"Wake up, stupid. I need to burn my bed sheets."

Ugh…who is that? That voice is so annoying…let me sleep…

"Look, if you don't get out of my bed in the next ten seconds I'm going to knife you. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven…"

Wait, did they just say they're going to knife me? What?

"…Four. Three. Two. One…" There was a very irritated sigh. "Okay, don't say I didn't warn you."

Like she'll actually-"OW, OW, FUCKING OW, WHAT THE FUCK?" He opened his eyes.

The owner of the voice, a woman with fierce indigo eyes and long platinum hair who went by Natasha, sighed again. "I did warn you. Get out of my bed. Your clothes are over there." She pointed to the corner of the room with the same knife she had just used to cut his face.

"M-My…clothes?" he asked. He looked down at himself. "Wait, why am I naked?"

"There's a very simple reason for that," the woman replied. "I'm sure you can guess if you use that tiny little brain of yours enough." She narrowed her eyes. "Now, hurry it up. I already started the fire in the backyard and it needs fuel fast, and the whole point of making it in the first place was to get rid of those things you're laying on right now."

"Well, could you at least leave the room so I can put my clothes on?" he asked. She scoffed, but walked out of the room, slamming the door shut.

He quickly went to pull his clothes on, and glanced at the clock. 10:23? Fuck, Emily is going to kill me…He moved faster, and when he was finally finished, he ran out of the bedroom, past the sneering girl, and out of the house.

He soon realized he had no idea where he was. The neighborhood the woman's house had been in was completely unfamiliar to him. And how had he gotten there in the first place? He couldn't remember anything…

He looked a mess, too. His hair was worse than it usually was, and his clothes were wrinkled from sitting in the corner of the room all night. Speaking of which, why was he naked in her house of all places? It wasn't like he'd…

Oh, no. Oh, fuck no.

He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. Three missed calls, and eight unread texts, all from his girlfriend. He quickly called her, but she didn't pick up the phone. His heart sank.

"Come on, Arthur, I'm sure she just didn't get to the phone fast enough…" he told himself. "Now, how are you going to get yourself home?" He couldn't exactly go back to her house and ask her for a ride. Where had he left his car? Oh, right, at home, because his brothers had taken him out drinking and drove him there.

At least he still had some money left. He could call a cab.

After the cabbie dropped him off in front of his apartment complex, he tried to straighten himself out and look presentable. It didn't really work, even when he used the shiny inside of the elevator as a mirror.

When he opened the door to the apartment, he muttered, "I'm home…" He didn't get an answer. "Hello? Emily? Are you home?" He closed the door behind him and started toward the bedroom.

"Where have you been?" He jumped as his girlfriend's voice came out of nowhere from behind him. He turned around.

"Sorry I'm late—"

"Answer the question, Arthur. Where have you been?" His girlfriend's baby blue eyes narrowed dangerously. He hadn't seen her this pissed off since he forgot her birthday in order to lock himself in his room and angst about it being the 4th of July. But that had been when they were in high school!

"…My brothers left me at the bar," he replied. "Bastards…" He glanced up at her. She wasn't buying it.

"That's interesting, because I got a call from Natasha about an hour ago saying she woke up and you were in her bed naked." Fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck. "And I said to her, 'What do you mean, Artie's in your bed naked?' And she just said she'd woken up and found you there."

"I'm sure this is all some kind of big misunderstanding—"

"Dammit, Arthur!" she shouted. He jumped again. "Do you think this is some kind of joke? Do you think I'm just going to smile and forgive you for this, like I do for everything else?"

"What do you mean, everything else?" he asked.

"I mean your stupid imaginary friends, and the way you give me food poisoning every time you cook, and when you threw all the coffee out! Things like that!"

"You said you liked my cooking!"

"Arthur, I only said that because you looked like you were going to cry if I didn't!" she yelled.

"I can't believe this."

"Well, I can't believe you cheated on me!" she screamed.

"But I didn't—"

"Yes, you did, Arthur. Even if you didn't know it…it happened. The proof's all there." She looked to the ground. "Just…just get out."

Arthur stared at her for a few seconds. "…What?"

"Get out. Please, just…get out of my house," she muttered.

"Emily, I—"

"Now!" She pointed toward the door. "I don't care where you go, or what you decide to do, but get out of my house, and never come back!" she yelled. "I'm done with you! I don't ever want to see you again!" She started breathing heavily and she pointed toward the door. "Now!" she repeated.

Arthur opened and closed his mouth several times to try to find words to say that might appease her, but eventually he just walked past her and out the door.


For the next week or so, Arthur wasn't quite sure what was going on. He'd crawled up into a little ball at the corner of some random bar and stayed there. Sometimes his imaginary friends would show up and tell him that he shouldn't be wasting himself in a place like this, but he just shooed them off.

Of course, none of his REAL friends bothered calling. Why would they? They knew what he had done was wrong. They were probably all off comforting Emily. She deserved it, didn't she? He wanted to apologize, but he just couldn't do it, for some reason. His pride was in the way, telling him that it wasn't his fault in the first place.

Except, he wasn't really sure about that. And Emily was probably right…his brothers always did have a bad influence on him. They'd probably seen him and Natasha together and done something about it. Something bad.

Those bastards. If they weren't back in Britain, he'd…well, he'd have some very strong words to say to them. He might even hit them, but then they'd probably hit him back, and then they'd probably keep hitting him until he'd pass out…

While he was caught in this horrible fantasy, his phone started to ring. After a few seconds he realized it and dug it out of his pocket, hoping it was Emily. "Hello?"

"Ah, comrade Arthur! So you are not dead!"

"…Who is this?" Something about the voice and the way they said "comrade" was familiar, but he just couldn't place it…

"Oh, do you not remember me? We were such good friends. It is me, Ivan. Ivan Braginski."

Oh yeah. Him. That creepy-ass kid he'd smoked pot with like, once. "Why are you calling me?"

"Why, to thank you! After all, it is all because of your foolishness that my beloved and I are finally together, after all of these years." He sounded smug. Arthur, slightly drunk, was confused.

"Your what?"

"Emily."

That brought Arthur out of it. "You're what? With Emily?" he asked angrily. That was incredibly irritating!

"Yes. And it is all thanks to you. So thank you again, comrade Arthur. We are very happy now and we both hope you will one day find such happiness as we are experiencing." Then he hung up.

Arthur stared at his phone.

Oh, hell no.

That fucking Russian just stole his girlfriend—even if they had broken up. He really did want to get back together with her, show her it was just a mistake—but now he couldn't because that creep got to her first!

He had to find out how this had happened. He pulled himself off the dirty floor of the bar and ran out into the sunlight.


AN: Hey guys, it's me. Been awhile, huh?

(I know this was not the result of the poll, however, I have my reasons for this, as those of you linked from my other account may understand.)

Thanks for reading! Don't expect quick updates! :D