A clock somewhere in the big log manse chimed once as Richelle passed the main staircase on her way to the wing across from Matt's, where Jeff had told her he'd be. Automatically, she pulled out her phone to check the time. Ten-fifteen. She'd been with Matt for hours! It had felt like only an hour, certainly not two, but it had been nearly four hours since Jeff left her at his brother's door. She wondered if he'd be mad, but if he was, fuck him, it was his "thing" anyway, that she have sex with Matt for whatever reason. He'd never said she couldn't enjoy it.

More of Jeff's art decorated his wing, and she paused before a set of double doors, painted by Jeff. Behind them, he awaited her. She hoped he wouldn't want to fuck; her romp with Matt had left her somewhat sore already. She thought about going back to Matt again. If she did, would he let her in or turn her away? Her curiosity was about to get the best of her when Jeff opened one of the doors and they both jumped about ten feet in the air. Jeff almost dropped the glass bong he was holding.

"Oh, babe!" Jeff recovered first, and hugged her, the bong resting on her ass. "Go on in, I was just going to get some ice in this bong. I'll be right back." He kissed her, and went down the hall and downstairs.

Richelle was no longer thrilled by Jeff calling her "babe" when Matt had called her "Richelle my belle", his belle. She went into Jeff's suite, and it was unlike any other dwelling she'd ever seen. It was terrible and beautiful at once. The beauty was Jeff's art; it covered all the walls, the terrible part was the place was a mess. The sitting room was overrun by musical instruments and recording equipment, the bar area had apparently become an art studio, and everywhere there were art supplies, clothing, makeup, drawings, paintings, money, liquor bottles, dirty dishes, drugs, body jewelry, lighters, ashtrays, and various assorted other stuff, as though a tornado had touched down directly between those painted walls.

She peeked into the other rooms. Jeff was apparently in the process of cleaning his bedroom; there was a pile of clothing in one corner, fresh sheets on the bed, and a vacuum stood in the middle of the room. The bathroom was sparkling clean, oddly enough.

"Sorry about the mess," Jeff said, reappearing with the frosty bong. "I started cleaning up, but got sidetracked."

"All of the art is amazing," Richelle said, and accepted the bong and took a hit. It was the same stuff she'd smoked with Matt. "I just love it. I have a lot of respect and awe for artists. I mean, it's one thing to be creative in one's mind, but to be able to bring it out...gosh..." She trailed, as she began feeling high.

"Want to see what sidetracked me?" Jeff asked.

Richelle nodded. "Of course."

He turned an easel towards her. On it was a charcoal sketch of a young woman. Me! Richelle realized. He'd sketched her with her hair down, a faint, enigmatic look on her tilted-down face. It was the way he'd first seen her, bent over her inventory forms, but she was drawn in the shirt she was wearing today. He had just begun to add in dashes of red in her hair; not the firey-red she'd dyed it, but fire-engine red. No one had ever drawn her before, not even as a stick figure, and after meeting her twice, Jeff Hardy had already begun. And, it was beautiful, just beautiful, even amid the disastrous room. A lump grew in her throat, and her eyes welled with tears. She swallowed hard, and blinked the tears away. "It's lovely," she said, and sniffled. "I'm sorry I don't know what to say. I feel so...special. You made me so beautiful."

Jeff held her close. "You are beautiful. That's why I had to draw you."

Richelle blushed. She had a ridiculous feeling that she was being unfaithful to Matt, who had a similar portrait by the same artist hanging above his bed. He had left her sore, but she knew he'd tried not to. She also felt uncomfortable amid so much clutter. She unconsciously shifted her weight from foot to foot, an old nervous habit.

"You alright, babe?"

"Do you mind if we go someplace more comfortable?" Richelle asked, quickly.

"Of course! Again, I'm really sorry about the mess. We can go to my bedroom, where I got more cleaning done, or there are several other rooms at our disposal."

"Your room is fine," Richelle replied.

"Okay, babe, I'll be right in," Jeff said, and began gathering various things to take with in with him.

Richelle went inside Jeff's room and sat down gingerly on the bed. Her soreness made her spread out on her stomach. She was used to being up all night, but after Matt, she just wanted to go to bed. She hugged a pillow and turned on the TV. The Simpsons was on and she began watching it, even though it was nearly over. Jeff came in with the bong, weed, liquor, and other essentials in trips, before finally settling in beside her, then hopping up again. "Fuck, I forgot I had to piss, too." He grabbed himself and hurried into the bathroom, leaving Richelle to enjoy The Simpsons closing credits, an ad for Maury Povich, and the opening credits of King of the Hill by herself. She smoked his bong and wondered if she should go check on him, maybe he'd passed out. He did seem pretty fucked up. She made up her mind to go during the first commercial break, but just before then he stumbled back into the room, wearing a towel.

"Baby, I am so fucked up!" Jeff declared, and stripped off the towel. He collapsed into bed beside her so fast she didn't have time to check out the goods. He was laying on his belly, too. He had such a nice ass, something she hadn't noticed on TV. Something else she noticed; his eyes were dilated like hell.

"Yes, I can see that," Richelle said, not amused by his condition, but unable to keep her hands off his delightful, tattooed skin.

"I dropped acid a few hours ago," Jeff continued, smiling silly. He took a swig from his bottle of Wild Turkey.

"Did you now?" Richelle asked, in a tone that clashed with her gentle touch.

Jeff didn't notice her tone. He was beyond it. "Mhmm...What you're doing feels awesome."

"What point are you at right now?" Richelle asked, as she rubbed his shoulders.

"I peaked about an hour ago. I decided not to do more, since you were coming."

Richelle stroked his hair. He had not washed it when he'd showered, and the smell of bourbon hung about him like a fog. "You're drunk, too."

Jeff gave her that silly smile again, and nodded. "Goes nice with the acid...and the pills."

"Why didn't you wash your hair?" Richelle asked. Or brush your teeth?

"I just rinsed off real quick... Booze makes me need to piss, acid makes me forget I need to piss, until it's an emergency." Jeff giggled.

Richelle did, too. "My roommate's the same way. I have to remind her to go to the bathroom when we're tripping. If I forget, she's likely to wet herself."

"I've heard about it happening to other people, too, so I just admit it." Jeff shrugged.

"A likely thing to happen when one's body becomes detached from one's mind," Richelle said, and eased off her mechanic's shirt.

Jeff nodded and turned on to his side to nuzzle her breasts. She caught a glimpse of his goods. His pubes were non-present, shaved to be gone. In their place, more ink. He wasn't even halfway hard, but he was still leaking precum. She imagined he'd have a pretty nice one once it got hard. Not as huge as Matt, but still nice. She slid out of her jeans, and pulled off her top, feeling silly being fully-clothed next to naked Jeff, and who needed underwear or socks? She didn't get to surprise Jeff as she had Matt, but she could tell by his reaction that she'd wowed him just the same.

He broke out in a big, silly, grin. "Ohmigosh! Never would've guessed you had so many tats! They're awesome, too. Who did them?"

"A few different artists, here and further up the East coast. I'm originally from Vermont. After high school, my best friend and I started making our way down to Florida. We've lived here for almost a year now. Zoe at Black Dragon did these last two," Richelle pointed to a voodoo doll on the left side of her rib cage, and the number three on her right hip; a tribute to Dale Earnhardt.

"Do you still plan on going all the way to Florida?" Jeff gently stroked her breasts.

"I don't know. We like it here. There's still winter, but it's not as bad as it was in Vermont; winter is why we decided to work our way to Florida, where there is no such thing."

Jeff kissed her. "I'd never want to live anyplace else. I'm building a house on a lake here, so is Matt. That's why we're staying here now; they're nowhere near ready yet."

Matt. Richelle blushed, but Jeff didn't notice. He was rather flushed himself, from the liquor. She sat up, and located a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand; they were Marlboro, but they would do. She lit one, and tried not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. Jeff's intoxication was turning out to be a major turn off for her. He had really bad breath.

Now she did, too. After she finished the smoke, she turned attention back to Jeff, who'd closed his eyes. "Jeff?"

"Hmmm?" He didn't open his eyes.

"You awake?"

"Embers dance in amber sky..."

"What?"

"From the flames she appears..."

Richelle realized that Jeff was doing some Jim Morrison kind of thing, creating under the influence, and let him go on.

"Hair like fire... Hot coals' glow... Rising from the cinders..." Jeff opened his eyes. "And that's all I've got. It's a song...about a girl I know. Yes, it's you."

Richelle wished she'd paid more attention. "Thank you, it's...lovely." She wrapped her arms and legs around him and kissed his neck.

"Bite me," Jeff whispered.

"You want me to-"

Jeff nodded. "Yes, bite me!"

Richelle laid her teeth into his neck and nipped him a little. Jeff groaned with pleasure. "Yes, baby girl, that's it."

She did it again, and Jeff cried out again, only louder, so she kept going. Biting was apparently a huge turn on for Jeff. And, he was a nipple guy, he about went nuts when she played with them. He was hard as a rock, and she began stroking him, using his pre as lube. He threw back his head and moaned and cursed before sliding away from her, and then on top of her.

"You can nibble, but don't bite," Richelle told him.

"I won't, I can tell you don't like pain. You're already in pain, aren't you?" Jeff asked, concerned.

"A little," she admitted.

"Did my brother play too rough?"

"No, not at all. I just haven't done it in a while, that's all."

"Then I'll use my tongue, because it's soft," Jeff said. "We'll have plenty more opportunities to make love."

He dove between her legs, and began to lick her. It felt okay, Richelle had a feeling he did a much better job of it when he wasn't drinking, but she got vocal for him. Ten minutes later, she was nowhere near an orgasm; she was spent, and Jeff was already winded. The licks began to slow, and finally stopped, and she realized he had passed out. She couldn't believe it.

She sat up, and found her clothes. Jeff didn't stir. She got out of bed and put everything back on except her socks and shoes and tiptoed into Jeff's bathroom. He'd left the clothes he'd been wearing earlier on the floor in a pile, and he hadn't lied; the pants were wet, she could smell piss, too. She washed her hands and her face, but didn't put on makeup again. She weighed her options.

She could try to find a spot on Jeff's bed, he was really sprawled out on it, and pass out, too. She could go find someplace else in the huge house to sleep, because she was kind of mad at Jeff. She could call someone and get a ride home. Or, she could go to Matt. That was what she really wanted to do.

Jeff had spread out even more on the bed when she came out of the bathroom. She said his name, but he didn't respond, he was dead to the world. So, she wouldn't be sleeping with him in his bed tonight, that was for sure. She left his bedroom, and his suite.

But, she didn't go to Matt's. Instead, she went down the main stairs that divided the two suites, and into the kitchen. Time for a midnight snack. Cereal was her favorite snack, and was happy to find a box of one of her favorites, Rice Krispies. She wondered who ate it; Jeff or Matt. Maybe both. She located a bowl and spoon, and milk and sugar, and sat down at the counter.

Over the dying snaps, crackles, and pops of her nearly-finished bowl of cereal, Richelle heard footsteps on the stairs. Either Jeff or Matt was coming. Suddenly nervous again, she dropped her spoon in the bowl where it clanged noisily.

"Bro, is that you?" Matt's voice asked.

Matt, oh my god... Richelle's heart began to throb, and her throat closed up. She couldn't reply.

"Jeff?" Matt asked again, and appeared in the kitchen, in jeans, skate shoes, and the same club shirt she'd stripped from him earlier, unbuttoned. "Ah, Richelle my belle."

"Matt," she managed to reply, before happy tears spilled from her eyes, and she found herself back in his arms. It felt so good, and so right. She had to spend the night with him, it was meant to be, Jeff had passed out for a reason. She pressed her face tight to Matt's bare chest.

"What are you doing down here?" He asked, as he held her and stroked her hair.

She sniffled. "Jeff passed out."

"Why are you crying?" Matt asked, and kept stroking her hair.

"I...really don't know..." Richelle replied. She thought it was just happiness over Matt, but what she was really feeling was confusion. Too much had happened in one day, and she'd had no one to talk to about it. "I guess I'm...a little overwhelmed, maybe."

"Completely understandable," Matt said, simply. He wiped her tears away with the hem of his club shirt.

"What are you doing up?" She asked him.

"Going for a moonlight walk. The sky is very clear tonight, millions of stars. Did you want to come?" Matt asked, hopefully.

She kissed him. "I'd love to."

"Where are your shoes?"

Richelle looked down at her bare feet. "Damn, I left them up in Jeff's bathroom, on the sink."

"I'll go grab them. Need anything else from upstairs?"

"No, I remembered my purse," Richelle giggled.

Matt left, and came back with her shoes and socks. While she was pulling them on, she peeked at Matt from beneath her eyelashes, and nearly swooned when he saw how tender he was admiring her as she straightened the hems of her jeans. When she was done, he held out his arm and she took it, and they went out together, into the North Carolina night.