The problem was that Jasmine was never held accountable for anything she did wrong. She’d thrown her younger brother’s cat off the second story balcony of their house, claiming that it was an experiment. She’d wanted to confirm that cats always land on their feet, thereby surviving every fall. I suppose I don’t need to clarify that her hypothesis had been disproven. I felt bad for her then. She didn’t react quite like one should after accidentally killing a pet, but my mom had assured me it was because of shock.
Said brother confided that she’d threatened to toss him off the balcony as well, though my mom had scolded me harshly when I’d mentioned it to her. It wasn’t becoming of a young man to spread lies about a young woman who had been through so much hardship. I remembered my mom saying those very words about Jasmine: “She’s been through so much; she’s had a truly hard life.”
I had scoffed at that statement more than once – not in front of my mother, but behind my own closed door. If anything, Jasmine was mentally ill, not a woman who had been through hard times. But she had brought a lot of the issues on herself. At least, that was the way I felt about her now.
Safe to say, Jasmine and my mother had been close from the start, but once we’d begun dating, they were nearly attached at the hip. I’d been hesitant to enter the relationship in the first place, but I’d been so sure that she’d grown into a well-adjusted, bright, and beautiful woman. Her cruelty didn’t become entirely evident until we’d dated for nearly a year and she had properly gripped my heart in her hands. I didn’t like to indulge in self-pity, but the derisive things she’d said to me over the time I’d known her were downright devastating. A son could usually expect a bit of loyalty from his own mother, but the rather explosive breakup hadn’t come between her and Jasmine at all. If anything, it had put distance between my family and me.
I suppose I should have expected as much – even as a child, my mom had prioritized her friend’s daughter over her own son. There had been times she’d outright told me that she would trade children in a heartbeat. Like I said, we weren’t the average family by any means. My mom had wanted a daughter; my dad had wanted a son to continue his legacy as he outlined. Neither got what they wanted, and I had no regrets for making my own choices in life. But it was still hard to cope with such callous behavior from my very own parents.
Mom and Jasmine went to Sunday brunch every week. Meanwhile, she wouldn’t even join me for lunch on the rare occasion I had a day off. It was like she was offended that I had the audacity to want to see her. Maybe she thought I’d come between the two of them, but I would not have even tried. I could recognize a losing fight when I saw one, and I knew better than most how important it was to pick your battles.
Aside from spending more time with my parents than even I did, Jasmine also had a way of infiltrating my web presence – though that wasn’t terribly surprising considering the day and age. I constantly saw photos of her on my social media feed, mainly because either she or my mother tagged me in each and every one. I ignored it for the most part, much to mom’s disdain. Apparently, it was rude not to go around spewing compliments on pictures of my borderline-abusive ex.
The brunches had been tolerable at least, even if I was wounded by the whole situation. I’d been surprised, though, when my mom had declared, pleasantly, that we should begin having dinner together as a family every week. I’d bought roses for my mom and a bottle of my father’s favorite vintage of wine. I was sure that it was going to be an attempt to mend things between the three of us. After all, I was their only child who lived close enough to visit regularly.
I shouldn’t have been terribly surprised when I rang the doorbell and Jasmine answered in a nearly sheer dress. It was troubling at best, seeing the outlines of her nipples straining against the borderline indecent dress. I’d made an attempt to be civil, though that flew out the window when my dad began commenting on what a lucky man I was to have been with Jasmine. It was sick in a way, as I could see him gaping very obviously at her sizeable assets. The worst part was that my mom didn’t even mind. I didn’t know when my family had become so messed up, but following that night, I made a habit of skipping these so-called “family” dinners.
I suppose it only made sense that Jasmine was close to my parents; it was like my father had been reincarnated as a young woman while somehow still being alive. She had a way of being very pushy and insistent that she was always right. I wasn’t one to back down in most cases, but my hands were tied when it came to dealing with her. It was Jasmine’s way or the highway, which was only more infuriating when she and my father traded jabs at my expense. It was supposedly for my own good. She said I deserved better than to be the fast food burger flipper of the surgical world. Her insults to my job were disheartening at best, downright devastating at worst.
I wasn’t the type to have a fling with someone and then call it a day. Jasmine wasn’t just some crazy girl I’d fucked. My parents’ fascination with her may have been somehow more sickening were that the case. When I was with a woman, I wanted our relationship to have meaning. I didn’t go for one night stands. I wanted the whole shebang: courting, gifts, and fancy dinners. Stargazing on a blanket together near some mountaintop and walking the beaches together. I had loved Jasmine with my entire being, and actually still cared for her to some extent. It was hard for me to just let go, especially when I was being pushed back toward her from all angles. I may have even forgiven her, as sad as that was.
However, it seemed that she only cared about making my life hell. It was confusing and at times utterly mind blowing how she could go from one end of the spectrum to another so quickly. It was like playing Russian roulette with my emotions. There were nights – nights I’d loved at first – when she would send heartachingly sweet messages about how terribly she missed me. She told me how important I was to her and that she loved me. I’d gotten to the point where I reasoned that love didn’t just come without effort. You had to work to reap the benefits, and I was fully prepared to take her back.
Almost immediately after the doting messages, however, she’d shifted gears entirely. I was the worst man she’d ever been with, and I had never satisfied her sexually. She claimed her life was utter misery during the time we were together. I felt worse than the cow shit on the bottom of some ranch hand’s shoe when I read that message. This emotional back and forth continued, and has never really stopped.
Eventually, I began to recognize her manipulative tactics, but the words were still painful. I thought she couldn’t hurt me any more deeply than she already had. I came to realize that words were very hurtful – could, in fact, be just as hurtful as actions at times. She loved messing with my mind, and she was good at it. When the final episode happened and she pulled the knife on me one night, I knew I had to end it for good.
The sexy pictures were a shock, even more so when my dad would call and ask if I’d heard from Jasmine the morning after, every time, like clockwork. I had my suspicions that I wasn’t the only one receiving these photos, and while they would have been jaw-dropping in the past, they only served to sicken me as time went on. The photos got raunchier and raunchier until she was flat out sending me stills of her fingering herself. The images had stopped for a while when I didn’t reply. She was obviously pissed at being blown off so easily, and I was actually hopeful that she would finally let go and allow us both to move on. I was wrong. The icing on the cake was the video message I’d received from her a few nights prior.
I wanted her to move on and find another boyfriend, don’t get me wrong. By all means, if she was having sex with another man, good for her. My heart still called for her like the masochist it was, but I could accept her moving on. Only it couldn’t be as simple as that. It was spiteful enough to send me a video of her riding some other man’s cock and crying out like she’d never been fucked so good in her life. What made it worse – and weird – was that she moaned my name the whole time, staring hungrily into the camera. It was all another game for her. I al
most felt sorry for the sucker she’d manipulated into screwing her for the video. Then again, he didn’t seem terribly bothered by her screaming another man’s name. Casual sex as a whole baffled me, but even in most cases, it wasn’t usual for a woman to be screaming her ex’s name while getting plowed. With all of this evidence, it should have been understandable that I didn’t want to be anywhere near her.
Skipping the trip to Maui, however, wasn’t really an option. It was the only time I got to see my siblings beyond the occasional video chat for the holidays, and in spite of my problems with my parents, I loved my brother and sister dearly. Mark, my elder brother, worked overseas developing and maintaining clean water sources for third world countries. He was making a real difference in the world, helping people no one else cared to help. The sustainability techniques he developed were nothing short of brilliant. Kelly, my little sister, worked with the World Health Organization, developing new vaccines at the drop of a hat. Her work has unquestionably saved the lives of millions worldwide. Our trips to Maui were the only times I could actually count on seeing them in person.
I felt genuinely loved and cared for in the presence of my siblings, and I hoped that the feeling was mutual. I’d feel petty if I skipped out on the opportunity to see them just because I didn’t want to deal with my ex tagging along. I would feel like I had betrayed them. My siblings don’t even like Jasmine, which was a relief, but which also added to the confusion of her invitation to join us.
I was so swept up in my thoughts on how to deal with the situation that I nearly leaped out of my skin when my phone began to ring. Fearing the worst, I pulled it from my pocket with trepidation. I was relieved to see that it was my best friend Landon, although I had no idea what he could be calling for. Swiping to answer the call, I couldn’t help but smile as soon as I heard his voice. I didn’t have an awful lot of friends, what with the little time I have to socialize. Landon has managed to completely annihilate the barriers I put up, though.
“Archer! Hey, man! Just wanted to see how the plans were coming along for the bachelor party! Assuming you didn’t flake out,” he said teasingly, and I froze before groaning internally. My heart gave a painful twist in my chest.
“I would never forget that, Landon. You’re my best friend,” I lied, having entirely forgotten my responsibility as best man.
“I know, I know. Listen, I just wanted to let you know I want something crazy, you know? Not just some tame night at a bowling alley or something. I want the whole shebang. The hottest and sluttiest strippers you can find and tons of booze, you know? It’s my last night as a free man, after all, and I want to go out with a bang,” he carried on excitedly, and I couldn’t help rolling my eyes a bit.
“You act like you’re going to prison or being executed,” I chuckled, still berating myself internally.
“Not far off from the truth, is it? No, no. You know I’m kidding. I love Beth. But this has to be big, and there’s no one I’d trust to pull this thing together more than you,” Landon said earnestly. I felt the guilt eat away at my insides.
“It’ll blow your mind, dude. All those bachelor party movies you’ve seen? This will surpass them by leagues,” I assured him, frantically trying to figure out what I could do to keep my word.
“You never fail to impress, bud! I gotta go. Beth is nagging me to look at some wedding magazines or something. Wants some real fancy ordeal. Wish me luck,” he said hurriedly before hanging up the phone. I sighed, sinking into my office chair and letting my eyes roll skyward. Right. So I had entirely forgotten that I was supposed to plan the bachelor party to end all bachelor parties. It didn’t speak well of me as a friend, but there was still time to recover from my mistake. Tapping my fingernails on my desk, I briefly considered potential locations before realizing I was in way over my head. I knew just the person to ask, though. Sarah, my secretary, had had a bachelorette party somewhat recently. It may seem foolish to ask a woman for bachelor party advice, but considering she’s a lesbian, I felt somewhat more confident. I strode out of my office, spotting Sarah sitting with her chin in her hand, staring off into space. We’d hit a lull during the day, which was a welcome reprieve from the constant bustle. She didn’t seem to hear me as I approached, glancing up only when I was directly in front of her.
“Trouble in paradise?” I asked teasingly, receiving a sigh in return.
“No, it’s just… Deb’s got this idea in her head that she wants to adopt. I’m not really sure if I’m ready to take that step, but I told her I’d think about it. I don’t think I’d make a very good father figure,” she said quietly. I frowned, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder comfortingly.
“Well, you don’t have to be a father figure. You just have to love them and raise them the best that you can. As far as I can tell, you’d be a wonderful parent. But I can understand your hesitation…” I trailed off, not sure how to continue the conversation without seeming self-involved. She hummed by way of acknowledgement, glancing up at me with a wry smile.
“I get the feeling you didn’t come out here to talk about my marriage,” she pointed out, and I flushed slightly before recovering.
“Not in so many words, no. I’m supposed to be planning a bachelor party for my best friend, and I’m completely lost. He wants one of those crazy parties that every guy dreams about, and I thought you might have some suggestions,” I smiled, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Lesbians and men are an entirely different breed, Archer. But, in this instance, I’m pretty sure I can help you out. After all, I had a pretty crazy party myself…” she trailed off, staring wistfully into space. “If you want to go all out, Vegas is the obvious choice, and with good reason. My party was so wild, I was barely able to get up in time to make it to the altar the next day. I had a hangover from hell the whole time, and Beth still jokes about it. But you don’t really go to Vegas for a classy wedding, you know?” she paused, glancing up at me. I shrugged, not really knowing much from experience. “In any case, it’ll do just fine for the party. There’s this place called the Amethyst Lounge. It’s one of the best. It’s called the Citadel. They have a bar and dance floor that are open twenty-four seven, and you get complimentary massages with your stay. The pool is nice too, but I’ve never been much of a swimmer… But you know, women in bikinis can’t really go wrong there, either,” she went on, rambling a bit. From what she was telling me, it was the perfect place for Landon’s bachelor party.
“Thanks, Sarah. I knew I could count on you,” I beamed, receiving a smirk in response.
“Why? Because I know the male brain so well?” she teased, returning her chin to her hand. “You guys will have a blast. Sexy women are universal as far as I’m concerned,” she continued with a smile. I chuckled, hurrying to my office to make the reservations. As soon as I stepped into the office, however, I noticed that the light on my cell phone was blinking. A voicemail from my father. Fantastic. I listened with a frown as he insisted that I would come to the next family dinner, if I had to be dragged kicking and screaming. He demanded I call him back, but I simply turned my phone off and settled at my desk to book the reservations for the party. With my dad riding me, and Jasmine in rare form, the weekend couldn’t come fast enough. Vegas, here we come. I looked forward to letting go of my cares, if only for a bit, and having fun with my friends.
3
CHAPTER THREE
Tiffany
If there was one thing to be said for my cousin, it was that she had taste. She had booked an early flight for Vegas, and even though I missed the opportunity to sleep in, I was still thrilled upon arrival. I used to go on regular trips to Vegas with my family – we weren’t your classic family by any means. The adults would go gambling and hire a babysitter for us kids. Upon reflection, the babysitters may or may not have been prostitutes. Nice prostitutes, nothing insidious, but I guess you took a job wherever you could get one. We didn’t get to leave the hotel a lot, as even our spirited parents knew better than to send children out
on those occasionally dangerous streets.
We were kids, though, and just had a blast being on vacation at all. They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, which I’d found to be true. I’d lost my virginity there when I was sixteen, and no one was ever any the wiser. Would I have changed things if I could go back in time? Probably. Still, most of my memories in the city were good ones. The hotel Kari had booked for us was called the Citadel, which was aptly named considering how fancy the whole place seemed. It really was out of my budget – teacher’s salary and all – but I would enjoy it while I could. Kari was waiting for me in the lobby as I dragged in a single suitcase. I’d brought the bare necessities, and that was about it. She waved me over to the bar, and I was startled to see she’d lost weight. She’d lost a lot of weight, to the point that I barely recognized her. She seemed to recognize my gawking, so she stood and struck a couple of model poses before plopping back onto the bar stool. Last time I saw her, that stool wouldn’t have supported her weight.
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