Misc. Scrap 1b

“Thanks,” the woman replies flatly, before unapologetically tipping the mattress on its side and sending its contents to the ground three feet below with a loud clunk.  The contents let out one or two choice cusses from under the blanket that’s fallen on top of them as she asks, “What the hell you doin’ in my house, kid?”

Mystery Nude sits up, rubbing the back of her head painfully.  “Jeesh, sister, give a girl some warning next time; what’d I do?”

“I wake up and find you lyin’ on top of my bed, passed out, drunk, and buck naked,” she reiterates in an extremely nonplussed tone.  “I’d like to know what you did too.”

“Man, you sure know how to throw a hella party.”  The girl yawns, purposely thrusting her more-than-modest chest forwards.  “Hey, like, is there any of that… that, uhh, that, stuff, left?  That stuff was good, girl.”

It takes a great deal of effort for the woman not to sigh uncontrollably at what to her is a near-complete waste of a human being.  She plants one hand on her hip and does as best she can to explain the situation using small words.  “Look, I’m going to put this as politely as I can:  I don’t know you.  There was no party at this house last night.  I don’t think you know where you are.  And I’m going to have to ask you to leave.  Now.”

“Aww, c’mon, lemme stay; I could make it worth your while, y’know,” she adds, clumsily fiddling with her sock as she crouches down in an attempt to look seductive.

The muscle underneath her eye twitches.  “I don’t swing that way kid.”

“Well how’d’you know if you’ve never tried?”

“Bitch I will drag you out of my house by your damn titties if I have to!”

Reaching down with the authority of a giant, the perturbed woman grabs the girl by her neck and pulls her to her feet, not quite but almost dragging her out of the room, through half of the violet-walled and brown-carpeted hallway, and up to another bedroom door.  She pounds on the wood, her captive squirming and complaining all the while, neither of which result in anything beneficial.

“Trisha!  Trisha effing Jainmoore, get up and deal with your damn hooker!”

The frenzied pounding continues without remorse, masking the first answer and nearly masking the second, louder one of, “What, dammit?!  It’s five A.M.!”

“There was a lesbian hooker in my bedroom and I want to know why!”

“Nngggh, I don’ have a hook…” Trisha replies languidly, not quite as accustomed as her roommate at getting up before sunrise.

“Well she sure as hell ain’t mine and Jeff’s out of town so I’d say that narrows it down a bit, don’t you?

“I didn’t hire a dang hooker, Roc,” she responds again, her throat still too asleep to manage a legitimate shout.  “She probably just, like, wandered in on accident.”

Roc rolls her eyes, having heard similar excuses to this same root problem a dozen times before.  “But that couldn’t possibly happen now, could it, because you locked the door when you got in last night, didn’t you?”

“Uuhhh, hang on…”

Five seconds later, Roc gets sick of hanging.  “Damn it, Trish, I told you, lock the front door at night or we will get drunks!  Especially on holidays!”

“Hey, I’m nah’ drunk, ’m just a little sleepy,” the drunk responds, having now taken the grasping of her throat in stride and trying to take a nap on Roc’s shoulder.

“It’s not New Year’s Eve anymore,” Trisha’s door answers.

Roc kicks the base of Trisha’s door for emphasis.  “You think they care about that?  I swear…  You know, no, I’m don’t have to deal with this.  I’m going to work.  Trish, get woken up, get this chick dressed, and get her out of my house.  Also, vacuuming; don’t forget this is your week.”

“Wait, dressed?  What the hell’d you do to her clothes?!”

The woman turns to the interloper and removes the grip on her throat, which is met with a thankful puppy-dog gaze.  “Rent’s four hundred fifty a month if you want to stay,” Roc tells her from out of the blue.  “That covers the room, utilities, internet, and use of the household appliances.  Otherwise, don’t be here when I get back, woman.”

“Oh… Kay,” the girl answers, crossing her arms in front of her for warmth.  “It’s, really cold in here, y’know.”

“They’re called clothes.”




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s