EDIT: TO SEE REVISED VERSION
CLICK HERE

Hey all. Here's another short story I wrote for my fiction-writing class. It's still a rough draft, so everyone's input is much appreciated, though I already know that it's too short and that I should change some of the names to be less confusing. I've also attached the actual .doc file this time too, if you'd rather read it that way and/or print it out to read.

Dinner at Five (Intervention at Six)

As we approach the door to my apartment, I check my watch. 4:55PM. Everyone should be there now. I look to my side to see Stephanie, smiling and happy as always. Maybe I shouldn’t bring her inside right now. I could tell her to wait in the car, and then tell the others that we’ll schedule for another time. I could take Steph shopping, get her a little something before dinner. That smile… how could I put her in a situation where she’d be sad? It wouldn’t be right. My apartment probably isn’t the right place for this sort of thing anyway—

“Hey Mickey,” Stephanie says. “Can we pick up something at the liquor store before dinner, for later tonight?”

No. I have to stick with the plan. Five o’clock: I take Stephanie in my apartment for her intervention. We sit down with Sharon and Michael, and they say their thing, and I say my thing. Stephanie sees the errors of her way, we all have some good laughs. Six o’clock: we all head off for dinner. Nine o’clock: party back at my place. Just take a deep breath, look at her, and realize that this is for her own good.

“Uh… maybe after dinner, Steph. We should just go inside and relax for a while.”

“OK,” she says, somehow even happier.

I pull my key out and unlock the door. I take my time, so that the others can hear me enter, get prepared, that sort of thing. I hold the door open for Stephanie, and she walks through. I really hope Michael didn’t bring his friend with him. I told him not to. “We don’t need him,” I said to Michael. “He doesn’t know us. We can handle her ourselves.” I walk in after Stephanie and see them.

Damn it, Michael did bring him.

~~~~~

Sharon? Had Mickey accidentially brought me to my apartment instead of his? Wait, that’s his couch. And there’s his friend, Michael, sitting on it with Sharon. And there’s Mickey’s computer chair, in the middle of the living room, with some guy standing behind it…? Black shoes, black pants, black T-shirt, short black hair… and tall. This guy doesn’t seem very friendly. What kind of game was Mickey playing? I turn to Mickey.

“What’s going on, Mickey?” I ask him. I’m hoping that this was supposed to be a surprise party before the dinner and party later tonight. It isn’t a very good surprise party if it was one.

“Sit down, Steph,” Mickey said. He sounds so serious. They all look serious, now that I look at them. Well, except the tall guy – he seems to be bored. What was up with the chair? Why does Mickey want me to sit in it? His couch is a lot more comfortable, and all four of us could sit on it. The other guy can sit in the chair if he wants.

“Who’s he?” I ask, looking up at the new guy. “I want to sit on the couch.”

“His name is Brad,” Michael says. “He’s a friend of mine, and he’s here to help.” Brad turns the chair to face me. I stand where I am. Mickey holds his hands around my arms, guiding me towards the chair. I look at Mickey. He seems so sad. Wait, why am I closer to the chair now? I don’t want to sit there.

“I don’t want to sit here—,“ I say to Mickey, when two other hands grip my shoulders and push me down onto the chair.

“Don’t hurt her!” Mickey says to Brad. This guy, Brad, is still holding me down. My roomie, Sharon, is angry at Michael. What the hell is going on?

“You don’t have to hold her down, Brad,” Michael says. A few seconds later, I feel his grip on my shoulders disappear.

“What’s going on? Why can’t I sit on the couch?” I ask. Had I not return money to someone? To this Brad guy, maybe? I don’t remember seeing him before.

~~~~~


So she’s the drunk. Not too surprising. She’s probably a daddy’s girl, never having to do anything in her life. Stephanie sure sounds like a daddy’s girl’s name. I bet the stupid blonde drinks a couple beers and gets all giddy. Lightweights think they can always drink way more.

“We need to talk,” said the drunk’s boyfriend. His voice is shaky. I bet he’s going to go all soft on her. I don’t see why Mike brought me here. This drunk girl wasn’t going to put up any sort of fight. Hell, her neck was the size of my wrist. They don’t need me to “control” this girl. I bet the “violent rage” Mike told me about is nothing more than a tamper-tantrum. It’s not like I have anything better to do than hang out with the O.C. couple and Mike. Besides, the girl’s friend looks pretty hot.

The drunk girl and her boyfriend started talking. Blah blah blah… I look at the drunk’s hot friend. I think her name’s Sharon. Damn, she has a nice rack. She’s wearing jeans. I bet she likes it rough. The hair is a bit short, but I can live with that. She looks at me. She narrows her eyes at me. Ooooo, a challenge. I’ll definitely have to talk to her after this is all over. I best not look at her too long – she might think I’m a creep or something.

This is so boring. This apartment is boring too. There’s this old, tan couch against one wall, with Mike and the hot friend on it. I wonder if it pulls out into a bed. There’s a balcony on one side, a wooden desk with crap all over it on the other side, and a 20” TV on top of an IKEA box-stand. The kitchen and the rest of the apartment are around the wall the TV is against. Maybe I could get something to eat. Then again, Mike will probably get all pissy at me for not being around or something. They probably don’t have anything good anyway. The boyfriend only has a Playstation too. The guy could at least get a PS2 and some good movies.

It looks like the only interesting thing in this room is the drunk’s hot friend. She seems busy now, so I’ll look at her some more.

~~~~~

Trying to keep my attention off Michael’s creepy friend, I keep my eyes on Stephanie. The poor girl’s so lost. These guys don’t know how to handle this situation. I mean, making her sit in the chair? This is supposed to be an intervention, not an interrogation. I better try to help out. God knows Michael and his friend aren’t.

“Look, Steph,” I say, “I found empty vodka bottles in your room. You’re not just drinking at socials.”

“Those are old bottles, Sharon” Stephanie says. “And what were you doing in my room?”

“Cleaning,” I say. “Your crap is piling over onto my crap.”

“We’re not here to talk about your room problems, Sharon,” Michael jabs.

“That’s not—“ I start to say, when Michael continues. Damnit, Steph’s problem isn’t a ****ing psycho-philosophical issue. She just drinks too much, and needs our help in cutting back. You better not go into your theory of addiction ****, Michael.

“We’re here to talk about Stephanie,” Michael says for the third time, as if repetition held some magic power. “There’s something wrong with her life, and she’s turned to drinking.”

“But I’m fine…” Stephanie says.

“Denial is the first response to an addiction,” Michael says. “You’re turning to alcohol to fill your pain—“

“Shut the hell up!” I yell. I couldn’t let Michael go on like this. He’d have Stephanie convinced that she’s a cow at this rate.

“Maybe we should just forget about all this and go to dinner,” Mickey tries suggesting.

“No,” Michael says in that all-knowing voice of his. “We need to have Stephanie confront her addiction now.” God damn! I want to rip his beard right off his face.

~~~~~

Perhaps I should tell Brad to walk Sharon elsewhere at this time. This is a very delicate situation, though. Stephanie is dealing with an addiction, and she may turn to anger when she can’t deny any longer. Her anger would be fueled by her desire to stay addicted, and she is already a rather violent person. Perhaps Sharon’s character has rubbed off on Stephanie over the time they’ve lived together. Poor Stephanie. Mickey hadn’t been keen on the idea of her intervention in this manner, but when he came to me, I knew that he needed me to do what he could not. His love for her is as large as the open sea, but he knows not how to navigate it. This is my moment to steer in the storm. I would prove my quality to Stephanie, even if she did not wish to sail in my ocean.

“Just admit that you have an addiction to alcohol, Stephanie,” I say to her. “It’s the first step to becoming a stronger person.”

“Mickey!” Sharon yells. “Can we continue this without Michael and his goon?”

“I resent that,” I say to Sharon. “Brad is a close friend of mine, and we’ll need his help if Stephanie turns for the worse.”

“Turn for the worse?” Stephanie says. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about. Shouldn’t we be getting ready for dinner?” Mickey jumps in on the bandwagon.

“Yeah, Michael. I think we should do this later, without Brad.”

“I don’t think you understand—“ I begin, but Mickey interrupts me.

“No, you don’t understand. I told you not to bring Brad with you, and you brought him anyway. Do you see Stephanie getting angry? No. You’re only upsetting her with him being here. I love her, Michael, I don’t want her to feel like a criminal.”

“You’re not the only one who cares about her,” I mutter. Uh-oh. This is not good. I better—OW! Did he just punch me? Brad’s coming over now… and knocked Mickey unconscious.

“Why did you go and do that, Brad?” I blurt out. “You could have just held him or something.” Pointing my finger at him for emphasis, I continue. “Don’t ever do that again, unless—“

He smacks my arm out of the way, and his own arm swings towards my head.

~~~~~

I scream. What the hell is happening? The Brad guy just knocked out Michael and Mickey. I jump on him and pummel the back of his head with my fists. He can’t do that to my boyfriend! He’s trying to get a hold of me, but he can’t quite reach me. Why isn’t he going down? Sharon shoots up from the couch and towards us. She’s knocked out. I fall off and my head hits something.

~~~~~

Looking at each of them, I check their status. Good, they’re all unconscious. Damn argument was getting annoying.

I head into the kitchen and open the fridge. Hey, there’s a Coors light. I take it out as my payment. Should I write a note or something? Nah. Maybe I could cop a feel on that hot chick while she’s unconscious. Actually, she doesn’t really seem all that hot now. She’s a little too violent for my tastes anyway. There they are, all lying on the floor. They should have fun when they wake back up. I think I’ll see if there’s a bar nearby or something.

Revised version to be posted tomorrow.

(Non-story post: I cleaned some stuff up, added a little here and there, drew out the conflict before the "fight" at the end, and made the fight itself more sudden/abrupt. Also changed a couple names to eliminate confusion.)

Intervention at Five (Dinner at Six)

As we approach the door to my apartment, I check my watch. 4:55 PM. Everyone should be there now. I look to my side to see Evie smiling and happy as always. Maybe I shouldn’t bring her inside right now. I could tell her to wait in the car, and then tell the others that we’ll re-schedule for another time. I could take Evie shopping, get her a little something before dinner. But that smile… how could I put her in a situation where she’d be sad? It wouldn’t be right. My apartment probably isn’t the right place for this sort of thing anyway—

“Hey, John,” Evie says. “Can we pick up something at the liquor store before dinner, for later tonight?”

No. I have to stick with the plan. Five o’clock: I take Evie in my apartment for her intervention. We sit down with Sharon and Michael, and they say their thing, and I say my thing. Evie sees the error of her ways, we all have some good laughs. Six o’clock: we all head off for dinner. Nine o’clock: party back at my place. Just take a deep breath, look at her, and realize that this is for her own good. Stick to the plan.

“Uh… maybe after dinner, Evie. We should just go inside and relax for a while.”

“OK,” she says, somehow even happier.

I pull my key out and unlock the door. I take my time, so that the others can hear me enter, get prepared, that sort of thing. I hold the door open for Evie, and she walks through. I really hope Michael didn’t bring his friend with him. I told him not to. “We don’t need him,” I said to Michael. “He doesn’t know us. We can handle her ourselves.” Sharon is close to Evie, being her roommate, and Michael can usually bring good insight to this sort of situations, so what I told him wasn’t a lie, but even if it was, I would have said the same thing. I walk in after Evie and see them.

Damn it, Michael did bring him.

*****

Sharon? What’s she doing at John’s place? Why is Michael here, sitting on the couch with Sharon? And why is John’s computer chair in the middle of the living room, with some guy standing behind it? Who is this guy? He has black shoes, black pants, black T-shirt, and short black hair. Damn he’s tall! He’s built like a tank. This guy doesn’t seem very… friendly. What kind of game was John playing?

“What’s going on, John?” I ask him. I’m hoping that this was supposed to be a surprise party before the dinner and party later tonight. It isn’t a very good surprise party if it is one.

“Sit down, Evie,” John says. He sounds so serious. They all look serious, now that I look at them. Well, except the guy behind the chair – he seems to be bored. What is up with the chair? Why does John want me to sit in it? His couch is a lot more comfortable, and all four of us could sit on it. The other guy can sit in the chair if he wants.

“Who’s he?” I ask, looking up at the new guy. “I want to sit on the couch.”

“His name is Brad,” Michael says. “He’s a friend of mine, and he’s here to help.” Brad turns the chair to face me. I stand where I am. John holds his hands around my arms, guiding me towards the chair. I look at John. He seems so sad. Wait, the chair! Damn it, John, I don’t want to sit there.

“I don’t want to sit here—“ I say to John, when two other hands grip my shoulders and push me down onto the chair.

“Don’t hurt her!” John says to Brad. This guy, Brad, is still holding me down. My roomie, Sharon, is angry at Michael. What the hell is going on?

“You don’t have to hold her down, Brad,” Michael says. A few seconds later, I feel his grip on my shoulders disappear.

“What’s going on? Why can’t I sit on the couch?” I ask. Did I forget to return money to someone? To this Brad guy, maybe? I don’t remember seeing him before.

*****

So she’s the drunk. Not too surprising. She’s probably a daddy’s girl, never having to do anything in her life. Evie sure sounds like a daddy’s girl’s name. I bet the stupid blonde drinks a couple beers and gets all giddy. Lightweights think they can always drink way more.

“We need to talk,” says the drunk’s boyfriend. His voice is shaky. I bet he’s going to go all soft on her. I don’t see why Mike brought me here. This drunk girl isn’t going to put up any sort of fight. Hell, her neck is the size of my wrist. They don’t need me to “control” this girl. I bet the “violent rage” Mike told me about is nothing more than a tamper-tantrum. Eh. It’s not like I have anything better to do than hang out with the O.C. couple and Mike. Hell, the drunkie and her boyfriend would probably be more fun than Mike at a party, though not as loaded with money, if I had to guess. Besides, the girl’s friend looks pretty hot.

The drunk girl and her boyfriend start talking. Blah blah blah… I look at the drunk’s hot friend. I think her name’s Sharon. Damn, she has a nice rack. She’s wearing jeans. I bet she likes it rough. The hair is a bit short, but I can live with that. She looks at me. She narrows her eyes at me. Ooooo, a challenge. I’ll definitely have to talk to her after this is all over. I best not look at her too long – she might think I’m a creep or something.

This is so boring. This apartment is boring too. There’s this old, tan couch against one wall, with Mike and the hot friend on it. I wonder if it pulls out into a bed. There’s a balcony on one side, a wooden desk with crap all over it on the other side, and a 20” TV on top of an IKEA box-stand. Maybe I could get something to eat. Then again, Mike will probably get all pissy at me for not being around or something. They probably don’t have anything good anyway. For crying out loud, the boyfriend only has a Playstation. The guy could at least get a PS2 and some good movies.

It looks like the only interesting thing in this room is the drunk’s hot friend. She seems busy now, so I’ll look at her some more.

*****

Trying to keep my attention off Michael’s creepy friend, I keep my eyes on Evie. The poor girl’s so lost. These guys don’t know how to handle this situation. I mean, making her sit in the chair? This is supposed to be an intervention, not an interrogation. Damn Michael and his goon friend. I better try to help out. God knows John could use some help in the matter.

“Look, Evie,” I say, “I found empty vodka bottles in your room. You’re not just drinking at socials.”

“Those are old bottles, Sharon,” Evie says. “And what were you doing in my room?”

“Cleaning,” I say. “Your crap is piling over onto my crap.”

“We’re not here to talk about your room problems, Sharon,” Michael jabs.

“That’s not—“ I start to say, when Michael continues. Damnit, Evie’s problem isn’t a ****ing psycho-philosophical issue. She just drinks too much, and needs our help in cutting back. You better not go into your theory of addiction ****, Michael.

“We’re here to talk about Evie,” Michael says for the third time, as if repetition held some magic power. “There’s something wrong with her life, and she’s turned to drinking.”

“There’s nothing wrong…” Evie says.

“Denial is the first response to an addiction,” Michael says. “You’re turning to alcohol to fill your pain—“

“Shut the hell up!” I yell. I couldn’t let Michael go on like this. He’d have Evie convinced that she’s a cow at this rate.

“Maybe we should just forget about all this and go to dinner,” John tries suggesting.

“No,” Michael says in that all-knowing voice of his. “We need to have Evie confront her addiction now.” God damn! I want to rip his beard right off his face.

*****

Perhaps I should tell Brad to walk Sharon elsewhere at this time. I could compensate for his time later. No, this is a very delicate situation, though. Evie is dealing with an addiction, and she may turn to violence when she can’t deny any longer. Her anger would be fueled by her desire to stay addicted, and she is already a rather violent person. Perhaps Sharon’s character has rubbed off on Evie over the time they’ve lived together. Poor Evie. What a troubled life she lives.

John hadn’t been keen on the idea of her intervention in this manner, but when he came to me, I knew that he needed me to do what he could not. He knows that Sharon can not give Evie the serious attention needed in this matter, though he envies her strength in decision. I imagine that John has only invited Sharon in the matter out of respect, as he knows he only needs my help. His love for Evie is as large as the open sea, but he knows not how to navigate it. This is my moment to steer in the storm. I would prove my quality to Evie, even if she did not wish to sail with me.

“Just admit that you have an addiction to alcohol, Evie,” I say to her. “It’s the first step to becoming a stronger person.”

“John!” Sharon yells. “Can we continue this without Michael and his goon?”

“I resent that,” I say to Sharon. “Brad is a close friend of mine, and we’ll need his help if Evie turns for the worse.”

“What the hell!” Evie says, then sighs. “Shouldn’t we be getting ready for dinner?” John jumps in on the bandwagon.

“Yeah, Michael. I think we should do this later, without Brad.”

“I don’t think you understand—“ I begin, but John interrupts me.

“No, you don’t understand. I told you not to bring Brad with you, and you brought him anyway. Do you see Evie getting violent, Michael? No. You’re only upsetting her with him being here. I love her, Michael. I don’t want her to feel like a criminal.”

“You’re not the only one who cares about her,” I mutter. Uh-oh. This is not good. I better—OW! Did he just… he shouldn’t have broken down like this. Evie screams.

“John!” Sharon says.

“She’s not your girlfriend, Michael!” John says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I say. He really shouldn’t be bringing this up now. This is suppose to be about Evie.

“You damn well know what I’m talking about!” John yells. Sharon runs over to Evie and holds her.

“Maybe she needs someone better,” I quip. If John wants to bring this up, I’m not going to hold anything back—

Bad idea! Get away from John, I think he’s going to kill me! Damnit, I’m cornered against a wall. I watch as John reels his arm back, when I see Brad behind him. There’s something unsettling to me as Brad grabs John’s arm, then with a cold efficiency smacks John’s head, knocking him unconscious. I think I notice Evie trying to fight her way out of Sharon’s grip, yelling something or other. It’s hard to think straight after seeing what Brad just did. I muster what courage I have and stand back up. Brad just needed to be put in check, is all.

“Why did you go and do that, Brad?” I reprimanded. He simply looks at me. Can I really control him? Yes, yes I can. I continue.

“You should have just held him,” I say. He’s glaring now. Sharon is having difficulty holding Evie down. I need to take control, be more aggressive. Pointing my finger at him for emphasis, I continue. “Don’t ever do that again, unless—“

He smacks my arm out of the way, and--.

*****

Oh God! I finally get out of Sharon’s grip, and leap for this jerk. He knocked John out! I leap on the guy’s back. Sharon tries to stop us. I’m giving it all I got, I’ll throttle Brad down if it’s the last thing I do. Sharon’s not stopping us anymore. Oh God, she’s down too! Oh crap, why did I stop? He’s about to--.

*****

Looking at each of them, I check their status. Good, they’re all unconscious. Damn argument was getting annoying.

I head into the kitchen and open the fridge. Hey, there’s a Coors Light. I take it out as my payment. Should I write a note or something? Nah. Maybe I could cop a feel on that hot chick while she’s unconscious. Actually, she doesn’t really seem all that hot now. She’s a little too violent for my tastes anyway. There they are, all lying on the floor. They should have fun when they wake back up. I think I’ll see if there’s a bar nearby or something…

Ah, what the hell. She ain’t gonna know anyway. Just a quick feel before I head off.