Here's a story I've been laboring over for months. Enjoy!
Bojack knocked three times on the large wooden french doors of what was, in his opinion, the tackiest mansion in this particular block of Beverly Hills. Fortunate for his own ego, Bojack had purchased a home that was higher up - more secluded. With each knock, he hoped more and more that Mr. PeanutButter was out doing whatever frivolous activities he did all day. Bojack didn’t expect to have this conversation now, but after several bottles of absinthe he was feeling open and ready to accept the consequences of his drunken actions. He leaned his snout against the door and felt the weight of his body shift forward, resting on the double doors. With a creak and a swing of the right door, Bojack fell into the house onto the pristine tile floor with a deafening thud.
“Bojack?” Mr. PeanutButter inquired from several feet into the doorway. Bojack moaned and began to push himself back up to his feet with speed befitting of a drunken horse weighing in at several hundred pounds. “What are you doing? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine” Bojack said while rubbing his eyes as they went back into focus upon standing. “I’m here” he spat out looking at the puzzled Golden Retriever.
“I can see that. Did you want to come in?”
“What? No, of course not, I demand to come in and talk to you!” Bojack shouted. Mr. PeanutButter sighed at his sudden realization of Bojack’s intoxicated state. He opened the door a bit more, to signal Bojack to come in. The drunken horse swiftly walked in and headed straight to the kitchen table where he slid into a chair and fixed his gaze on the dog. Mr. PeanutButter walked over to the kitchen and grabbed his cup of coffee off the sleek granite counter, sat down across from Bojack, and clasped his hands together in anticipation of what could possibly be a long talk.
“Well buddy, what’s up?” Mr. PeanutButter asked.
“I have several things to say to you. They’re in order of importance, but I can’t remember what’s most important right now, so I’ll probably just say whatever comes to mind and that’ll have to work” said Bojack.
“Go ahead, Diane is out for the week and I’ve finished browsing all the tabloids and I have no more work to do for my buzzfeed article, so I need something to preoccupy my time.”
“I’m in love” Bojack blurted out with reckless abandon. Mr. PeanutButter locked his gaze on Bojack and his eyes widened. “Your house is so fucking tacky in comparison to the caliber of this neighborhood, and I want you to know that your show was truly worse than mine, but besides that — yes. I’m madly in love.” He seemed to be stating this so matter of factly, contrasting with his harsh tone before. Bojack had his thoughts floating around in his head, but due to the intoxication he expected Mr. PeanutButter to correctly fill in the blanks. Bojack was in love with Diane. Madly. Truly. She was the first person in so many years to bring him out of his cold and selfish emotional daze that had truly been like an albatross around his neck, dragging him down ever since the end of Horsin’ Around. Mr. PeanutButter on the other hand, always had been a rival. He was never outright mean to Bojack, but had always been this snarky, happy dog that wagged his tail while the world and the real and important events that shape peoples lives happened around him, blissfully unaware. But behind the facade that Mr. PeanutButter was so used to putting up, he really was quite conscientious. Mr. PeanutButter cared about Bojack. As a sometimes friend, and as a person. He never felt really well equipped to deal with Bojack as is, where Bojack’s sarcasm and self loathing was quite powerful, the golden retriever never knew what to say to help lighten up the competitive mood between them.
“Bojack, why are you telling me this now? I mean, my wedding with Diane was a week ago, couldn’t you have stumbled over drunk before then?” Mr. PeanutButter sounded quite distraught at Bojack’s confession.
“I guess I should have in retrospect” said Bojack “but, I just didn’t get around to it…” His voice trailed off; the ever so present confidence that was in his voice faded. Bojack looked at the ground for a moment, then glanced back up at the sullen dog who had taken his sunglasses off his head and put them on the table and now had his head in his hands.
“I love Diane, but she deserves better” Mr. PeanutButter said softly, after what felt like an eternity of silence.
“Yeah, she does” Bojack replied in typical soul crushing fashion.
“Well, I guess it’s official. It was a mistake.” Bojack, madly in love with Diane as he was, felt at least a tiny pang of guilt for making Mr. PeanutButter feel like he was inadequate.
“It wasn’t a mistake…it was just…something you felt was right at the time. And, maybe still might be.” After hearing Bojack speak, Mr. PeanutButter put his hands on the table and pushed his chair and himself away from the table. He walked to a small refrigerator under the countertop, pulled out a tall bottle, and set it atop the kitchen table. He grabbed two shot glasses out of the cabinet behind him, and set those next to the bottle.
“Vodka, solves all your problems right?” The dog said.
“At least until the next morning I find.”
“Want to join me?” Bojack rarely refused alcohol on the basis of being rich and famous, alcohol led to good things: either a party to follow or drunk sex, neither of which he was expecting, but he felt as if the Golden Retriever sitting across from him needed a friend.
“Sure, why not.” Bojack replied. Mr. PeanutButter poured themselves a shot each with more precision than one would expect from someone who most likely never poured his own milk into a bowl of cereal, let alone alcohol. The two clinked their glasses together in toast and downed them in one gulp. Mr. PeanutButter looked like he had ingested fire from his disgusted and pained look. Bojack, who drank several bottles of alcohol a day, was unfazed; he grabbed the tall bottle and took a drink, taking about a quarter of the bottle into his stomach. He hit the tabletop with the bottom of the bottle as he set it down, feeling himself spiral even further into his drunken state. Mr. PeanutButter sighed, looking at Bojack; he poured himself another shot and drank it. He poured a third, but instead stood up with it and walked over to the living room where he fell into the couch, with care not to spill his drink. Bojack likewise took another drink from the bottle and brought it over to the couch where he sat down next to the dog.
“You know, you’re not this bad guy that you think you are” Bojack slurred out of his mouth. “I don’t know why everyone thinks you’re this stupid, frivolous, air headed, talentless…” Bojack paused. “Oh wait, I’m sorry, that’s what I think of you, my bad.” Mr. PeanutButter took the third shot of vodka to ease the pain of having to listen to Bojack’s harsh rambling. “But, even I recognize that I used to think that. But now, you seem like a completely different person. In a good way, I mean.” The dog’s ears perked up, and he turned his face toward Bojack’s speech. “You do good things… sometimes. And you’re moderately funny on occasion. And you’re one of the more optimistic people I’ve met. And you don’t usually smell like a dog…” Bojack’s voice again trailed off. Mr. PeanutButter stared at Bojack with wide eyes.
“When did you know you were in love?” Mr. PeanutButter said, clearly holding back either tears or an intense rage that sat below the surface. Bojack thought of when he knew that Diane was the love of his life. Since the first day he opened up to her on the roof of his mansion, everything flowed out of his memory. Everything of his childhood, the constant abuse, the unstable parents, the loneliness, it all poured out and into Diane’s notes it went. She was never judgmental — only inquisitive.
“Always. Ever since we met” Bojack said, gazing into Mr. PeanutButter’s eyes. Mr. PeanutButter sat with his mouth open ever so slightly, and looked back at Bojack in disbelief. His face reddened a shade Bojack had never seen before on this happy go lucky dog that was always wearing a smile.
“I wish I could say I had no idea, and I’m still surprised, but…” The dog stopped speaking for a moment as his clouded and intoxicated mind tried to focus. “I feel terrible, because deep down inside I think I’ve felt the same way for a long time. Diane obviously deserves someone else, especially after this.” Bojack knew this was a bittersweet victory; he would gain the opportunity to be with Diane, but Bojack was already unhappy with himself and now he felt worse. He, by his own hand then, broke up Mr. PeanutButter and Diane. He closed his eyes, and breathed out a heavy sigh.
Submitted February 10, 2015 at 09:50AM by grouphugintheshower http://ift.tt/1ARtCEn yiff
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