Wait time is to blame//open

[STEPHEN FRASIER]

Where the fuck was Val?

She told him she was coming home at 9 before she left; that was at 5 pm. Calling around 12, she told him he should just head over to the 40/40 and she would meet him there. It was now 2 fucking am, and Stephen’s thumb was buzzing after the fiftieth time pounding irately on the redial button.
This was just embarrassing. Understandably, there was no way in hell he planned entering this place alone. He was starting to feel self-conscious—a horrid sensation that felt something like hunger bristling at the edges with hysteria, extending itself across both forearms, causing noticeable trembling; it continued, digging little dirty fingernails in his ear canals, the incessant interval stricken sound of fun he could be having, the voice he could be hearing, and more importantly, the sound of his own voice that, at the moment, was not being put to use. He wasn’t about to talk to himself. That would only take this unsavory and altogether humiliating situation from uncomfortable to unbearable.

Maybe Val ditched him on purpose, she knew how being alone made him feel. They’d been fighting a lot lately. Often, Stephen couldn’t stop his nose from turning up ever-so-slightly at the edges as she spoke, words irritating enough to cut through skin and through metal and earbuds and any sort of fucking barrier, though he tried and tried to block it out, anything to stop the words that weren’t sentences or phrases or English, just static, and through his repetition of “oh, got it,” and “don’t worry, I’m listening, I’m sorry.” Every couple went through rough patches, he figured. The things that had first attracted him to her, her raspy laugh, the way she cocked her wrist while holding a smoldering cigarette, her general air of authority and knowledge even when she talked without thinking—had become hell. But soon, they would be heaven again. That’s how it worked. Love, that is. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it just seemed right. More often than not, he found his speculations on life to be right—granted the life he led left little room for much speculation to begin with...but that wasn't relevant. It simply boosted his chances of being right, and he wasn't going to argue with that.

Time alone, on the other hand, with absolutely nothing to do, no instruments to play, music to listen to, TV to watch, or internet to surf left him panicked. He didn’t want to think about Jenna. Especially since upon moving to New York, he’d been completely aware she was around here somewhere, making a name for herself as she'd been intent on doing all those years ago. She’d always had what it took to climb the social as well as the corporate latter. God, he couldn't stop thinking about what she thought of him, what she would do if she saw him, what he would do-- he knew better than to trust himself in any situation involving her, or potentially involving her, as it were. He couldn’t resist the temptation of being around her, even in a loose sense, but at the same time, he could cuss himself out for being so stupid. The last thing he needed was to see her again. Val was already on the verge of pushing him into some sort of fucking stress induced psychotic break. Seeing Jenna was absolutely, positively out of the question. But then why did he keep trying to put himself in situations where he thought he might see her? He told himself it was a subconscious thing…but the very fact he’d taken the time to rationalize it as such rendered the explanation false anyhow.

The racing and firing and internal cry baby whining needed to end. At least in public. Glancing down to his iPhone, he let out a single, barely audible groan. Had she really kept him waiting for this long? It was getting cold, all he’d done for the better half of almost 3 fucking hours was lean against the side of a wall, desperately avoiding the suspicious gazes of anyone entering or leaving the club, pretending to be engaged in an important phone call or amidst typing an urgent email or text message. Reaching into his jean pocket, he fished out a pack of cigarettes, and then plunged his other fist angrily into the pocket of his leather jacket—to find it completely empty, save a couple of gum wrappers. God dammit. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course he forgot his lighter. Absentmindedly, he shot an empty glance towards the door of the club—

Shit.

Fuck.

Eye contact.

Great.

Well, he had to decide—victim or casual bystander, yet he had a dreadful feeling this would be one of the few times he couldn’t dictate his own look, considering he was standing against a wall, trembling with fury, absolutely mortified and betrayed.

ooc: This is kind of just experimental posting-- it's Stephen's first post and his voice is still forming in my head. So, it may change later as I develop it. :)

Also, hopefully it makes sense he doesn't know that the 40/40 is Jenna's club...if not I would obviously need to move this or something...

[VALERIE HARPER]

She’d totally ditched him on purpose. Valerie loved her little games. Tests, she called them, though never to Stephen’s face. If he did this for her, then he was in love. That, and he wasn’t. Result A meant a blowjob, B could lead to anywhere from a slap to two days without coming home. She didn’t always cheat when she went out. Sometimes, she didn’t even meet any boys. Whether or not Stephen knew any of this, she didn’t care to find out. The games were fun, the music was loud, the smoke always tasted better after unknowing make-up-but-still-slightly-angry sex. Valerie Harper lived for control and whether or not her boyfriend knew it, she was always pulling the reigns, with or without the relationship pants on.

40/40 had always been one of her favorite clubs. Sleek, classy in a way that managed to not offend, Valerie felt at home in her odd mix of tight pants, heels and mildly unbrushed hair. A hot mess, rolling evenly in the head tilts from several of the males already in the room. Whether or not this was because of the snug pants or the rather exposed bra, Val hadn’t a clue. She didn’t care. Attention always tasted sweet.

And speaking of the devil…there he was, her precious Boo Bear, waiting in the corner like the good little dog he was. She’d have to throw him a treat for that, sweet Stephen. Something better than the smell of someone else’s cologne still lingering her hair. Popping a piece of gum in her mouth, Val approached from behind, raspy voice low in her ear as she slid up next to him. “You look awful scared…Should I be suspicious?” she grinned against his neck before sliding away from him, holding out a shot with a look that clearly showed he was meant to drink, no questions asked.

“Sorry I’m late,” she tucked some hair back behind her ear, making sure he’d be able to smell the mingled scent of her perfume and Scotts. “Got held up at work…You know how it is.” she smiled and blew a peppermint-y bubble. Eyes trailing over him for a moment, she raised a dirty blonde brow in something that bordered between pity and disdain. It would be up to him to decide. “You looking for this?” She pulled a lighter from her pocket and handed it over to him, unpainted lips twisting into a two a.m. smirk, just daring him to call her out.


ooc: SUUUUPPPEERRR short I'm so sorry D:

[STEPHEN FRASIER]

Catching the lighter with one hand, Stephen instantly felt relief. Bubbling, roiling anger as well, but relief all the same. The doe-eyed fear washed from his eyes and from the rest of his face and he stepped forward towards his girlfriend. Bitch. She smelled like straight up sex. There was no denying what she'd been doing. Caught up at work, his ass.

With Val, however, he'd discovered he had to pick and choose his battles very carefully. Which was just about as inconvenient as torture during times like these when he wanted nothing more than he knock her off her self constructed pedestal and tear every detail of who she was and what she was into an unrecognizable mess.

But they were in public, the usual place she decided to fuck with him. It was the least he could do to try and set a hairline crack in her haughty shell.

"Hey babe," Literally lying between his teeth, he flashed a smile.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, you scared me."

There was a distinct, very embarrassing possibility that she'd see right through his little play off. But most likely, she already had before he even opened his mouth, so it was worth a shot. They were both bluffing. Constantly, whenever they interacted. It was just his turn to receive the short end of the stick and struggle through the mortifying circumstances with any sort of grace and nonchalance he could conjure up on the spot. They went back and forth; an exhausting but predictable pattern. He suffered through it time after time because he loved her. He loved her and her mind tricks and her lips that always tasted like the backwash of another man's beer and how she operated on a system of time that no other human on God's green earth had heard of. He decided right then and there he'd buy her some fancy watch to show her how much he truly loved her. He was mature enough to handle love.

Placing a hand on her waist, he rolled his shoulders back and tried hard to ignore the smell of unfamiliar cologne that was rising to smack him in the face with every little motion of her body. He released her and turned to face her, giving her an obvious once over, eyes half open, bored, unfazed. Of course, she looked good, maybe a little too good, considering all the heads she was turning. She pretended not to notice, but Stephen could tell by her smug sneer she was loving the attention as well as his body language before her arrival.

"What are you wearing?"

Taking a slow drag on his now lit cigarette, he let every word came out in a soft monotone, no emphasis on any one of them in particular. Glancing around, he let his eye wander over several girls sitting at the bar area.

ooc: Annnnnnd this is short too...