Doubt

Doubt Part 7

"You're just like your brother, you know?" America smiled. "You're fun when you're drunk."

"I'm not even drunk." I probably shouldn't be drinking at all at this time in the morning. I can't resist a good wine, though.

"I know." He chuckled. "I'm just sayin'." He took a sip from his whiskey. Hypocrite.

"You talk too much." I rolled my eyes.

"You complain too much."

"Fuck you."

"What?" He smirked. "Do you want to?"

"I already have."

"I must've been drunk for that."

"That's the cliche, isn't it?" I glanced at this laughing couple at a nearby table a little bit away from the counter. My arm cramped from having the weight of my body on it as it pierced into the counter. "Then again, drunk sex tends to be the most fun because you don't have to care about who it is."

"No, I think I prefer make-up sex."

"Why?" I whipped my head at him, confused.

"Call me a romantic, but the frustration of longing and residual anger makes it absolutely insane." He took another sip of his whiskey. "More importantly, it actually has meaning and I think that's something we all want naturally."

"Meaning?"

"Well, isn't that what you wanted?" His smile was pleasant and calm. Leave it to him to never fail to make me feel understood. I couldn't help but question why never showed this side himself all the time. "A meaning to all this?"

"Well," I sighed in defeat, looking down at my wine in shame. "I don't know what I want."

"What a coincidence." Another sip of whiskey. "Me too." His tone was heavier and almost ashamed. It seems we were in the same boat. I looked back to my wine. Red wine could easily stain any surface as if imitating blood. I grasped the cup and brought it to my lips. It's taste was liquefied bittersweet in a glass. Much like any history, if I'm honest with myself. Alcohol has always been there along with sex. Perhaps there was no meaning to anything, really. Sure, America likes meaning but he doesn't even know what he wants. He, too, knows there's no point.

Fuck it.

I looked up at him. "Want to get out of here?"

"And do what?"

"Let's have some fun." I grinned.

~

"You really own this place?" America asked confused by the small shack by the cliff side.

"Yes, and only I know about it." I smiled at him. "Well, now you too."

"Why?"

"It can get tiring when I have to share everything. I need something of my own." I pulled the key out from my back pocket. "Something I can enjoy unlike the boring ass meetings and meaningless conversations." I unlocked the door.

"Sounds like a sex dungeon." He laughed.

"I don't need something like that to pleasure someone." I put the key back in my pocket; flashing a quick smirk his way. I caught the image of a faint blush before I turned back to the door and opened it. Inside was decorated as hell with all sorts of rugs, curtains, wine bottles, tea pots, and kitchenware. It was still bright as a hell so no lights needed. Natural sunlight was always my favorite, anyway.

His footsteps were light as he walked through, "Why exactly did you bring me here?"

I closed the door, "To have some fun, of course."

"Oh?"

"You want anything to drink?" I grabbed a wine glass from the nearby cupboard.

"I guess a bit of wine wouldn't hurt." I grabbed another one for him. I set the two glasses on the counter. I half-assedly grabbed whatever wine bottle was nearest. It just so happened to be half way empty. I served whatever amount felt right into the glasses and handed one to America. I rushed to the table and sat down. I took a big swig of wine in hopes that self destructive behavior would make up for such a miserable few days. I should've just grabbed the bottle after serving him glass. "Damn I didn't think getting drunk was your idea of fun."

"Wrong." I said, catching my breath. "Relaxing is my idea of fun and I'll do quite a bit to achieve that."

"Your coping skills are pretty shit."

"I may have some of my grandfather's tendencies."

"He was a drunk?"

"Not really but he was a big empire."

"I honestly don't care, I don't know a damn world power that doesn't drink like an alcoholic that owns a bar." With that he chugged down all the wine in his glass. He set it down ever so gracefully. Some dripped down to his chin like watered down blood.

"Well, if we get drunk now, this will go two ways."

"Stupid shit and we get yelled or sex and we get yelled at; I know." He smirked. "I'm a gambler at heart but I'm not drunk yet so there's technically three options."

"Are you really willing to take that third option?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because getting yelled at means getting my ass kicked."

"Then why'd you leave the meeting, Mr. Gambler?"

"Damn, you Italians and your sly talk."

"Damn, you Americans and your indecisiveness."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you." I laughed, taking another sip of wine.

"Why aren't you like this any other time?"

"Not good for business."

"So being annoying is?"

"You're one to talk."

"I've matured."

"But Europe hasn't."

"I guess they all are a bunch of old people."

"We all belong in a nursing home."

"Staff wouldn't last a day."

"You're right, a prison would be better."

"I say death is the best route."

"Now you're talking!"