Derek looked up, dizzily, into a mop of mousy brown hair and thick eyeglass.
“Wow! You’ve been unconscious a really long time. I sure didn’t mean to hit you so hard with that third bottle but you kept getting back up and well…” Her voice trailed off in a nervous giggle.
“Glenda? What? You hit me with a…wait…you hit me with multiple bottles? What the hell?” He eyed an, apparently aptly named, Skull Splitter ale bottle on the floor nearby.
“Well…see...you were all upset ‘cause that bitch Tiffany dumped you so I brought beer and some penne over to cheer you up. But when you ran outta beer and wanted to call her, I couldn’t let you do that…so…I’m thinking ‘what can I do to stop him ruining our evening?’ and…the bottles were everywhere…and…”
“Glenda! Stop! We were not having “an evening”. I was pissed off and you had beer. That’s it. Now, you’re going to go away and I’m gonna get a shower and some aspirin and go see Tiffany.”
Derek never knew what hit him as Glenda dropped him with another precise shot to the head. The silly man just didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.
This story was written for the weekly Menage Monday flash fiction challenge.