. Despite his weight, I’m barely injured. His arms cradle my fall for all of a nanosecond before he’s prying the chocolate bar from my hands.
“OVER MY DEAD BODY, KENNY BOY!!!”
“STOP CALLING ME THAT!!!”
“You know… you guys really shouldn’t be doing it on a public road, although man, free love is cool.”
We both pause and turn around to see a man with a ratty backpack flashing a peace sign at us. He’s Japanese in origin (apparently we’ve all congregated in this one spot) with long, stringy, dread-like hair. He might very well be a serial killer, but he’s my saviour nonetheless. Ken plucks the last of the chocolate bar out of my hands and devours it as I throw myself on the newcomer’s very smelly feet.
“PLEASE, JESUS, TELL ME YOU HAVE MORE FOOD. I AM THIRSTY AND STARVING.”
My silver-haired hostage gapes at me. “The HELL WOMAN?! You were going to eat the ONLY ration we had and let me starve?!”
“Sure, man,” the man tells us. “Plenty of food for everyone.”
He motions for us to follow him, and I hop to my feet and follow. Ken runs right to my side and hisses, “If we’re killed by this man, I’m blaming you.”
“Blasphemer. Jesus wouldn’t do that.”
He’s startled for a moment before he chokes back his laughter.
At this point, it’s all I can do to stop drooling even with the prospect of a holy man possibly killing us, because damnit, I think Ken got even hotter when he started laughing.
----------------------------------------------------------
When Bob said he’d offer us food, I don’t think this was what we expected.
“Yo, man, this chick is CRAAAAAZY. Like far out,” Ken drawls out, blue eyes a little hazier than usual.
Bob inhales sharply from his joint, and blows out little smoke rings. “She really kidnapped you? That’s… so crazy.”
“Speak for yourselves, smartasses. At least I have the brains not to eat hash brownies from Ganja Bob - no offense, Bob.”
He raises a hand. “It’s all cool.”
So, our kind host lives in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, nestled amongst some trees. As far as I can tell, the last time he cleaned this place was NEVER. “Don’t believe in cleaning, man,” was all he’d say when I asked. He was, however, kind enough to offer me food and drink (as if I’d accept anything after seeing the effects they had on Ken).
“Is it organic?” I ask Bob even though I knew better.
“Totally.”
Ken’s head’s lolling on the couch, and I can see him staring outside the dingy windows, fascinated by the squirrels seemingly moving in slow motion. It would appear that the fumes from Bob’s place have even drugged the animals and insects in the vicinity. It would also explain why the place isn’t quite crawling with cockroaches and the like. Then, Ken startles me by giggling. “No drugs for you, Barbie?”
For once, in our entire relationship (all ten hours of knowing him), I’m the one gaping at him. “What!? What part of me looks like Barbie to you?”
Ken gives the question great thought. I can tell because there are giant furrows forming between his brows.
“Barbie’s a woman, and so are you.”
“Excellent observation, man.”
“Shut up, Bob! Who the hell asked you?”
He raises his hands defensively. “Woah, Barbie. You need to chill. Your aura’s like messed up.”
I take a deep breath to avoid assault charges added to the list of crimes I’ve committed so far. Since Ross Rebaglatti has ruined it all for me, I highly doubt that the “Officer, I swear I was in the room when everyone else got high” excuse would work - unless I offered him some hash brownies.
Ken’s got some nasty, ratty looking blanket wrapped around him, and I think he’s in danger of falling off the couch and bashing his head in. As loathe as I am to damage pretty things, I think I’m looking forward to this.
“You know,” Bob says as he peers at us through the smoke that has thoroughly permeated the room. It’s worse than the high school dances where they won’t stop pumping the dry ice. “Ken… and Barbie. You’re so in sync together, man. Riding the wave and all…”
“Go smoke some more, you pothead!!”
“Excellent idea, friend. I shall.”
He gets up and putters off before I can throw something at him. Then, my hand is suddenly stopped and I turn back to see a surprisingly lucid Ken.
“You gonna assault Jesus on top of it all?” he asks with a smirk.
“The hell!?”
Prying the giant bong I had been about to whip at Bob’s head, Ken puts it down. “Man, you’re really hopeless, Barbie.”
“SHUT UP!! Don’t call me BARBIE!!!”
He flashes more shiny teeth at me. “Now you know how I feel.”
Falling back against the couch, I drop my head into my hands. “I want some edible food here that doesn’t involve me getting high.”
Hello. My name is Chanel Yamazaki.
God, that sounded like the intro to an AA meeting, and that you’ve maybe stepped into some sort of trailer trash novel, except for the part where my last name is Japanese. I think we’ve gotten off to a bad start. Let me start again.
I am Chanel Yamazaki. My name’s about the only exotic thing about me. Everything else is average. Brown hair, brown eyes, 5’4”, 130 lbs (are you awake still?) The only feature I have to be proud of is the fact that I still have my own teeth and I’m not bald.
At this point, you might be tempted to close the book, click the back button on your browser - whatever. To be quite honest, I can’t blame you. I cannot offer you much in the way of excitement. I lead a boring life. I wake up each day like clockwork, and I go to work. I grab whatever’s readily available, and I might a half-ass effort in thinking about working out. But it’s usually too exhausting for me, so I head towards McDonald’s and get my usual McChicken combo (like a good Asian should). By the time I get home, it’s time for a few hours of mind-numbing TV where I get to pretend that I’m one of the characters on screen before it’s time to go to bed and start again.
Are you tired of reading about my life yet? I know I am. Perhaps this was what prompted the events that followed. I really believe it was the fact that I was making out with Brad Pitt, and then waking up from near suffocation because I had practically devoured my pillow that threw me over the edge. This normalcy was pretty much like white noise to me - you know, that drone that your lights make, and suddenly, you wake up one day, and you’re chewing on synthetic down and calling up the HazMat hotline to make sure you haven’t poisoned yourself.
It was that sad realisation that made me hijack a helicopter along with the hottest man I’d ever seen.
All right, I might’ve exaggerated a little. He’s not THE hottest man I’d ever seen, but he’s the most gorgeous hostage I’d ever seen. You know, you ever wonder why hostages are never particularly attractive? Understandably, they’re afraid that some madman is going to kill them and their lives at stake, but it does make me wonder if a bigger ransom could be had if the hostages were hotter.
I digress. Where was I? Ah yes, my attractive hostage. The man honestly could NOT drive. It was as if he never owned a car in his life, or had his driver’s license. At this point, I finally think to ask him if he can drive.
“I’ve been telling you the last 10 kilometres that I don’t have a license!” he practically growls in frustration.
“Look, Ken…” I begin by telling him.
(At this point, it’s perfectly obvious that I might’ve exaggerated about another fact. The helicopter is in fact a car, but you had to admit, it hooked you in, right? Who would want to read a story about a girl hijacking a car with a fish no less?)
“MY NAME IS NOT KEN!!!” he screams at me.
“Eh? It’s not?”
“Argh, if you’re going to make up a name, at least give me a BETTER one.”
I quirk a brow and stare at him. “Look here, I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate.”
“And if I weren’t this bored, I wouldn’t be here. You have a FISH as a weapon.”
Okay, he got me there.
“Which you are allergic to?” I ask hopefully.
“No.”
“Damn. Is there something you’re allergic to?”
“Nuts.”
I mash him on his pretty silver head with the fish.
He nearly sends us into a ditch. “DAMNIT THAT’S GROSS!!!”
“You prick!!! STAY ON THE ROAD!!!” I shriek at him, clutching at the handlebar of the car, which fell off in my hand.
“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE!!!”
“… well, I guess we’re screwed then.”
---------------------------------------------------------
Are you still reading the story? Oh damn. I guess I better continue telling the tale then. At this point, I’m driving the car, and the hot, if somewhat stinky man, is holding on to the fish.
“Roll down the window, will you?” I tell him. “You smell.”
He narrows his icy blue eyes at me. “Whose fault do you suppose that is? And don’t think fluttering those lashes will work either.” He pauses. “Or that pout.”
I retract my lips. “Fine, asshole. We can BOTH smell then, instead of inhaling all that fresh air.”
The bastard rolls down the window then, and we both choke from all the industrial smoke pumping from the factories in the area.
“Damnit! Whose bright idea is it to put chemical plants next to the highway?” I growl.
He grins - flashy pearly whites no less. Could the man not have a crooked tooth? Or ten? “Mine actually.”
“Roll the windows back up!!”
The smirk widens. “Only if you ask nicely.”
“Now asshole, before I slam on the brakes and have your forehead bond with that dirty dashboard.”
“Nice threat,” he sneers, but he rolls the window back up anyway.
I should stress at this point that I am really not a bitch. The years of monotonous behaviour and boringness had made me a little crazy. You ever feel so trapped by your life that you don’t know what to do and you just want to scream? It’s the same deal here. The difference is that while most people figure out a way to deal with the stress, I simply choose to react a bit more outrageously, except now, his holy hotness is being the biggest pain in the ass.
My freaking hostage is not cooperating.
And why the hell am I driving the car anyway?
“Stupid jerk.”
“Excuse me?”
I shoot him a dirty look. “You heard me. Stupid jerk. This is all your fault.”
“How is this MY fault? You kidnap me…”
I laugh at him. “As I recall, you were asking for directions, Ken.”
“STOP CALLING ME THAT.”
“And you practically RAN ME OVER on the sidewalk. Come to think of it, that should’ve been my first clue that you were too stupid to drive!!!”
He whirls around to glare at me, fish and all. “Not everyone can drive you know!!”
“Awww, poor Kenny boy. Don’t worry. I’m sure you compensate in other areas.” I look at his lap. “Or maybe not.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
For some reason, seeing him that pissed off makes me grin. “Hey, I’m pretty sure that’s a crime, which would cancel mine out.”
“I can always plead insanity.”
“So can I. God this car sucks. Couldn’t you have had a better car?”
“I don’t pay my lawyer very well.”
“Ha ha. You are not Richard Gere.”
“You’re certainly no hooker,” he retorts.
“Gimme my fish back.”
He raises an imperious silver brow at me. “What?”
“My fish!!”
“You actually want your fish back,” he says in disbelief.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He tosses the fish at me. In my haste to catch it, I forget one single, basic fundamental law when it comes to driving a vehicle. At least one hand should be on the wheel.
--------------------------------------------------------------
“Who has the driver’s license again?” he smirks.
“Shut up, Ken.”
My head is pounding and throbbing. To be quite honest, I can’t believe you’re still reading this. Is this really that entertaining? Must I continue this story? I’ll give you a few more minutes. Gather your thoughts. Ponder why you’re reading this. Maybe have some juice? Steak?
Fine. Have it your way.
So I had crashed us into a ditch. The car’s in pretty bad shape, what with its front crunched up like that and one wheel rolling somewhere down the highway in front of us.
“At least my forehead came out undamaged,” I shoot back.
It’s true. Call it instinct (or a half-assed airbag that partially deployed), but I somehow threw my arms up front to stop my face from greeting the steering wheel. While my arms are a little sore, I’m none the worse for wear. My hostage, on the other hand, got up close and personal with the fish.
“Did you want a moment to say goodbye to Sakana? I’m sure her death must be hard on you.”
He rubs his lips and shoots another dirty look at me. “Shut up.”
I’m standing on the side of a near deserted highway, down a particular stretch that no one really traveled on with one of the sexiest guys I’ve ever met, and I just flop down and start laughing.
“What the hell? Don’t tell me you’ve finally gone crazy?”
I laugh and laugh, with no real idea or reason as to why I’m laughing. I’ve stranded myself thoroughly, and ended up back in square one. I still have no idea if I’m coming or going, but I’ll say this much, it’s more exciting than it’s been. For one, I have to figure out how the hell we’re going to survive the next little while - or at least till the next car shows up. It’s apparent that all of God’s blessings went to this man’s looks and little else.
He looms over me, his solid body blocking out most of the sun.
“Is that you God?”
He growls at me.
“It’s sexy when you do that. Do it again.”
He does, and I laugh obnoxiously because I somehow know it irritates him.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he demands.
Drawing my knees up to my chest, I reply, “Aside from being stuck on a highway, no.”
He makes this mottled sound of rage and steps towards me. “What the hell are we going to do?! There’s no gas station for at least 100 kilometres, and there is no town! We have NO food or water…” Words stop when he sees the smirk on my face. “What? There is water isn’t it? Or food of some kind?”
“Not until you ask me nicely.”
“DAMN YOU. I’D RATHER STARVE.”
I turn my head, resting it against my arms and look down the endless stretch of highway. If you look down it far enough, you can see these strange waves that make the horizon look blurry. “All the better. More for me.”
He growls in exasperation and sits himself down next to me. “Why are you doing this anyway?”
“What is this? A getting to know each other session? Buzz off.”
He swipes my head lightly. “Aren’t you supposed to take care of your hostage?”
“You’re lucky I’m not beating you to death.”
This time, it’s his turn to smirk. “What? With the fish?”
“Shut up.”
“Or your massive size?”
I turn around just in time to see him folding his arms across a rather spectacular chest. The dark T-shirt he wore certainly emphasizes his physique. What a man whore.
“Listen, if you’re going to slut it up, at least show some leg so that we can get a ride or something.”
His blue eyes bulge out of his head. Definitely not his best look.
“What?!”
I laugh again. “Look, if we’re depending on my looks to score us a ride, then we’re going to become food for the vultures.”
“Slightly overdramatic there? We’re not even in Arizona.” He glances over at me curiously. “Besides, I didn’t think you were the type of person to fish for compliments.”
Now, I’m staring at him as if he’d grown a second better looking twin. “Say what?”
“You know, am I supposed to say, no, you look fine the way you are.”
“Are you a liar on top of an idiot? I meant it when I said I wanted you to show some leg, and score us a ride to some place civilized.” I roll my eyes. “Fishing for compliments.” I add a snort. “Hey, is this reverse psychology? Cos’ I could tell you how PRETTY you look despite how much you REEK of fish.”
“And whose fault is that?!” He turned away from me. “Besides, I know I look good.”
“Ego much?”
He grins broadly, and runs his fingers through his hair. “When that many ladies throw themselves at you…”
“Buddy, do I look like the type to stuff bills down your pants? God, it’s hot here.”
“You want me to take off my clothes?” he mocks.
“If it means us getting a ride out of it, go for it. You might make some money out of it too,” I tell him nonchalantly, while telling my hormones to calm to hell down.
I’m sure he’s glaring at me at this point. Plain Jane (or Chanel in this case - my mother had a cruel sense of humour) giving Handsome Ken that much grief. I’m sure the guy hasn’t had this much trouble with women.
“You know, for a stripper, you certainly have a lot of attitude.”
He chokes. “A what?!” he sputters.
“If I need to educate you about the birds and the bees, I’m going to start walking.”
He reddens at my words.
“Oh for the love of god. When a man and a woman get together…”
His hand slides over my mouth. “JUST SHUT UP FOR A SECOND.”
I bite down, and he jumps away, cradling his hand in pain. “What the hell did you do that for?!”
“Your hand TASTES like fish,” I tell him in disgust, trying to get rid of the nastiness in my mouth. For a second, before I had been assaulted by that, I’d been trying to clear my head from his nearness. I do apologize for the girlishness I’m about to display, but I am female, and I can’t recall the last time I had sex. Imagine yourself in the arms of a man a good ten inches taller than you, firm muscular body and when you have to remind yourself to breathe, you remember that the rotten taste of fish in your mouth is not really supposed to be part of the fantasy.
“I’m sorry!! What the hell was I supposed to wash it with?” he sneers.
“I’m almost positive that’s assault. I think that’s jail time for you, what with your pretty boy looks, I’m sure you’ll be a HUGE hit in the prison cells. Watch out for that bar of soap.”
I burst out laughing when I hear him snarling, and content myself with the sun’s rays beating down on my face. I’m sure that it’s not doing wonders for my complexion but it’s been ages since I’ve been able to be outdoors like this. The last few months have been terrible weather-wise - sunny and beautiful during the workweek, but absolutely rotten on the weekends.
I sometimes wonder what it is that chains me to my job. It certainly wasn’t anything special and it certainly wasn’t anything I went to school for. I had graduated from university with a degree in psychology and filled with this hope that I was going to help people and I was going to make a difference. In the end, I had wound up at a desk job, shuffling papers, and being at the beck and call of some bastard of a boss. If I was helping the corporation gain a profit, I certainly wasn’t seeing any share of it.
“With that type of attitude, it’s little wonder that you don’t have friends.”
It was hard to make friends. It wasn’t that I wasn’t nice enough because contrary to my behaviour towards Ken (and I keep repeating that I’m really not that big of a bitch), I’m a nice person. But there’s nothing that stands out about me. My hobbies are dull, nondescript, and most people gravitate those who are beautiful or have something to bring to the conversation. I’m not that person.
I like reading, but the books I read are far too terrible to be mentioned in the light of day. Who can take a person who reads Harlequins seriously? Certainly not me, and I’m talking about myself here. I listen to music, but it’s all of the Top 40 variety. I’ve tried listening to other genres, and all I’ve gotten for my efforts is a really large headache, and several other free CDs thanks to the frequent buyer cards.
Don’t even get me started on sports. I’m born with two left feet. Musically, I tend to send birds crashing from the skies above. Poor things never knew what hit them, be it from my vocal cords or whatever musical instrument I’m torturing (seriously, my band teacher actually formed a club for the prevention of cruelty against musical instruments. I was their number one target). I’m certainly no intellectual, but I do play a mean game of Win, Lose or Draw. Again, for some reason, it’s not a friend magnet, or is it a boy one.
Are you feeling sorry for me yet? Good. Please send all your checks to PO Box 3050, Kakura City, 4953. I’m still working on being a registered charity. For some reason, the government gives me grief on the whole legitimacy of my eligibility.
“Hello? You still there, nutbar?”
“Whatever, Fishboy.”
I stand up abruptly. “We should get going,” I announce.
“Wait, don’t tell me you really have no fri…” His jaw falls. “Where the HELL did you get that Mars bar from?!”
“Mmmm… sooooo filling,” I somehow mouth around the mix of caramel and chewy goodness that gives me energy.
“Damnit woman!!! Gimme some!!!”
I avoid his arms and try to shove as much of the bar in my mouth as possible. “No… canb… do…”
“THIS MEANS WAR.”
My eyes widen as all six feet plus of him jumps at me and tackles me. Despite his weight, I’m barely injured. His arms cradle my fall for all of a nanosecond before he’s prying the chocolate bar from my hands.
“OVER MY DEAD BODY, KENNY BOY!!!”
“STOP CALLING ME THAT!!!”
“You know… you guys really shouldn’t be doing it on a public road, although man, free love is cool.”
We both pause and turn around to see a man with a ratty backpack flashing a peace sign at us. He’s Japanese in origin (apparently we’ve all congregated in this one spot) with long, stringy, dread-like hair. He might very well be a serial killer, but he’s my saviour nonetheless. Ken plucks the last of the chocolate bar out of my hands and devours it as I throw myself on the newcomer’s very smelly feet.
“PLEASE, JESUS, TELL ME YOU HAVE MORE FOOD. I AM THIRSTY AND STARVING.”
My silver-haired hostage gapes at me. “The HELL WOMAN?! You were going to eat the ONLY ration we had and let me starve?!”
“Sure, man,” the man tells us. “Plenty of food for everyone.”
He motions for us to follow him, and I hop to my feet and follow. Ken runs right to my side and hisses, “If we’re killed by this man, I’m blaming you.”
“Blasphemer. Jesus wouldn’t do that.”
He’s startled for a moment before he chokes back his laughter.
At this point, it’s all I can do to stop drooling even with the prospect of a holy man possibly killing us, because damnit, I think Ken got even hotter when he started laughing.
----------------------------------------------------------
When Bob said he’d offer us food, I don’t think this was what we expected.
“Yo, man, this chick is CRAAAAAZY. Like far out,” Ken drawls out, blue eyes a little hazier than usual.
Bob inhales sharply from his joint, and blows out little smoke rings. “She really kidnapped you? That’s… so crazy.”
“Speak for yourselves, smartasses. At least I have the brains not to eat hash brownies from Ganja Bob - no offense, Bob.”
He raises a hand. “It’s all cool.”
So, our kind host lives in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, nestled amongst some trees. As far as I can tell, the last time he cleaned this place was NEVER. “Don’t believe in cleaning, man,” was all he’d say when I asked. He was, however, kind enough to offer me food and drink (as if I’d accept anything after seeing the effects they had on Ken).
“Is it organic?” I ask Bob even though I knew better.
“Totally.”
Ken’s head’s lolling on the couch, and I can see him staring outside the dingy windows, fascinated by the squirrels seemingly moving in slow motion. It would appear that the fumes from Bob’s place have even drugged the animals and insects in the vicinity. It would also explain why the place isn’t quite crawling with cockroaches and the like. Then, Ken startles me by giggling. “No drugs for you, Barbie?”
For once, in our entire relationship (all ten hours of knowing him), I’m the one gaping at him. “What!? What part of me looks like Barbie to you?”
Ken gives the question great thought. I can tell because there are giant furrows forming between his brows.
“Barbie’s a woman, and so are you.”
“Excellent observation, man.”
“Shut up, Bob! Who the hell asked you?”
He raises his hands defensively. “Woah, Barbie. You need to chill. Your aura’s like messed up.”
I take a deep breath to avoid assault charges added to the list of crimes I’ve committed so far. Since Ross Rebaglatti has ruined it all for me, I highly doubt that the “Officer, I swear I was in the room when everyone else got high” excuse would work - unless I offered him some hash brownies.
Ken’s got some nasty, ratty looking blanket wrapped around him, and I think he’s in danger of falling off the couch and bashing his head in. As loathe as I am to damage pretty things, I think I’m looking forward to this.
“You know,” Bob says as he peers at us through the smoke that has thoroughly permeated the room. It’s worse than the high school dances where they won’t stop pumping the dry ice. “Ken… and Barbie. You’re so in sync together, man. Riding the wave and all…”
“Go smoke some more, you pothead!!”
“Excellent idea, friend. I shall.”
He gets up and putters off before I can throw something at him. Then, my hand is suddenly stopped and I turn back to see a surprisingly lucid Ken.
“You gonna assault Jesus on top of it all?” he asks with a smirk.
“The hell!?”
Prying the giant bong I had been about to whip at Bob’s head, Ken puts it down. “Man, you’re really hopeless, Barbie.”
“SHUT UP!! Don’t call me BARBIE!!!”
He flashes more shiny teeth at me. “Now you know how I feel.”
Falling back against the couch, I drop my head into my hands. “I want some edible food here that doesn’t involve me getting high.”