Righty-o, I'm writing another multi-chapter story. And I like it. I hope you will too!
To those of you who have already read this and are wondering 'what's she doing?', I'm fixing errors. I try to edit as much as I can, but I don't catch everything. So, there will be fewer grammatical/spelling errors! Yes, I really care that much.
Warning: foul language, adult themes and situations. This applies for the entire story.
"You fucking whore, I'll kill you!"
All Matthew Williams was doing was returning to his room after getting his mail, when the neighbouring apartment's door flew open and a half-naked man ran out, closely followed by a half-naked woman and a fully-clothed, furious man.
"You bastard! You whore! I don't want to see your cheating face around here ever again!"
Matthew pressed himself against the wall, hiding from his angry neighbour.
"You have two days to get all your shit before I start burning it and giving it to bums on the street, you hear me? Now fuck off, and take that slutty piece of ass with you!"
The two half-naked people slunk off, hurriedly dressing themselves in the clothing Matthew's neighbour had thrown at them in his rage. The man smoothed his hair back, pushed his glasses up his nose, and sighed. Matthew fumbled for his key, fully content to ignore what had just happened.
"Hey there, neighbor!"
He winced. No such luck.
"Just got home from a meeting, and what do I find?"
"Your girlfriend in bed with that man?"
"Huh?" The man tilted his head. "No, I have no clue who that skank was. All I know is my asshole of a boyfriend was all up in her. Jeez. Well, that's what I get for dating a stripper."
Matthew blinked. This man, for the first time in the two years they had lived next to each other, was actually paying attention to him. He seemed to notice Matthew's owlish blinking and stuck his hand out.
"The name's Jones. Alfred F. Jones."
"So, Matt, what would you say to going for a few drinks? I'll pay, of course."
"Cool!" Alfred threw an arm around Matthew's shoulders. "And since tomorrow's Saturday, I can afford a hangover."
Somehow, Matthew found himself in a bar on the street corner, nursing a glass of bourbon while his newfound drinking buddy chugged shots of whisky.
He slammed a glass on the bar and licked his lips. "Ah, that's the stuff. So, Matt, what brought you to Boston, of all places? You're not from around here, I can tell."
The Canadian shrugged. "Work. After I graduated from U of T-"
"No, Toronto. Canada."
"Anyways, after I graduated, I was offered a position as financial advisor for a company. They moved me here a few years ago."
Matthew nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But it's a living."
"A boring one!"
He refrained from rolling his eyes, instead asking, "Well, what do you do? You're not from Boston either."
"You're right about that. I was born in Massachusetts, yeah, but we moved to California when I was little." The American downed another shot. "I write. A few articles here and there, but mostly adventure novels."
"Yep, I'm the Alfred F. Jones. Author of the Will Stone series. I'm actually working on the sixth installment!"
"What are you doing in Boston?"
Alfred shrugged. "Meh. Felt like a change of scenery. I was getting tired of my place in New York. Plus I prefer apartments to houses anyways. Sliding down the banisters is a helluva lot more fun if there's five floors down instead of one."
"I… wouldn't know."
Matthew was still getting over the fact that his next-door neighbour was a world-famous novelist. How had he never noticed before? Well, he'd never actually read the books…
He admitted that to the American, who laughed. "Thank god. I'm tired of everyone always wanting to talk to me about my work. It gets old."
The Canadian nodded. "I bet. Can't exactly say the same about myself, though."
The American snorted into his shot glass. He lifted his head up and asked, "So, you got a lady friend?"
Matthew shook his head.
"Well, I'll drink to that. Two single guys… watch out, Boston!"
Matthew smirked to himself.
Alfred took another gulp of his drink and set it down. "I bet you're wondering why I'm drinkin' away my sadness. It's 'cuz I've learned that this is the best way. Get completely smashed. I don't exactly look for long-term relationships, so most of the guys I bring home are just in it for the sex or for my money. Or both. I've been cheated on so many times… and it's always right on my fucking side of the bed! Jeez."
Matthew shrugged. "I've had two serious relationships. That's about it."
"Either you suck in bed, or they dumped you 'cuz they got bored."
"I'm not bad in bed. That's not the problem."
"So they got bored."
Matthew rolled his eyes. "So what if I'm not the world's most exciting guy? I'm pretty shy, yeah, but I'm stable."
Alfred blinked rather tipsily at him. "Well, there's your problem. You gotta live a little, Matt! I can show ya how, if you want. Now get drunk too, so I don't feel so stupid."
After a few more drinks, Matthew had loosened up considerably. After a few more, he somehow ended up confessing to Alfred that he was gay. After a few more, things got a bit blurry, and he found himself pressed up against the door of his apartment, Alfred's hands on either side of his face, and his tongue invading his mouth.
And damn, was he ever a good kisser, even when he was totally drunk.
Matthew couldn't help but moan into Alfred's mouth and clutch at the other man's shoulders. He pushed him off after a few minutes of the best make-out session of his life, however, and guided Alfred to the couch.
"Just sit down. You're drunk."
The American laughed. "So 're you! now get your ass back over here. You're pretty cute, and I'm horny."
He pinched Matthew's nipples through his shirt, and it took every ounce of Matthew's willpower to pull away.
"Al… stop. We'll both regret it in the morning."
"Aw, Mattie…" Alfred clung to Matthew's arms. "Don't leave me here… all alone…"
The American yawned and promptly fell asleep.
Matthew rolled his eyes, threw a blanket over him, and collapsed on his bed.
He opened his eyes the next morning, and felt the telltale throbbing headache of a hangover. He stumbled out of his room, closed the blinds in the living room, and got a glass of water from the kitchenette. He was about to flop on the couch and begin nursing the water when he noticed Alfred.
Whoops. Hopefully he wouldn't mind being woken up.
Matthew nudged his feet off the couch and sat down gingerly. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side, and the rest of Alfred's body followed his feet. The American fell into the gap between the couch and coffee table with an undignified 'thump'.
Matthew winced, stood up, and snuck out of the room. He grabbed several aspirin from the bathroom and returned to the living room, where Alfred was making the pitiful groaning noises of someone struck with a killer hangover. Matthew got him a glass of water as well, and gave it to him along with a couple aspirin.
The American thanked him with a grunt, downed the medicine and the water, and turned to Matthew. "Thanks, man. Sorry for passing out on your couch."
The Canadian shrugged. "You didn't puke or anything, so it's fine. Do you want breakfast? I can make pancakes."
"Sure. Do you have any coke?"
After Matthew gave him a look, Alfred rolled his eyes. "The soda, jeez. Like, Coca-Cola."
Matthew pulled a can out of the fridge and passed it to him. the Canadian started making the pancakes and his coffee at the same time. This time, his tired brain remembered that coffee grounds do not go in pancake batter instead of sugar, so everything turned out perfectly.
He served Alfred first and got the maple syrup out of the fridge. Alfred smirked. "How Canadian of you."
"It's a hundred times better than that disgusting slop you Americans ruin your breakfast with."
It was after his first cup of coffee, and Matthew was feeling much more articulate.
Alfred grimaced suddenly. "Am I remembering wrong, or did I come on to you last night?" When Matthew just shrugged, he sighed. "Sorry. When I get that drunk… yeah."
"Don't worry about it."
Matthew dug into his pancakes, feeling Alfred's eyes on him. He glanced up at him quizzically, and the American cleared his throat. "Got any plans for today?"
"Cool. Wanna come over to my place and claim some of my ex's stuff? I already know which of his shoes I'm definitely taking."
"Um… is that even legal?"
"Aw, c'mon!" Alfred rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Who cares? It's not like he's going to file a complaint or anything. Plus he's got a couple nice sweatshirts he's not gonna miss, if you want 'em."
"Well… all right."
Matthew couldn't believe he was actually agreeing to this, but he supposed that Alfred's 'live a little' comment was relevant.
And that's how he found himself in the apartment next door, going through Alfred's ex-boyfriend's – boy, that's a mouthful – clothes. Admittedly, he did have a couple really comfy sweaters.
The stuff neither he nor Alfred wanted was shoved into boxes and placed outside the door.
"Dumb bastard left his key. If he wants his stuff, there it is. Otherwise I'm donating it to charity." Alfred was grinning, looking very satisfied with himself.
He walked over to the fridge, calling over his shoulder, "Want a beer? I don't have any of that mass-produced shit, though. Microbrew's the only stuff I can stand."
"It's lunchtime, isn't it? I can throw together some sandwiches or make a quick Mickey D's run."
"Oh. Sandwiches are fine."
Little did Matthew know, while Alfred was fussy about his beer, his idea of sandwiches was peanut butter and jelly on white bread. Stale white bread. Ah, the life of a bachelor… Matthew kept his thoughts to himself as he ate.
Of course, Matthew had to admit that he wasn't exactly a gourmet or a health nut, unless you count maple syrup and coffee – sometimes mixed – as fancy or health foods. The Canadian was snapped out of his thoughts by Alfred waving his hand back and forth in front of his face.
"Hello? Earth to Matthew!"
"Way to zone out on me, man. I was trying to ask you, does your water heater screw up and stop working after eight p.m.?"
"Yes, actually. Why?"
"Mine does too. Just checking. You know, you're a pretty quiet person."
"You see? I make a comment about you being quiet, and you don't even give a reason why!"
"Am I supposed to?"
Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yes, duh!"
"Oh. Well, I was just born quiet. Didn't cry, didn't fuss, and I've been that way for life."
"Lemme guess, you're the type who bottles up all your anger and shit until you finally blow a gasket, right?"
The Canadian nodded.
"Yeah, that's not healthy."
"Neither is drinking yourself into a stupor after getting cheated on."
Matthew blinked. Damn it all, his verbal filter slipped again. Oops. "Sorry, I just-"
"Nah, it's fine. I need a reality check from time to time, ya know?" Alfred reached for a remote and flicked the television on. "All right, what's on the news… some celebrity died of a drug overdose, and someone else has some big sex scandal. Whatever happened to real news?"
"The average American isn't interested in politics, economics, or international relations these days."
"You know what I think? I think we oughta get a bunch of really hot guys to represent our countries. No one cares about these shriveled-up, old diplomats, so let's hire some new ones!"
Matthew shrugged. "That would certainly make young women and gay men much more interested in international relations."
"Hey, why do you think I suggested it? It'd make our youth smarter, and I wouldn't mind some real eye candy on the news. Weather girl's boobs just don't do anything for me, ya know?"
Matthew suppressed a smirk. "You really say what's on your mind, don't you?"
"Almost all the time. And what I don't say, I usually write down. Shit, speaking of writing, I gotta figure out who's gonna be the villain in the next Will Stone adventure. I'm not supposed to use terrorists, and I've already used Russians twice…"
Matthew took a swig of his beer. "How about a Canadian?"
Alfred had grabbed a notebook and a pen, and looked up at Matthew like he was a vision from the heavens. "By god, that's perfect! No one ever suspects a Canadian, 'cuz you're mostly a bunch of passive-aggressive weenies-"
"It's true! Anyways, a Canadian would make the perfect villain! And now I've even got a title…" He trailed off before sweeping his arm dramatically. "The Great White North! Sweet. I'll set it in the Yukon! That's a part of Canada, right?"
"Great! Man, I gotta write you into the acknowledgments for this one. My editor's gonna eat this up! Now, if only she'd stop asking me to develop the bromance between Will and his friend Jonah. I'm an action writer, not a romance writer."
"Have you told her that?"
Alfred grimaced. "I tried to bring it up, but…"
"She's a tough woman, eh?"
"That's an understatement. I oughta call her, tell her about this new inspiration. Hey Matt, I know you've never read any of my books, but do ya mind helping me out on this one? I'll make it worth your while."
Matthew thought for a moment. He'd only just started talking to this man, and had no clue if he was secretly a psycho or something, but Alfred had already seen him drunk, crashed on his couch, eaten his food, and given Matthew a pretty damn good beer. He seemed pretty sane, so…
"Okay, no problem."
"Cool! But you gotta promise me something."
"You gotta live life to the fullest, bro. We're gonna write a list of stuff you've never done, and check 'em off one by one, even if they're totally crazy or illegal. Deal?"
Matt weighed his options in his head. Continue living his daily routine and be bored out of his mind, or do a lot of crazy shit with a world-famous author. Could he get arrested? Maybe. Would it be worth it? Probably. Would it be fun? Definitely.
It'd certainly be interesting. Besides, Matthew figured, if Alfred forgot about this, he wouldn't have lost anything.
End Ch. 1
Yep, I totally began a story with that. Expect Ch. 2 in a couple weeks. I'm going on vacation tomorrow (Road Trip! Woo!), and I won't have internet. Or my flash drive. So, updates won't happen until I get home.