Shoulda Known

“This has gone on long enough, Alan. Wake her up.”

“Christobel, she’s not ready, you can’t just WAKE her up.”

“Fine, if you’re not man enough…”

Fingers dug into my hair and wrenched my head back and I smelled something metallic; a manicured nail pressed the side of my nose and then I inhaled it: the wonderful, sharp, cloying scent of cocaine.

“Sniff.” The voice demanded. Even in my half-dead state, I wasn’t about to pass that up. I obeyed, taking a very hard snort of it. The drip was horrible, but the sensation made my eyes crack open and I croaked, “More.”

The hand in my hair abruptly let go and my head flopped onto my chest. My eyes felt crusted over, my limbs were aching, and almost immediately my nose started gushing.

“Oh for Christ's sakes,” Christobel muttered, then shoved Kleenex into my face. They fell uselessly onto my lap.

“Christobel, be careful, for Christ's sake!” Alan snarled, and then I smelled Drakkar Noir and his hand held the tissues up to my bloody face. I made a move to hold the Kleenex myself, but I felt as if I was moving through pudding.

“More,” I murmured. “No, you don’t need more, Nyx,” Alan said quietly, pushing me back into the covers. Christobel snorted. “Just give it to her, she’ll be doing it again soon enough, what’s the point?”

I raised a finger. “Your cantankerous lady for once has a point.”

“No, she doesn’t need more, Christobel. She needs to get help.” Alan rolled his eyes. My head ached like nobody’s business.

Christobel threw up her hands and the sound of her high heels clacking out of the room nearly caused my brain to split into two. I moaned feebly and raised my tired arms to cover my face.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three days,” Alan answered quietly.

I peeked out at him. “I’m sorry, Alan.”

He cracked a smile that he didn’t feel. “Stop cheapening that word."

It was then I realized how unkempt he was, his blonde hair was disheveled his clothes were wrinkled, and the bags underneath his eyes were almost as bad as mine.

He caught me looking at him. “I didn’t want to trust you to the maids. Besides, I’ve done this for you more times than I can count.”

I smiled weakly and covered his hand with mine. “There’s nobody that loves me the way you do.” It was probably, as I realize now, an insensitive thing to say, but Alan laughed bleakly.

“Oh, don’t give me that. God help the poor bastard that ever really loves you. I feel bad for him.”

“Well, don’t waste your sympathy.” I let go of his hand and let out a deep sigh. “If there were ever a guy like that, I’d hope he had the good sense to never speak to me.”

“What made you do it this time?” Alan questioned. I snickered. 

“If I told you, you’d never believe it.”

“Try me.” Alan sat back and threw the bloody Kleenex onto the bedside table. I debated against telling him, but it was all too unbelievable, so for the next 20 minutes I alternated between fighting back the urge to puke and telling him everything about Chris, from meeting up at Lagers to the Craigslist post to the beach. When I was done, Alan whistled.

“Look at you, snagging the attention of a millionaire superstar. How does that happen?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck, I don’t know. It just happened. Major glitch in the Matrix."

Alan looked down at his feet. “What I want to know is, what’s the difference between him being rich and me being rich?”

Pity swelled through me as I looked at him, but I tried to play it off. “Alan, Jesus, don’t be like that. It’s not like I’m marrying him.”

“But you like him.” Alan pointed out, and I laughed mirthlessly. “How do you figure?”

He fixed me with a steady, sad gaze.

“Cause you called out his name.”

That little nugget made me start puking, and once I got going, it was at least an hour before I stopped. Alan was quick to throw a bucket underneath me when I got started, begging me not to puke on the bed or Christobel would find out and he would never hear the end of it. I managed to make the bucket but had to move to the bathroom, and I almost had to fight Alan so he wouldn’t join me. Since the WOW, I hadn’t eaten anything so most of it was just acid and some blood, which vaguely worried me, but I had puked up blood before. The pain in my chest from heaving hurt as badly as my head did, and I was shaking as if someone had hooked me up to jumper cables. Alan finally sent a maid in after me and after cleaning me off, she and Alan got me back into bed, where I alternated between hot and cold sweats. Alan watched me with worry, but it wasn’t until I started crying that he took drastic action. He ordered the maid from the room, locked the door, and pulled me up to sit in his arms, despite my rank smell.

And the man who had always loved me more than I deserved shoveled bumps of coke up my nose, one after the other until my need was met and I shook my head at the offered bump. I knew when to stop. My sweats dissipated, and my trembling ceased. Alan said nothing and didn’t judge me, the only one who never had. And then for some reason, I thought of Chris, wondered why I had called his name, wondered if it was him in Alan’s place would he hold me and calm me down and give me the drug my body needed. I seriously doubted it. He didn't strike me as the enabling type. He wasn't the kind of man I could walk all over, which probably accounted for my massive attraction to him. 

After I stabilized, Alan kissed me on the forehead, told me I smelled worse than the garbage man, and sent me off to the bathtub, provided I kept the door unlocked and allowed a maid to check on me. After three days of coma-like sleep and jonesing, it felt like an orgasm to have my skin buzzing that way. The maid brought me fresh towels and some Ibuprofens for my headache, which I swallowed down with water. The hot water freaked me out and nearly gave me a heart attack at first, but I got used to it and it felt great to wash the gunk off my body. I stayed in there for nearly three hours and let the maid check on me, and by the time I got my hair washed, I was ready for another hit. The Ibuprofen worked a little, but I knew I needed to eat. 

Unfortunately, when you’re on coke, you never want to eat. I got out of the tub, still trembling, dressed in PJ pants and a wifebeater, and sat down on my bed, smiling at the plate of sandwiches that Alan had sent up. I didn’t want to eat but I hated my headache and wanted it to go away, so I unwillingly took a few bites and drank some water. That done, I looked for the little bag of coke, but Alan had been wise enough to take it with him. Just as I was finding some socks and setting out to hunt him down, the doorbell rang.

Chris stood nervously on the front porch of the Crane residence, his stomach oily. The huge door was imposing enough with an elaborate coat of arms, but the house was GIGANTIC. It glowered over him and if his desire to see or talk to Nyx hadn’t finally overpowered him, he would have scrapped the entire idea. A minute or two passed by and he contemplated ringing the bell again, but before he could, the door was cracked and a dark face peered out at him.

“Um…I’m looking for Nyx?”

The door fully opened, revealing a white marble foyer and chandelier that Chris was sure to cost more than all his cars combined. The maid looked at him with zero comprehension, she didn’t speak English. Chris fumbled, trying to remember basic Spanish.

“Er…”

But he was saved by Alan, who came up behind the maid and looked frankly shocked to see Chris standing there on his doorstep. Chris felt like a foolish teenager. Alan recovered his shock and spoke to the maid. 

“Yo lo puedo tomar desde aquí, gracias, Amparo.”

The maid tipped her head in understanding and disappeared, and Alan smiled affably at Chris. “Come in.”

Chris did so and hastily tried to explain his presence.

“Nyx gave me her number and I haven’t heard from her in three days, and she left the beach pretty drunk, so I was trying to make sure she was okay. I don’t mean to intrude.”

Alan waved away his apologies. “Don’t worry about it, Chris. She’s fine, she’s been…well, under the weather. I’ll call her for you, hang on.” He smiled at Chris and headed towards a phone mounted on the wall. 

Chris looked around as Alan spoke quietly on the phone. Everything was white, the walls, the floors, even the curving double staircases. It was much nicer than his house, but then again this place had a woman’s touch, and he wondered for a second what it would have looked like had Nyx not shunned this lifestyle. Alan rejoined him.

“I sent for her.”

“Thanks, man. If you don’t mind my asking, did she have the flu or something?”

Alan’s face did not change, but there was something in his eyes that Chris couldn’t recognize, and when Alan nodded in affirmation, Chris had the fishy feeling he was being lied to, and he didn’t like it. He was about to press the subject, but then he heard soft footsteps from the loft above, and he looked up. His throat caught. His breath escaped. 

Nyx was dismounting the stairs quickly, her eyes on the ground. She was wearing blue pajama pants with fleur de lis and a white wifebeater. Her hair was caught up in a bandanna (not his) and the familiar white cord of earbuds dangled down her chest, her iPod in her hand, her head bumping to a beat they didn’t hear. If she had been that sick, she certainly didn’t look it. When she reached the middle of the stairs, her eyes landed on Chris and she stopped, her eyes nearly falling off of her face. Chris managed a sickly smile.

Nyx looked from Alan to Chris. Once. Twice. Blinked slowly, throat working like an elevator. She reached up and yanked the earbuds out of her ears. 

“Baio? What are you doing here?” Her voice was shocked and hoarse. Chris couldn’t say anything. Alan saved him once more.

“He came here to check on you, Nyx. He didn’t know you were sick.” There was a warning note in Alan’s voice, and Chris didn’t miss Nyx’s returned glare. He started to feel uneasy. He shouldn’t have come; he looked like a psycho. His voice finally worked.

“I was just worried about you. Your phone was off and I called the other day. Are you feeling better?” His heart was pumping hard inside his chest. What did that mean? What does this mean? 

Nyx seemed to recover and shot him that sideways smile. “Oh yeah, I’m better. Thanks for stopping by, it was nice of you. You want to...um...to come up?” She lifted her chin and gestured upstairs.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Relief coated his stomach-she didn’t think he was a psycho. 

“ Nyx, make sure you keep it down before Christobel figures out you have a guest.” Alan reminded her, and Nyx made a face and nodded. Chris followed her up the stairs, but when he looked back to thank Alan for his help, he was surprised by how distraught Alan’s face seemed to be as he watched them climb the stairs. He looked, Chris thought, like he would do anything to stop me.

Chris is about to be in my bedroom. Chris Kirkpatrick is about to be in my bedroom. Why is Chris Kirkpatrick about to be in my bedroom? 

As he followed me up the second flight of stairs, I tried desperately to remember if my room had been de-coked and de-sicked. I had lit candles, so maybe the smell wasn’t that bad, and I think the maid had picked up my mess while I was showering. The coke was buzzing through me, making my thoughts slippery and disjointed. When I had gone down the stairs and saw him standing there, his motorcycle helmet in his hand, his muddy eyes gazing up at me, I had almost slipped on the marble and broke my neck. It had felt so unexplainably good to see him standing there, and a warmth had spread through my body, a warmth that had nothing to do with the cocaine. 

You might think, c’mon, Nyx, you barely know the guy, and you’re acting like you’re in love with him. Well, let me tell you something that I’ll probably never repeat- for all my toughness, for all my disbelief in silly notions like love at first sight, something happened the first time Chris and I spoke. It wasn’t love (though that wouldn’t take long) but a sort of knowing. Like...oh hey...your weird edges match mine, and I know they match mine, because they keep getting weirder, and yet they still fit.

I was very aware of him behind me and could feel his eyes on my back, so when I reached the door of my room I had to quickly compose myself, and I took a deep breath and pushed the door open, trying to act nonchalant. I could smell his cologne, like a deep, quiet forest I could get lost in. 

“Welcome to the temporary headquarters of Nyx.” I said wryly, trying to hide the trembling in my voice. I took a surreptitious taste of the air, it smelled okay, and one quick sweep revealed no evidence that I had been in the throes of a withdrawal coma. I spun to look at Chris, who was looking around in marked interest. “Nice room.” 

I shrugged. “Yeah, it’s okay. I get to sleep on some sort of duke’s bed, which is sort of okay, except I’m worried I’ll catch some sort of ancient herpes or something.”

Chris burst into laughter, a lovely sound. He set his motorcycle helmet on a chair and I backed into the bed, immediately cursing my choice of seat. 

“So... you...um, called me?” I questioned, trying not to let it get awkward.

He nodded. “Yeah, your phone was off. Like I said, I got worried. You looked kind of shaky that night at the beach.”

I nodded, the memory of me puking all over the foyer washing over me. “Yeah, I didn’t feel so hot. Probably one of those stupid hors d'oeuvres at the party."

Chris eased himself into one of the chairs across from the bed. He eyed me speculatively. “You look like you feel better.” I blushed, hoping to Christ he couldn't see through this shirt, while at the same time wishing he could.

Stop it, you slut.

“Yeah, much better.”

He smashed that smile over my whirling head. “Good. Are you feeling up to eating dinner with me tonight? I’d ask you to go right now, but I have to go to the studio for a while.”

“Dinner?” My voice cracked, like a teenager’s. 

“If you don’t want to…” Chris began to say, looking sort of disappointed, but I held up my hand.

“No, sure, sure I want to. It’s just, I’m not used to being asked out to dinner.”

He laughed again. “What do guys from Louisiana ask when they want to go on a date?”

I shrugged. “We never say, ‘let’s go on a date’, we just…well, we just hang out. If things happen, they happen.”

He snickered. “Well, Nyx, would you do me the great honor of hanging out with me to see if something happens?”

I looked him straight in the eye. “What would you like to happen?”

Chris looked amused. “If I told you, that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?” 

I gulped.

“Where do you want to go to dinner? Your choice.” Chris shifted in his chair, he couldn’t sit still, his feet kept on bouncing. My eyes kept on following his erratic movements, they were making me dizzy.

“I don’t really know any restaurants around here, so it would be better for you to pick.”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t know what you eat. What places do you like to eat at in New Orleans?”

I smiled sheepishly. “Well, I like Italian, and I am a frequent diner at Chili’s.” Almost as soon as it was out of my mouth, I felt like a hick. Chris, bless him, just grinned at me like I had said the best thing in the world.

“I like Chili’s too."

At the same time, we exclaimed “Burger bites!” and then stared at each other before collapsing into laughter. It felt so easy to talk to him.

“So we’ll go to Chili’s, then. It’s settled. I’ll pick you up at 7, 8?” Chris raised his eyebrow. I nodded, trying to play cool. “Split the difference? Seven thirty is good for me.”

“Well, do you have any objections to riding there on a motorcycle? If not, I can take one of my cars…” Chris trailed off when he saw me shaking my head. “I love motorcycles. If you show up in a car, that would be incredibly lame.” My tone was teasing and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. “God forbid that we look lame. Ok, then, Miss Hells’ Angels, I’ll be here promptly at seven-thirty, on my bike. We shall partake in Chili’s and, then, to quote you-we’ll see what happens.” 

My stomach lurched and it must have shown on my face because Chris’ face turned worried. “Are you alright? If you still don’t feel up to it, we don’t have to.” 

I waved him away. “Stop fussing. I’m fine. I’ll take some Tylenol if I start feeling yucky, but I’m about 88% sure I’ll be cool by tonight.”

Chris hesitated, and I could tell he wasn’t sure of my answer. “C’mon Chris, I’m fine. I’m a big girl.” 

He laughed at that, but I could see he was still unsure. “Maybe to you, but you’re just a little thing.”

I growled at him and he shook his head. His expression suddenly got serious. 

“Look, can I be honest here for a minute?”

My stomach jumped again, but I nodded. “By all means.”

“I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but is it weird that I feel…I don’t know, like I’ve known you forever?”

I don’t know what made me agree, this admission would have never left my lips if I hadn’t felt the same way. I felt something like tears prick my eyes as I thought, God, Chris, you think that, but you don’t know me at all.

I sighed. “I know just what you mean, Chris.”

“You do?” His eyes shot up into his hairline. I nodded, looking down at my feet. 

It was quiet for a minute, and then Chris said quietly, “Look at me, Nyx.”

I did. 

“Tonight, when we go out, let's not drink, okay? I want to get to know you without the aid of liquor.” His request was reasonable but I depended on liquor to keep me calm, and I had no idea how I was going to stay that way. Despite the alarms screaming MAYDAY in my brain, I nodded, and like I always do when I am uncomfortable, tried to make a joke out of it.

“Most guys would not say that. Are you trying to cockblock yourself?"

Chris nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not them and I’m not interested in that.”

I raised my eyebrow at him. He flushed red. “Well…”

I laughed and held up my hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” 

“No, let’s not.” Chris hastily agreed, and I started laughing again at his adorable red face, he was just too much cute. 

“Well, can you turn on your phone so I can call you if there’s a problem?” Chris asked hesitantly, and I agreed. “It must have lost battery, I hope you don’t think I was trying to ignore your calls.”

“It did cross my mind,” Chris confessed, and I shook my head. “No, by the time I got back here I just…crashed out and forgot all about my phone. And if I didn’t want you calling, I would have not given you my number.”

“You let the tide wash over it!” Chris exclaimed.

I shrugged. “Gotta make you work for it, boy.” I winked at him and he shook his head. “You are nuts.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Must I remind you who in this room used to dress up like Michael Jackson for a paycheck?”

Chris held up his hands. “Point taken, point taken.”

We started laughing (all this is rather gay and repetitive, don’t you think?) and didn’t stop for a few minutes, even though I had no idea what we were laughing at. It didn’t occur to me until right then what I was probably going to get him involved with: I was relationship anathema. I always got scared and ran away, which, in hindsight wasn’t that bad of an idea, cause all of the guys I went for were usually pieces of crap anyway, except Alan. But Chris was of a different breed and I knew it and that’s what scared me the most. If he would have been a dickhead with his fist raised, I can handle that, but a nice guy respecting my boundaries and making me laugh? Nothing was more terrifying. I should have kicked him out of my bedroom, but I didn’t. Shoulda coulda woulda.

“Well, I’ve gotta get to the studio. The guys are probably going to kill me for being late.” Chris stood up and I did too, feeling a strange stab of regret that he was leaving.

“The *NSYNC guys?” I wanted to know, and Chris smiled. “No, I’ve got my own band now. Nigels 11. Completely separate from *NSYNC.”

“Cool, I’ll check them out. You have a MySpace?” I inquired, and he sighed. “Who doesn’t, in this day and age?”

“Good point. I’ll walk you to the door.” When I passed by him to leave the room, his cologne washed over me, and I had to bite my tongue. He obediently followed me down the stairs, and we didn’t speak but exchanged a shy smile. My stupid fucking heart did the Macarena.

God, what the fuck was happening to me?! ARGHH!

As we got closer to the foyer, I fervently hoped that Christobel was off somewhere roasting in a tanning bed or at least violently binging somewhere. The thought of her even getting near Chris was enough to set my teeth on edge. Thankfully, she was nowhere around, and I sighed in relief as we approached the front door, and I opened it for him. He stepped outside, blinking in the bright light.

“I’ll see you at seven thirty, Chris.”

He shot that blinding smile at me. “Be sure you’re well enough to go out. You have my hopes up now.”

“I promise.”

He pointed at me. “I mean it. Bed rest, missy. Fluids.” 

I raised my hand and tried to look solemn. “I swear.”

“Good.” He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else. I waited, even though the bright sunlight was hurting my head. 

Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick took a step forward, and before I could move away, his hand was on my bare arm and his mouth brushed softly across my forehead. I was in total shock, but before I could even have a reaction, he gave me a shy smile, turned, and skipped quickly down to the curb, where a shiny black crotch rocket waited for him. 

With a wave and a roar, he coasted off, leaving me standing there, speechless.

I wish I could have told him that out of all of his kisses, that one meant the most.

It was a nightmare, waiting till seven thirty.

What had gotten into him, kissing her forehead like that? Chris was useless at the studio, and his bandmates jeered at him relentlessly, but he didn’t hear them. He was wracked with worry that he had gone too far, he hadn’t wanted to scare her. The look on her face as he had pulled away, it looked as if he had held a knife to her throat. 

It had been a strange instinct, and he didn’t even have the chance or choice to fight it. Her forehead had been burning hot like she had a fever, but her bare arm had felt freezing. Chris was worried that Nyx was sicker than she let on and would cancel their date, but he had a feeling that when she made a promise, she didn’t back down.

Chris fidgeted throughout practice and almost ran out when it was over, even though he had four hours till he had to pick her up. He checked his phone relentlessly, even though he hadn’t given her his number. He made himself go home, but the sight of her car at the curb made me feel as if he was going to be sick himself, what if he had caught what she had? Didn’t matter-he’d go on that date come hell or high water. He didn’t drink when he got home, instead, he searched MySpace for her, took vitamin C just in case, and texted her his number, just in case she wanted to call. Nyx didn’t call, but she did text him back, acknowledging that she had logged his phone number and would see him soon. 

Chris knew that he was acting like an idiot on his very first date and did not care. He sat in his computer chair, stared at the text and thought about how good it had felt to touch her. The entire time Nyx had been leaning against that huge bed, it had been hard for him not to walk up and kiss her senseless. And that scent! Jesus, after kissing her forehead he had gotten a whiff of that satsuma stuff and it was enough to make him lightheaded. He wondered if her entire body smelled like that. He wondered if he would get the chance to smell it on himself.

She had looked delicious enough to gobble up, but he also saw that she HAD been sick. She had dark circles under her eyes and walking up the stairs had been hard, she had gripped onto the banisters going up and down. But she had agreed, and now he was taking her to Chili’s, of all places. Chris knew he could afford much better than Chili’s, but hadn’t wanted to make her feel weird, so he had agreed. She was low maintenance, and Chris was pretty sure that if he had taken her somewhere fancy, she would have been uncomfortable. Italian would have probably been too heavy. 

Time sped up and before he knew it, it was six fifteen and he made himself leave the computer to shower and get dressed. By the time he was done obsessing over how he looked in the mirror (something he NEVER cared about), it was almost time to pick her up, and he agonized about how early to show up. It wasn’t as if she lived across town. Plus, girls, even girls like her, needed extra time to get ready. Chris briefly considered a small drink to calm his nerves but knew better than to drive his bike like that with a woman on the back. He abandoned the idea of the drink, went out to the garage, grabbed an extra helmet for her, and straddled his bike. His stomach was nervous and now he felt like puking. He kicked it into gear and rode down his driveway, then drove as slowly as possible to the Cranes’.

He sat there on his bike trying to compose himself so he wouldn’t look like an idiot-he had already decided not to mention the kiss to her; he was going to play it cool. Despite his anxiety about it, he felt sort of glad he had done it-he had cowed Nyx for a change. She was the type of girl who was used to having the upper hand, and Chris had scored a point.

Seven thirty on the dot had him hurrying up the front walk, and with butterflies and bats in his stomach, Chris rang the bell, feeling as if he was going to prom. The door opened to reveal not a maid, not Alan, and not Nyx, but a small blonde-haired woman whose sharp eyes took him in and promptly widened. Chris instantly knew this look, this was recognition, and he braced himself for the onslaught of OH MY GODS and CAN I GET YOUR AUTOGRAPHS?! He didn’t have to wait long.

“Oh my god, that little headcase wasn’t lying, it is you!” The woman’s mouth fell open. Chris raised his eyebrow at this rude reception. “Um, hi? I’m here to pick up Nyx?”

“If you say so. Come in.” The woman stood aside and gestured for him to walk inside, and Chris did so, but the woman scared him. She had the pinched, bony look of victims in slasher movies. Her skin was way too dark for that blonde hair and she was as tiny as Nyx, maybe smaller. Her voice carried the same inflection as Nyx’s had, but more vapid, more ignorant.

The door closed behind him and the woman hurried to stand in front of him. “My god, I can’t believe it’s you.” Chris smiled tolerantly. The woman reached out a hand eagerly, and though he didn’t want to, Chris took it. “I’m Alan’s fiancé, Christobel. I used to love your music!”

“Nice to meet you, and thanks,” Chris said automatically, though it was a lie. There was something about this Christobel that automatically repelled, she had an air of nastiness about her, and he briefly wondered why the hell a nice guy like Alan would go for someone like this after he had Nyx. 

“I thought my fiancé was having fun with me when he told me that Nyx, of all people, had scored a date with one of the *N SYNC guys. I told him, I said, that damn girl doesn’t deserve a date with someone like that…”

Okay, he didn’t like this chick now. Whenever she said Nyx’s name, her lips curled as if she had tasted something nasty. Thankfully Alan turned the corner and when he saw his fiancé terrorizing Chris, he immediately came to his aid. “Christobel, leave him alone. Did you call Nyx?”

Christobel scowled, and Alan shot an apologetic look towards Chris, who just shrugged and smiled. “What am I, the hired help? The girl knows when to come downstairs for her own date, I’d hope. God, what else is wrong with her?”

Chris couldn’t believe how rude this woman was, and a glance at Alan told him that he wasn’t alone in this thought. Alan called for a maid, spoke a few words in Spanish, and pointed upstairs. The maid bowed and went upstairs, presumably to fetch Nyx.

“She’ll be back down shortly, Chris,” Alan promised, and to Chris’ relief, began to lead his fiancé out of the room, though Christobel was loudly protesting, and the last thing he heard before they were gone was something about a signed Justin Timberlake poster. Though he was somewhat jealous of Alan’s past with Nyx, he really felt bad for the guy if he was going to MARRY that.

The maid that had gone up to get Nyx came down the stairs, nodded at him with a smile, and stationed herself unobtrusively near the door. And then he heard light tread on the steps and before he knew it, Nyx was skipping down the staircase. She seemed to be amped to the fifth power, if she hadn’t been feeling well before this, she didn’t show it.

“Sorry, sorry, could not find my goddamn brush. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

Chris smiled at her attire, her jeans and Vans and blue Ed Hardy shirt, liking how she hadn’t gotten all glammed up like most girls did. 

“No, not long. I ran into Alan’s fiancé. She’s…” Chris groped for a word decent enough to say.

“A terrible fucking cunt.” Nyx said bluntly, and Chris saw the maid hide a giggle behind her hand. He blinked at her, taken aback by her candor. Nyx caught the maid laughing, and she tried to hide a smile as she addressed the girl.

“¿Usted piensa que eso es gracioso?”

The smile instantly disappeared off the girl’s face and  Chris stared at Nyx.

“You’re bilingual?”

She grimaced. “You could say that.”

A.N. In the middle of editing this, the rest of this chapter got deleted, so don't go any further. I have to go cry. A lot. And drink. A lot.