Preaching to the Choir

by Kitty Parker

  "Toga!" I shouted gleefully. "Toga! Toga!"

  Kurt smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.

  I couldn't manage to wipe the loony grin off of my face. Haha, he's turning pink! Maybe steam will start to come out of his ears… I reached for my cognac.

  "No more of that!" Kurt scolded, snatching the bottle away from my outstretched hand. He marched purposefully over to the large wooden wardrobe across the room and placed it on top where I wouldn't be able to reach it.

  Damn him and his abnormally long legs. Bloody rowers.

  "Nooooo, Kurt, pleeeeease!" I whined.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. "Why did you drink so much in the first place?"

  Oh no…

  I'd tried to erase the memories of the day's occurrences with alcohol, but they were swiftly flooding back. The graveyard… the rose… Alfons… Will…

  I shifted from Giddy-Giggling-Drunk-Mode into Depressive-Bawling-Drunk-Mode faster than Paris Hilton switches boy-toys.

  As he saw the tears begin to trail down my cheeks, Kurt slowly unfolded his arms. His expression softened, and he was at my side in an instant. "Oh God, Lotte, what happened?"

  "Will Buckley!" I wailed.

  He stiffened. "What about him?"

  Completely smashed as I was, it was rather difficult for me to translate the events of the afternoon into coherent sentences. Therefore, I settled for a simpler explanation: "He's a douchebag!"

  Kurt snorted. "No shit. What did he do?"

  "He spat on my uncle!" I bawled.

  "He what?"

  I sniffled. "He hocked a loooooogie on Onkel Alfons."

  "What did Onkel Alfons do?" Kurt was trying hard (and failing) to keep the amused grin from his lips.

  "He's DEAD, Kuuuuuurt, dead!"

  All traces of merriment immediately disappeared from Kurt's face. "Oh… Wow, I… I'm really sorry, Lotte… Wait…" He frowned. "What's the deal with him and Buckley, then?"

  "H-he spat on Onkel Alfons's grave!" I whimpered. "He s-said that he should've been left to rot! And…and…oh, Kurt!" I threw my arms around his neck. "I feel so awwwwful! I knoooooow he was in the S.S., but he was faaaaaamily and I loooooove my faaaaaamily and I haaaate Will Buckleeeey!"

  To Kurt's credit, he was getting pretty good at working through my emotional meltdowns. It wasn't as though they were a particularly frequent occurrence, but not many people could deal with two in one week. He handled the situation like a seasoned veteran, though, joining me on the bed and pulling my shaking body close to his chest. I buried my face in the crook of his neck as he began to rub his hand across my back in soothing circles.

  After five minutes or so had passed, I had more or less calmed down. Yes, I was still upset, and yes, I was still drunk, but the waterworks had more or less turned off. Kurt sat me up so that he could look at me properly. "Are you alright now?" he asked, scrutinizing my features, searching for unshed tears.

  I nodded, but not without a small hiccup.

  "Good," he replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find a certain son of a bitch named Will Buckley."

  I pouted, upset that he was ditching me. "Why?"

  "I owe him a beating."

  "But Kuuuuuurt-" I whined.

  "No, Lotte," he interrupted. "He has it coming. He had absolutely no right to disrespect your family like that!"

  "Kuuuuuurt, stay with me, don't leeeeave!"I gave him the most imploring look I could muster in my inebriated state. "I neeeeeed you!" It was true enough; I did feel vulnerable and in need of some sort of moral support.

  He looked at me quite seriously, then nodded in understanding. "As long as you need me, I'll be there for you. I promise."

  "Pinkie promise?" I added hopefully, sticking out said digit.

  He smiled ever-so-slightly, then joined his finger with mine. "Pinkie promise."

  Grinning stupidly, I attempted to stand up, only to fall right back over onto the bed.

  Kurt chuckled lightly. "I think it's time that we attempted to sober you up a bit."

  I rolled over and stared at him. "And just how are we gonna do that?"

  "Cold shower," he answered nonchalantly, scooping me into his arms and carrying me to the bathroom, as though depositing drunks in tubs was something that he did every day.

  "Nooooo," I protested, thumping my fists weakly against his (admittedly well-defined) chest. "I'll get all wet!"

  The corner of his mouth lifted up in a grin. "That's the general idea." With that, he plopped me into the bathtub and reached for the tap.

  "Wait!" I objected. Not considering the obvious potential for awkwardness, I hastily removed my tank top and boxers, hoping to salvage them from the water so that I'd have something warm to put on after Kurt was done torturing me. Satisfied, I slumped back in the tub, wearing only my mismatched bra and panties. "Alright, Houdini, make me sober!"

  Kurt stared at me open-mouthed for a minute or two before coming to his senses and turning on the faucet. A wave of frigid water made contact with my skin, causing me to emit a high-pitched shriek. I was honestly surprised that the bathroom window didn't shatter.

  "TURN IT OFF!" I bellowed.

  Kurt shook his head defiantly.

  Put out, I grabbed the bar of soap provided by the hotel (which was still in its wrapper) and chucked it at him. It hit him in the knee and fell with a plunk to the tiled floor. He remained completely unfazed, though an amused grin twitched at the corners of his lips.

  Unable to take any more, I reached forward and shut off the tap, then lay back in the tub. I lazily turned my head and looked over at Kurt. He was simply watching me, entranced. Of course, I failed to make the connection between the intensity of his gaze and what I was wearing. Being completely sloshed tends to cloud one's thinking that way. The only thing that I truly took notice of was how attractive he was just standing there. It didn't exactly help that I was a shameless flirt when drunk, either.

  Wow…he's so PRETTY! I like pretty boys! Pretty boys are fuuuuun!

  Slowly and a bit unsteadily, I climbed out of the tub and walked over to Kurt, dripping all over the floor as I went but not really giving a shit about it. I was too concentrated on the fine specimen of maleness in front of me.

  "You're so pretty," I informed him. I felt that he ought to be aware of just how gorgeous he was. He shouldn't have been in the dark about something so important.

  Kurt froze up immediately, panic etched in every detail of his face. "I-I'm… uh… I… er… thanks?"

  "I really mean it," I went on, disregarding my companion's stuttered response and blatant discomfort. "You're pretty. Pretty, pretty, PRETTY!" I placed both of my palms on his toned chest and slowly ran them down across his abs. He shivered in response to my touch. I hooked my fingers underneath his shirt and began to pull it off.

  "W-What are you doing?" he asked nervously.

  "It's pretty," I explained, my tone of voice suggesting that the answer should have been completely obvious. "I wanna see more of the prettiness!"

  Kurt's mouth opened and closed a few times. He gulped, then hesitantly removed his shirt, exposing the defined torso he'd gained from countless hours of rowing on the Merrimack River.

  "Wow…" I sighed. "You're dreeeeamy…" Without thinking about it, I planted a smooch smack in the middle of his stomach. I honestly didn't consider anything I was doing to be unusual or provocative in any way.

  Kurt's breath hitched as I began tracing the outlines of his pectoral muscles with my index finger. My other hand - accidentally, mind you - brushed against the teepee that had sprung up in his jeans.

  "Lotte…" he murmured huskily.

  Holy majoly, that was sexy.

  Unable to resist, I reached up, threaded my hands through his hair, and pulled his face toward mine.

  He was noticeably startled. "Wait, maybe this isn't such a g-"

  I interrupted him by firmly pressing my lips to his.

  They're sooooooft…

  Kurt hesita
ted for a moment, then threw caution to the wind and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against his body and returning my kiss enthusiastically. As horribly clichéd as it may seem, I felt a jolt of electricity (or something equally exciting and dangerous) shoot through my body and a flame of passion ignite within me.

  My lips moved with Kurt's in perfect synchrony, each of us reacting intuitively to the subtle actions of the other. The kiss was at once passionate, longing, romantic, and tender, an attempt to convey incomprehensible feelings that we could neither make sense of, nor express with words. I certainly had no idea what was going on in my mind, though this could probably have been attributed to the alcohol coursing through my veins.

  Kurt ran the tip of his tongue over my lower lip, humbly requesting entry. I happily obliged, parting my lips slightly and allowing him to taste and explore me. His tongue caressed mine, drawing abstract pictures upon the unconventional canvas. I sucked lightly, and he moaned, pulling me even closer into him (if that was at all possible).

  He tastes like coffee…and peppermint…yum…

  Prying his lips away from mine, Kurt began to leave kisses in a slow, sensual trail across my cheek and down my neck. I tilted my head to the left to allow him better access. When he reached my most sensitive spot (right above my collarbone, where my neck and shoulder met), I emitted a contented sigh. Kurt, in response, remained where he was, kissing, licking, and sucking, making my toes curl in pleasure.

  Damn, he's good at this…

  I ran my hands over his back and around to his abs, enjoying the feel of the hard muscle covered by smooth skin beneath my fingers. Drunk as I was, I was also quite amused by the idea of touching Kurt's stomach.

  Haha, tummy!

  My wandering touch eventually alighted on the elastic waistband of Kurt's boxers, peeking out slightly from beneath his jeans.

  Now, I was not only a flirtatious drunk, but also an incredibly silly drunk. The most stupid, juvenile things amused me when I had had one too many shots of vodka. I even laughed at my father's jokes (that was usually the major tip-off for my parents at family parties, from which nearly all of my relatives incurred massive hangovers).

  Consequently, giving Kurt's elastic a good yank seemed like a particularly hilarious idea. Curling the fingers of my right hand around the waistband, I pulled it back slowly about four inches.

  Ready… set…

  SNAP!

  As the elastic gave Kurt a good whap in the stomach, he quickly jumped away from me, startled and literally snapped back to reality. I doubled over with maniacal laughter, considering my little prank to be absolutely brilliant.

  Kurt, however, did not seem to agree. His cheeks had turned a color rather similar to magenta, and he trained his gaze resolutely on his shoelaces.

  "Kurtie," I giggled. "You're so goofy!"

  Wearing a fairly pained expression, he raised his head to meet my eyes. "Why did… I shouldn't have… you're drunk and… oh dear God I'm such a…" Biting his lip, he trailed off into oblivion. Finally, with no more than a muttered "sorry," he turned and swiftly left the room.

  "Heeeeey," I protested, hearing the door to the hallway shut behind him. "You forgot your shirt…"

  ----------------

  An hour or two later, I was beginning to sober. I was lying on my bed, staring at nothing in particular and attempting not to think about anything at all, when the door opened with a loud bang.

  "LOTTE!" screeched an absolutely livid Jane. "What the FUCK-"

  "I don't want to talk about it," I interrupted, rolling over and curling into a fetal position.

  "Let her be, Jane," Eden calmly advised. I felt the bed sag a bit as she sat down next to me. She gently rubbed her hand up and down my back.

  I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes and didn't bother to stop them as they made their way down my cheeks and onto the pillow. I clutched the object in my hands - Kurt's shirt - closer to my chest.

  I had royally fucked up and I knew it.

  This had been the first time I'd truly abused alcohol. Yes, I would occasionally get a bit tipsy, but I would never drink for the sole purpose of getting hammered. I liked to retain my self-control, and, as the events of the evening had so flawlessly demonstrated, drinking too much caused me to perform acts of lunacy that I was certain to regret when sober.

  Oh fuck, I actually kissed him.

  I felt like beating myself over the head with a copy of Interacting with Boys for Dummies or some other book that emphasized the fact that kissing random guys while drunk was generally a profoundly bad idea.

  God, I'm an idiot. He probably thinks that I'm psychotic.

  He had kissed me back. But then again, people of the male persuasion were not exactly known for being able to control their sexual impulses. Hormones didn't tend to take a potential mate's sanity (or lack thereof) into account. Stupid endocrine system.

  Things were bound to be awkward between Kurt and I for the remainder of the trip. We'd spent nearly eleven years driving each other round the bend, and then wham, I got drunk and smooched him.

  If I die of embarrassment, maybe I'll get a Darwin Award or something. The gene pool would certainly be better off without my idiocy.

  The door to the room opened and shut.

  "Hey guys," Brigid greeted us cheerfully. There was a pause. "So, uh, what did I miss?"

  ----------------

  Dreams can often become an escape from reality. My dreams that night, however, afforded no such diversion. I would have loved to have dreamt of, say, hunky strangers taking me on moonlit gondola rides in Venice (that had easily been one of the best dreams I'd ever had), but no, I got Kurt. Even my subconscious was berating me for being a moron.

  "I'm gonna get you, Lotte!" a fourteen year-old Jane declared menacingly as she ran toward the snow bank that I had hidden myself behind.

  I grinned. My would-be assassin had no idea that I had ammo and would therefore make a formidable foe. I held my perfectly round snowball protectively until I heard footsteps swiftly approaching my barricade.

  Ready…

  I tensed my muscles, ready to spring up.

  Aim…

  The footsteps crunched in the snow not five feet away from where I crouched.

  "FIRE!" I roared, lobbing my weapon into the face of the enemy. I was surprised, however, when the hand that rose to wipe the snow out of its owner's eyes was not encased in one of Jane's pink gloves.

  Oh no, this hand just happened to be sporting a black glove embellished with a snowboarding logo. I knew those gloves. I didn't like them at all, not because of the gloves themselves (there was really nothing wrong with them) but because of the person wearing them. This turn of events, of course, only meant one thing…

  "What the hell was that for, Lotte?"

  …that my day was about to go to hell in a handcart.

  I smiled sheepishly at a rather disgruntled looking Kurt. "Um…oops?"

  "Oops?" he repeated, nonplussed. "That's it? No 'sorry, Kurt, it was my fault and I'll make it up to you'?"

  Shooting a glare at Jane, who was lying in the snow nearby, howling with laughter, I planted my hands on my hips. "If you hadn't gotten in the line of fire, it never would have happened."

  "Still," he pressed on. "You did hit me in the face with snow. You should do something nice to make up for it."

  I raised an eyebrow at him. "What could I do to you that could possibly be considered 'nice'? And more importantly, why would I want to do it?"

  He gave me his trademark smirk. Oh, how I hated that smirk.

  "How about you admit that I'm the hottest guy in the world and that you'd just about die of happiness if I kissed you?"

  "I would," I began sarcastically. "But Mutti always taught me never to lie if I could avoid it. What can I say, Matthews? I was raised well."

  He gave me a once-over. "I'll say. Great genes, too."

  "Pervert."

  "Takes one to know one."

  I rol
led my eyes. "That is so juvenile."

  He grinned. "But not as juvenile as this…"

  So saying, he grabbed a handful of snow, reached forward, and mashed it into my face.

  Chapter 15: Tequila Sunrise

  Shit.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Those were my only coherent thoughts as my mind shifted from the blissful unawareness of sleep into the harsh realm of reality…and massive hangovers.

  Perhaps, I thought, if I just lie here with my eyes closed, I won't have to deal with the splitting headache that I'm almost certainly going to have.

  Fortune, however, had not decided to grace me with her presence that morning.

  There was a dull clunk as a glass of water was placed on the night table next to my pillow, followed by a persistent tapping on my shoulder. I endured it for as long as I was able, hoping against all hopes that it might go away on its own. Finally, grouchy and in quite a bit of pain, I rolled over to glare at my supposed best friend.

  "What?" I grunted.

  Eden held out her palm, upon which rested a pair of pale blue capsules. "Here, take them," she offered, lowering her voice so as not to worsen the pain in my head (which was already somewhere between the sat-on-by-an-obese-male level and the whacked-with-a-sledgehammer level on the ouch-scale). "They'll help with the hangover."

  Gritting my teeth against the unbearable throbbing, I forced myself to smile gratefully as I accepted the pills. "Thanks, pal."

  "No problem." She gave me a small, sympathetic smile.

  There was an awkward silence as I tossed the painkillers into my mouth and swallowed.

  "I'm assuming that you don't want to talk about it."

  I nodded. "Not right now." I was honestly in no mood to discuss the massive faux pas I'd made the night before.

  With an understanding smile, Eden crossed over to the sitting area that adjoined the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  Scheiße.

  I had royally fucked up, and I knew it. If I were to sit down and write a book on things I'd learned the hard way, the first chapter would be entitled "Never Ever, Under Any Circumstances, Get Drunk and Kiss Someone You Will Have to Face in the Morning." A long title, perhaps, but it would certainly convey the importance of the warning.