Status: Discontinued

Have Kids, Then We'll Talk

Jared, Waysted

I was dizzy… wasn’t I?

Let’s look at the premises of this little situation.

There seems to be an entire construction crew drilling at the back of my skull, wishing perhaps to escape the delusion of my chaotic mind. There seems to be a nuclear war ongoing in this room, all flashes of neon light and explosions pulsating with the resounding techno music. There seems to be three hands attached to my arm, all bearing a shot glass each, when I could only remember having one at a time. Oh, look, now there’s four of them… wait, only two…

My, my, do I confuse myself. Why was I so lightheaded?

Oh, of course. How could I forget? I’ve been waiting for it for so long, it seems to have taken a toll on me to have it actually happen. Did it really, anyway, or was it just a glimpse of alcohol-induced memory? I’ve had countless dreams about it; perhaps it’s now melting in with my distorted reality.

Charlie McCracken kissed me.

She tasted just like how I imagined she would. All sweet nicotine poison and cherry schnapps. Only better… or worse, depending on how you view it. More intoxicating than I ever bargained for. More addicting than I ever wished she wasn’t… because now I find myself wanting more.

I’ve always thought I’d be happy with one, but it seems all those years of fantasy would not be satisfied with such a meager kiss. But then again, five seconds of soft-lipped ecstasy was hardly enough in the first place.

But then, as quickly as I found her, she had fled, and I was too entranced to even pull myself up in pursuit of her. I tried to lift my legs, but they were frozen in place; it seems even my own limbs have betrayed me. How convenient.

Before I can even make another move, I feel something, or someone, sink into the cushions beside me. Charlie?

“Why so alone?” A silken female voice spoke. A voice that wasn’t Charlie’s. Nor did she sound like the girl I’ve been mindlessly flirting with before Charlie came – the one named after a color… Magenta? Violet? – or anyone I knew.

I turned my head a bit, too lethargic to do anything else, even in the name of courtesy. What came into my slightly blurred vision was a blond girl with a very, very pale face, red, red lipstick, and too much mascara. She wore a stretchy dress with large patterns of crimson and black squares. She reminded me of a clown.

My face scrunched up, and she grinned, flicking her yellow curls over her shoulder as she scooted closer to me, and as foolish as it sounds, I was too lazy to back away.

Her fingers traced the rim of the glass I was holding, soon ghosting her touch over my immobile hand.

“So, you have a name, puddin’? I’m Harley, nice to meet you.” She giggled as her palm smoothed over my arm, her fingers like spiders as they tentatively crawled up my shoulder.

I struggled to blink and breathe at the same time as she touched her leg to mine. “Jared. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Damn my built-in etiquette. Damn it to hell.

Her smirk made it seem like she wanted to either laugh at me or devour me. Or chuckle maniacally as she eats me alive.

“You’re quite the joker, aren’t you, Jared? Mind if I call you Mr. J?” Then somehow she maneuvered herself halfway into my lap, arms haphazardly thrown around me. Her scent was of wet rotten flowers, so unlike the cigarette-and-Chanel combination so I loved about Charlie. Some urge of reason was concerned about what people would assume if they saw Harley and me in such a compromising position, but the more logical side dominated with the simple fact that there are obviously more scandalous things occurring in some other part of this place. It was a Wentz party, after all.

“Do I amuse you?” I ask with a trace of irritation. If she noticed it, she certainly did not show signs of doing so. Or caring, for that matter. Instead, she proceeded to caress my cheek, velvet upon velvet skin giving me goose bumps. I was not sure if I was disgusted or turned on, and for the record, I don’t think I wanted to know.

She lowered her mouth to my neck and laughed softly. “Maybe you do. Got a problem with that?” Suddenly there was something wet and slick on the contour of my ear, and I physically shivered as she slowly licked the spot below it. Unfortunately, she took it as a positive sign and ran her hand through my hair, in a manner she perhaps perceived as sexy.

“Do you kiss on the first date, Mr. J?” She whispered as her hand traveled from my shoulder, to my throat, down my chest, and hovered teasingly over my crotch. “Or do anything else?”

Her hand lightly cupped my clothed privates and I suppose any other living adolescent male would be jumping for joy internally if they were put in such a situation, and regrettably I remember that I once thought that way too. My main goals at any social gathering had been to drink myself to oblivion, find a nameless girl, and share something that should only be kept in a truly intimate relationship, certainly not including strangers you only know for a night. That is, until the nameless girl wasn’t so nameless after all – her name was Shay – and until that one night nearly destroyed a friendship. So I promised myself, never again… and with no one else but Charlie. If it even happens.

Harley’s prying hand was just about to slip under my pants when a loud, stabbing yell invaded her intentions.

“Hey, Jay baby, what’s uuuppp?” The exclamatory greeting of a particular Richard Wentz seemed more musical in my ears this moment than all of Vivaldi and Beethoven and Mozart’s works combined.

My eyes flitted up to meet his, thankfulness clearly written in my expression. “Dickie!” All right, perhaps I was too enthusiastic to see him, but why hide the truth?

His smile was so mischievous and encompassing it could have given a small child nightmares for a week. “Whatcha doing, Jared?”

The complete and utter asshole. As if he didn’t realize my situation and came purposely to rescue me. Perhaps to savor my torment, but those were the perks of being best friends – the telepathy thing.

“This… is my… acquaintance… Harley…” Who still seems to have failed to take the cue that it was time to disentangle herself from her unwilling captive.

Dick gave her a once-over, like another girl would to some harlot-resembling competition, before slicking his hair back in a mock attempt to make himself appear attractive.

“Harley? Really?” He repeated incredulously. “Damn, girl, you got some legs…”

She instantly lifted herself off me, spying an easier target who might just give her more props for her efforts…

“…and a lot of makeup.” Or not. “You wouldn’t mind if I steal this boy for a while, won’t you?”

She obviously would, but that does not stop Dick Wentz from practically hauling me off my seat and dragging me off to some safe location a.k.a. wherever Harley isn’t.

We take part in a staring contest for a good two minutes or so, before the chemical imbalances in my brain take effect and I crash against him for support, laughter bursting from my gut as I bury my face in his shoulder.

He laughs too, and smacks the side of my head playfully.

“You whackjob. The hell were you doing with a whore?”

I wonder why he was asking me when the answer was so evident.

“I dunnooo. The hell am I doing with you?” I throw the comment back at him and let a few more spurts of laughter release themselves from my mouth.

“Uhm, well, you’re being very drunk and…” He pauses and cocks his head towards the direction from which we escaped from Harley. “Very horny from the likes of it. How much did you drink, huh? Smells more like half the kegger…”

Half the…! Surely I did not gulp down so much alcohol during my alone time without Charlie… Oh, and speaking of…

“Dear Charlotte finally kissed me,” I slurred, perhaps hoping that would explain my actions. “I was trying to forget, I don’t know why… but I can’t…” Was I even making sense?

But it seemed only my opening statement caught Dick’s attention, as his impressed face would suggest.

“Wow. She’s mega hot. Props on finally snagging her.”

What a poor choice of words, dear Richard. It made her sound like a sweater and I was the rusty old nail she caught a thread on. I supposed I’d tell him that myself.

“I don’t snaaag.” Complete with an eye-roll. So maybe I was going for something slightly more intelligent, but as an excuse, so many varying factors seemed to have dumbed me down tonight. “And besides, she ran away.”

He snorted, disregarding my attempts to be understandable. Tsk tsk, how inconsiderate.

“Did you try to cop a feel? ‘Cause one kiss in doesn't mean free-range, regardless of how much alcohol you've had.”

I’m offended he would dare to think of such a thing. I attempted to straighten myself up, even if my knees seemed to wobble and the world seemed to like dancing the Macarena around me.

“I’m Jared Way, I mind my manners.”

Dick copies my disposition. “Which is why you, dear Jared Arthur, never get laid.”

A lie! “Nowadays, you mean. Perhaps I should return to my old self, just for a night.” Talk about a sudden attitude adjustment. Perhaps it’s the alcohol finally making me return to my former worldly ways. How terribly ironic.

Dick throws his arm around my shoulders in an odd show of camaraderie and affection. “But how about you do that with someone who's had all her shots, yeah?”

I tried to replicate my earlier shiver. “Harley scares me.” Plain, blunt, and simple. I should try being like this more often.

“She should, she’s a hooker.”

I laugh again, so very uncharacteristic of me, and so very fun. Dick was fun! And, as I came to realize as I bent my knees with his arm around my shoulders…

“You’re really short, Dickie.”

He chuckles, removing his arm. Maybe it was getting sore from reaching up too high. “Thanks, it’s the Wentz in me.”

Before I could say anything else, the song suddenly shifts into something horrible and familiar.

”Ice ice baby…”

“Ugh, not this song…” He groans and would have smacked himself in the head had this been a 90’s cartoon.

“Aw, but you absolutely adore this number, Dickie,” I smirked in reminder of him as a child, singing it in front of his bathroom mirror with accompanying hip shimmies.

He glared at me, then assumed an arrogant pose and pointed to a nearby table. “I think you should go up there and strip for your friend Harley. She’ll like it, I think.”

It was a dare, and like any dares from Dick Wentz, you are better off not doing them… however, I was not feeling particularly like myself, and for the first time in a long time my inhibitions seemed to have gone on hibernation for that proverbial winter.

So instead of saying “No, thanks, Dickhead,” I said, “I’ll be lonely, all alone. You ought to come up with me. It’s only right. We’re best friends for life, after all.”

“Oh, hell no.” Dick shook his head. “I'm not nearly drunk enough to get on that table. Best friends or not, I don't love you that much.”

Perhaps, but I had a trump card. I knew something he would love to do that much – which is score with my cousin.

“Fine. I’ll just have to kiss you in the presence of Madie and she won’t go anywhere near you… thinking you’re queer and the like.”

He is defeated. I know it.

“You’re very mean, Jared.”

I grin widely, stretching it from ear to ear, as if my mouth had been scarred permanently in a Cheshire smile.

“Thanks. It’s the Way in me. Would you like to go up first?”

Still moderately ill-tempered, he shoves me toward the table and climbs up, offering a hand to me.

“You’re making the introductions here,” he muttered as people began to notice the scene we were creating.

I take his hand and jump on the table, making it wobble for an instant. Dick nearly stumbles but maintains his balance, and the teasing, annoying smile still hasn’t left my face.

“My dearest Dick, this is your party, after all.”

“Yeah, but this is your fight.”

He mumbles something to a girl who was near the stereo, who soon restarts the blasted song.

The opening notes tumble forth and the room shakes to its basic, primitive beat.

”Ice ice baby…”

How unlucky that my dear Charlotte went home so early, for it seems that the real party had just begun. Such a definite shame.

I do wonder why she was so serious…
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I had fun writing this... Hehe. The Ice Ice Baby is credited to Yeya ^_^ Please comment!