Tumultuous Politics of the BackseatbySexyJennaInk©
Please Help Me Negotiate The Tumultuous Politics of The Backseat
"I said some of that," he stated softly, hesitantly. "Are you going to lambaste me for it or may I live?" He fidgeted anxiously with his bottle of Budweiser, then nervously turned his soulful brown orbs to her own, equally chocolate gems.
She shrugged and took a quick swig from the long neck of her ice-cold Corona. "Whatever's clever."
He shook his head slowly and laughed. Nervously. When Callie was callous and quick, it meant she was displeased. She was displeased now. With him. Because of what he'd said in some stupid article in a ridiculous teenybopper magazine. That was just the way this night was headed: toward displeasure. So far, Nik's promise of beer and babes had amounted to, well, Callie. And Budweiser.
Callie frowned. "You know, Joel, it's not really my place to berate you for being a scum-sucking asshole. But if you'd like me to give you a piece of my-"
"Could we try to nice be each please other?" Nik slurred slowly, painfully. He was drunk. Very drunk, in fact. Which was just great, because now Joel was trapped with Callie. Callista. She had been Nik's girlfriend for a fleeting second, but since had simply become known as his best friend's best friend. Nik's, that is. Joel could barely stand her. And Callista could barely stand Joel.
In the corner of the room, a slow Canadian slur sounded as Hambone tried to form a sentence. Joel and Callie turned to him, expectantly. He simply grinned, raised his Budweiser and belched. Loudly. When Callie made a disgusted grimace, he erupted into laughter followed shortly by Nik.
"I can't believe you're already drunk, you fuckface!" Callie slapped her best friend. Nik simply groaned. "And now me and the assmole are the only two sober ones in this room!"
Joel frowned. "Could you refrain from calling me names, please?"
"Assmole," Hambone howled. He slapped his thigh. "That's fucking brilliant!"
"Just great," Callie groaned, tossing her petite body further back into the sofa. It was dilapidated, much like the vast majority of furniture in Nik's apartment. In fact, the last time Nik had actually purchased anything for his home had been, well, when he moved in. Five years ago. Callie groaned again. "Now I'm trapped here with no ride home."
"I'll take you home," Joel sighed loudly. He wanted it to be abundantly clear- no need for guesstimations!- that he despised the little brunette just as much as she disliked him. And then some. It would take great effort to tolerate her for the five-minute drive, but he was a gentleman. And if a maiden were in distress, well then, Sir Joel would be her knight in a shining Escalade.
Callie took this opportunity to toss her long brown hair behind her shoulder and groan. "No thanks, I'd rather have my eardrums stabbed with sporks," she sighed. "Which is what being trapped inside a moving vehicle with you would be like."
"It must be love," Max snorted, appearing from the kitchen and then disappearing back the way he came. His girlfriend Megan followed behind like a doting puppy dog.
Across the room, someone snorted. It was Benji, Joel's twin. He sat up in his chair, pausing his video game and turning his attention away from his competitor and friend, Billy. He groaned. "Yeah, Joely, why don't you just bang her and get it over with? We all know you want to do Callie!"
"That's it!" Callie screeched, tossing her fists at her sides as she stood up and stomped toward the front door. "I want to go home."
"You'll drive home me you, kay?" Nik smiled as he tried to stand and follow his friend. He did not succeed; instead he crashed back down to earth. Thankfully, earth provided a strategically placed couch and he landed without mishap. He giggled at himself for this. "Rock thong!" he slurred.
"Bach long?" Hambone slurred back with a laugh. "I fucking detest classical!"
Joel stood and stared at his two friends. Yes, he had hired them- well, as much as one can hire a good friend- to travel with the band. Yes, he had given them useless titles that brought with them large paychecks. Yes, he had done what any successful friend would do. He had shared the success. But he certainly had not shared much brainpower with these two. At least not tonight. Tonight, his best male friends were acting like two raging, alcoholic numb skulls. Yes. He could not find any reason to argue on their behalf.
"I want to go home," Callie demanded, stomping her foot. "Assmole, where are you?"
Joel sighed and bit back the comment he wanted to voice. He wanted to give Callista an appropriate nickname. 'Cuntista' might do. He loved to refer to her as simply 'The Bitch' when discussing her in conversations with Nik. But for right now, Cuntista had a certain ring to it. He laughed to himself.
"Assmole, move it along!" Callie yelled, pounding on the door for emphasis. "Quit laughing at yourself. What, did you just realize you look like Dumbo's mentally retarded cousin?"
Yes, right now would be the perfect time to put Cuntista in her place and call it like he saw it. But no, he was a gentleman and gentlemen don't call ladies nasty monikers. At least, that's what his mother had taught him from an early age. In fact, beaten it right into him. Well, technically. He had taken the fall for Benji. Again. That happened a lot growing up. Benji would call it like he saw it, and some whore would end up in tears. Feeling for his guilty brother, Joel would split the punishments. The spankings. But he would never ever refer to a lady in the derogatory terminology that Benji used so freely back in those days. Never.
"ASSMOLE!" Callie screamed in his right ear, and he snapped out of his spell. "Are you driving me home or should I fucking walk?"
He offered her a mock salute and opened the door to follow her outside. Yes. He might despise Callie; he might wish that she would take a long walk off a short pier. But he would always play the gentleman.
"Which car did you drive her tonight?" Callie growls. "The Escalade or the Porsche or the Audi or the-"
He frowned and gestured toward the gorgeously waxed black SUV. "The Escalade." He pushed the auto-release button to open the locks, and began to walk around the large vehicle to open the door for her. Callie snorted and jumped inside before he could even round the back of the vehicle. Perfect. He had tried to be a gentleman and she had shot him down. Now he didn't have to be bothered opening her door for her. What a cunt!
As he climbed up into the driver's side and placed his key into the ignition, Callie groaned. "Do you have anything decent to fucking listen to in this piece of shit?"
Joel growls inwardly. His stereo turns on automatically to blast The Smiths. He loves The Smiths. It would be just like Callie to not appreciate truly genius music. Yes. She probably loves Britney Spears. Or fucking Beyonce. Although, come to think of it, Beyonce has a great ass. And so does Britney, for that matter. He sighs. "My CD booklet is in the back. Put it whatever you'd like."
"That's not what I asked," Callie rolled her eyes and emphasized each word as though he might be slightly slow of mind. "I asked if you had anything DECENT to listen to?"
Joel wanted to crash his car and end this torment in flames. He sighed instead and stated softly, "I happen to think all of my CDs qualify as decent."
"What the fuck ever," Callie rolled her eyes as she grabbed his CD booklet and began flipping the black pages. "The Smiths, hell no. The Game? No fucking way. Apopt-eh-eh..whatever. No. HIM? What the fuck is HIM?"
"They're a band," Joel frowned, pulling out of the driveway and heading down Highland Street. "From Finland."
"Umm, no," Callie snorted. "Himsa? What the fuck?"
"Himsa is god," Joel smiled to himself, satisfactorily. Maybe Cuntista wouldn't appreciate his sense of humor, but dammit, he thought he was funny.
Callie glared at him before returning her eyes to the CDs. "Blues Traveler? No. Something is mentally wrong with you. Hilary Duff? Joel, you're fucking useless."
Joel tried not to scream. Instead, he focused on the road. It was raining. Hard. And combined with the ever-present curtain of smog up in the mountains, driving was no easy task. Especially with Cuntista one foot away and bitching endlessly.
"50 Cent, no. No Doubt, fuck no. It's no doubt they suck. Gwen Stefani? You suck, bitch," Callie continued to ramble on. "Terror? They probably are. Rancid? They are."
"I love Rancid," Joel mused, trying to ignore her outright cuntish attitude.
"You would," Callie grinned. "Lars Freidersen and the Shitheads, no way."
Joel rolled his eyes and turned onto McAllister Street. "Lars Fredericksen and the Bastards."
"That's what I said," Callie insisted.
He suppressed the urge to inform her of her new nickname. Or to question exactly what Nik saw in this bitch. Come to think of it, aside from the nice rack and the cute ass, what did Nik see in this bitch? Sure, he'd heard the stories from their brief relationship. Sure, Nik swore that she gave the best head. Sloppy, dirty, noisy head. But aside from her bedroom prowess, what could this bitch have to offer anyone?
Callie snorted. "Aqua? Aren't they the ones that sing that Barbie song?"
" 'Barbie Girl,' " Joel laughed. "Yes."
"And you own this CD why?" Callie raised an eyebrow.
Joel shrugged. "I happen to enjoy pop music."
"That would explain why you also own TATU," Callie rolled her eyes and pointed toward the cream colored and red CD. "Russian lesbians. How classy."
"They make good music."
"Whatever you say," Callie sighed. "Look, do you have anything sensible in here or am I wasting my fucking time?"
"What do you consider 'sensible'?" he sighed, turning off McAllister and onto Higby Lane.
Callie shrugged and sat back in her seat. She pondered his question and then smiled. This was perhaps the first- and probably the only time- that he had seen her smile. Ever would see her smile. Surprisingly, she had a beautiful smile complimented by miniscule dimples. That was kind of cute. Fuck. He thought Cuntista's smile was cute.
"I like Depeche Mode," Callie yawned. "Do you have any of their stuff?"
"I've got 'Exciter' and 'The Singles' in the car. Everything else is home," Joel stated, wondering exactly how he and Cuntista were managing to have an adult conversation.
"Siouxsie & The Banshees?" Callie questioned, amused that she and Assmole could actually share any common joys.
Joel nodded. "But it's at home."
"Wow," Callie sighed, placing 'Exciter' into the in-deck CD player and forwarding to Track Five. "We actually-"
"-Have something in common?" Joel laughed. "That's kind of-"
"-Scary," Callie finished his thought. She turned to stare at him as he concentrated heavily on the road. His expression was rugged and almost, dare she say, handsome. God no! She could not start thinking that Assmole was attractive. That would never ever work. Focus, she thought to herself. Focus.
Joel yawned. "I thought you lived close by?"
Callie shrugged. "I do."
"It feels like forever," Joel yawned again, this time reaching up to cover his mouth in a polite gesture.
"Am I boring you?" Callie taunted with a grin.
Joel took his eyes off the road for a split second to grin at her. "No, Callie, you are not boring me. I'm just tired. Is that alright?"
"I knew it wouldn't last," Callie snorted out loud. "You can't be decent for more than ten seconds."
Joel rolled his eyes and turned onto Briarcliff Manor. Ahead, the road was winding and twisting up into the mountains. Why did Cuntista have to live on the side of a fucking cliff? Actually, that was fitting. He should pitch her off of it. "And you can't not be a raving bitch for more than ten seconds. So I guess we're even."
"Did you just call me a bitch?" she challenged, crossing her arms angrily over her chest.
Joel smirked. "Why yes I did."
"Assmole!" Callie snorted. "Shut the fuck up and let me hear the-" She heard a wrenching noise and paused, concern darting over her face. "What was that?"
"I didn't hear a noise," Joel stated simply. He continued to drive along the winding road as rain battered the large vehicle.
"I heard something," Callie insisted with a frown. "And it didn't sound good."
Joel allowed himself to play concerned. He was going to humor Cuntista, but only because he was vain about his cars. Yes, his cars were his prized possessions. His babies, if you will. "What did you hear?"
"A wrenching sound," Callie tried to articulate the noise. "Like something was seizing up or...."
"It was probably just a branch or something," Joel mused with a shrug. "No big deal."
Callie shrugged back. "If we die, I'll haunt you."
Joel laughed at this as he tried to stay within his lane. "If we both die, then I'll be dead too. You can't haunt me then."
Callie pondered this then grinned. "Then I'll make damn sure that you fry in Hell for all of eternity."
"You got some sort of pull with Our Lord?" he challenged.
"Yes," Callie nodded happily. "I do."
"That's funny," Joel grinned. "Because I heard you were the Daughter of Satan."
And with his final word, the car began to slow. Eventually, it crawled to a halt in the miniscule shoulder lane of the empty road. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. Now he'd either get hit by a car speeding past or, well, he didn't want to consider the other options. He groaned and turned to Callie. "The car just died."
"I can see that, Assmole. I'm not a moron!"
He tried the key in the ignition and received nothing. No strained start of the engine, no sound. No movement. No anything. Nothing. He sighed. "You stay here, I'm going to check beneath the hood."
Callie snorted. "Good. You get wet, fuckhead."
He wanted to stay in the warmth of the vehicle and tell Cuntista what he truly thought of her, but emergency called elsewhere. Like outside the car. Under the hood. What could be wrong with his baby? He had just had all new rims put on the tires, and some detailing work done. Totaling, oh say, several thousand dollars. How the fuck could the car just die like this? It was probably something stupid too. Immediately thought? The battery.
He stared inside the workings of the large SUV and sighed. It was definitely the battery. And without another car in sight to jump him, he and Cuntista were trapped. The nearest gas station was two miles down the hill. There were no stations up in the residential area where Cuntista lived. So it was a two-mile hike in the pouring rain down the hill, or waiting. Patiently.
"My cell phone battery is dead," Cuntista frowned as he climbed up into the driver's seat once again. Fuck, he was soaked right through to the bone. Thank god the interior was leather.
He sighed. "That's fine."
Callie raised an eyebrow. "FINE?"
"You wouldn't have a signal anyway," he laughed at the irony of the situation. "There's no service up here."
Callie considered this, realizing that he wasn't just fucking with her. His expression was too stern. Too serious. Assmole was telling the truth. She sighed. "So what does that mean?"
"That means," he winced and began coughing. Just great. Now he'd be trapped with Cuntista and end up with pneumonia. He sighed. "That means that we walk two miles down hill to the nearest gas station or we wait."
"Another car to stop."
Callie nodded slowly. "What are the chances of that?"
Joel shrugged and tried to dry himself off with his hoodie. "On a night like this? I don't really know. Someone has to pass through, but whether or not they'll stop is anybody's guess."
"Just fucking great," Callie snorted, tossing herself back in her seat dramatically. She was trapped. Trapped with Assmole. For God only knows how long. That meant that she was going to have to get used to his company, and it wasn't particularly good company. Why had she demanded to leave Nik's anyway? She should have just stayed the fucking night. Being molested by a drunk Nik or a drunk Hambone couldn't be as bad as being trapped in a car with Assmole. Fuck it. Being trapped in a cardboard box with Benji was better than this.
Joel tapped his long fingers patiently on the steering wheel and sighed. "You know, this could be worse."
Joel considered Cuntista's threat and shrugged. Nope, she was right: this could not be worse. Here he was, trapped inside his car with the raving Bitch of the West. Yes. She hated him, she hated his music. She hated everything he enjoyed, everything he found pleasure in. She had berated him all night long over a stupid ass teenybopper article. Sure, maybe he'd admitted to trashing a hotel room. And yeah, maybe he did sound kind of cocky when he'd said that 'chicks' loved him. But had any of that been so bad? Was it really worth hating someone? Really! Cuntista was just, well, a cunt. And that was that. He sighed.
"This fucking sucks," she bitched, leaning her head on the foggy window. "This really fucking sucks."
"Are you going to bitch all night?" he frowned. Because really! Did she think this was pleasurable for him, either?
Callie grimaced. "Actually, yes, I am going to bitch all night, Assmole. Because you are the fucking Assmole that got us trapped here."
Joel sighed. "It's not my fault that the battery died."
"Your car- much like you- is a piece of shit," Callie stated, never opening her eyes or turning from the window where she was leaning. "End of story."
That was all he could take from Cuntista. If he weren't such a gentleman, he would definitely have slapped her by now. No doubt about that. "What the fuck is your issue with me?" he challenged, angered. "I mean, what the fuck did I ever do to you?"
Callie sat up straight and grinned. A challenge: she loved a good challenge. Assmole, it's on! "What the fuck did you ever not do?" she spat, annoyed.
"I haven't done shit to you," Joel growled in response, fists clenched and placed atop the leather steering wheel. "I've never done anything to you, Cun...Callie."
"What did you just call me?" she demanded.
"Callie," he stated, annoyed at himself for his near slip. "That is your name, is it not?"
"You were going to call me a cunt!" she roared, reaching over the gear shifter and getting up in his face. "Assmole! You piece of shit! You were going to call me a fucking-"
And that was when things got ever weirder. Weird times about ten thousand. She had stopped roaring in his face, and placed her lips atop his. She was soft, supple. He was confused, in utter awe. She was kissing him. Cuntista was kissing him. Assmole. Cuntista was kissing Assmole. And why, exactly, was he referring to himself as 'Assmole'? It must be the hormones. It had to be. Something about her kiss was frying his brain cells.
"That was nice," she pulled away, licking her lips. "You're not a bad kisser, Assmole."
"Umm, thanks," he blushed.
Callie bit her fingernail and grinned. "I think we're stuck here for a while."
He simply nodded. He couldn't function right now. Cuntista had kissed him. She had kissed him. Assmole. She had called him Assmole and then kissed him. Perhaps the car had fallen into the Twilight Zone? That was the only logical explanation for this situation. Yes. That must be it.
"I think we should," Callie was saying softly, in a near giggle. She was being girly. What the fuck? What the hell was going on?
"Should would?" he stammered, perplexed.
Callie rolled her eyes and laughed. "Assmole, are you paying attention?"
He nodded. He was trying to, at least. But he was still confused. What the fuck was going on?
Callie grinned and licked her lips. She leaned across the seat again, and placed her chin on his shoulder. Her voice was soft and seductive as she stated, "I said I think we should fuck."