by Van Barrett
That's a drink! (And sure, pal, whatever you have to tell yourself! Keep on writing your River erotic fan-fiction!)
Bzzt. Another message: “bet you thought someday you'd touch the real thing, didnt you? never gonna happen. smh.”
Take another drink! (And don't worry sir, your hockey hero definitely would never do anything gay, trust me on that one!)
Bzzt. Another message: “sicko pervert trash”
Drink! (And thank you for being succinct! I have so much fan mail to get through these days!)
Whew, was I ever getting trashed! And that meant I'd have to skip another day of classes. Darn. Another missed day meant not having to deal with the sneers, the whispers, the looks of pity, the professors who lower their voice into the universal note of concern to ask, 'so how are you coping, really?'
Wanna know how I'm coping?
(Bzzt!)
Like this. Drink.
Yeah, you don't have to preach at me. I already know I'm displaying signs of alcohol abuse. Believe me, I've studied the literature. I know that my brain, in this depressed state, doesn't feel like producing or receiving much dopamine. And I know that alcohol forces my neurotransmitters to release that dopamine. I take a drink, the alcohol rains down into my system, and dopamine showers my neurons with its sweet chemical reward.
And then I feel great.
Sort of.
Okay, not really, if I'm being honest. The drunk high is cheap and artificial and it only papers over that baseline feeling of shit, like a crummy plastering job. But at least it's something … right?
And hey, I'm only studying psychology – I'm not claiming to have a perfectly healthy, perfectly functioning mind. I'm anything but that. I'm fucked up. I know it.
Because someone who wasn't fucked up, someone with a normally functioning mind would never do what I did in the first place. Which was snap pictures of River's dildo. Knowing perfectly well in my heart that it was his private body part and, thus, not something you go around sharing willy-nilly. No pun intended.
So I'm guilty. Guilty as charged, yo. Send me to the electric chair.
And you know, I'm also guilty of walking right into a trap I saw from day one. I mean with River. River was basically Buzz all over again. He wasn't as cruel or as heartless as Buzz was. But then I didn't know River in grade school. Maybe if I'd gone to grade school with River, I would've seen what a cruel, snot-nosed prick he was at that age, just like Buzz.
Because at the end of the day, compare the résumés of those two, and be amazed at how shockingly similar they are: both are jocks with something of a little bi-curiousity thing going. Both deeply ashamed and deathly afraid of that curiosity being outed. Both all too happy to get blown by a gay man as long as no one knew. Both all too willing to throw me to the wolves when the time came to save their own hides.
I'm not saying I didn't fuck up … I did. And I know that. I take full responsibility for my actions. But damn it'd be nice to meet someone for once, just once in my life!, who wasn't ashamed to be seen with me or proudly call me their boyfriend.
My finger hovered over the delete key on my laptop.
River said he didn't want his piece published. You couldn't blame him, could you? After all the press the two of us had received; all the speculation, the gossip, the rumors. All the attention-whoring trolls who came out of the woodwork to claim they watched us make out at a party. (Yeah. Sure thing, pal.)
The last thing River needed was the story to get anymore traction. He wanted it to wither and die. (Just like our relationship, hey-oooo!) If the Dakota Student published my piece, it'd be like watching your drunken hillbilly neighbor trying to put out his campfire by dousing it with a 55 gallon drum filled with gasoline.
So. Yeah. There wasn't much of a choice.
I pressed the delete key.
A window popped up: Are you sure you want to permanently delete this file?
Of course, if I deleted it, that meant I'd fail the assignment and not pass my independent study course. Which meant I wouldn't get that minor in journalism. But oh well – I'd still have my major. And after this, let's face it, I don't feel cut out to be a journalist anyway.
I moved the mouse cursor over to the 'Yes' button. I clicked it and watched the file disappear. Then I quickly dumped the recycle bin before I had any second thoughts about it.
Okay. The last link I had with River. It's done. It's officially over.
It wasn't even 3 PM yet, but I suddenly felt drained. I guess I deleted some part of myself with that file, too. I slumped over in my couch and shut my eyes.
***
Knock knock knock.
“Uahhhh.” I opened my eyes. There wasn't much day light left. What time was it? I checked my watch. Barely after six.
Knock knock knock.
“Alright, alright! … shit … I'm coming. Hold on.”
I was slow to climb to my feet. Damn, I feel awful. There's nothing quite like dealing with a hangover when most people are figuring out what to eat for dinner. You wish the day would just end, you wish you could just wake up tomorrow and feel normal and try to get through the day the right way. Without needing that damn alcohol.
Knock knock knock.
“A~alright!” I groaned, staggering over to the door. I opened the door.
“Holy hell, you look bad!” Devon blurted out, her eyes wide with surprise.
I grunted. Or snarled. Not sure which. “Thanks. Nice to see you too.”
“Sorry. Hey, I've been there.” She let herself in. She was carrying a brown paper bag.
“What's in the bag?” As much as I was cursing alcohol a second ago, the thought that it might be more booze got me a little excited … because I was about to run out.
“Salad fix-ins, Lane, 'cause I'm gonna make you a healthy green salad.”
“Oh,” I said, squashing a ripple of disappointment. “What's the occasion?”
“I dunno, repairing the damage you've done to your body over the past few days, I guess? I know you haven't been eating well.”
“Oh … thanks.” I took a seat at the kitchen bar stool and watched as Devon cleared a working space on my counter-top. I hadn't done the dishes in days. “Sorry about the mess.”
“It's okay. I understand.”
She filled the sink with soapy water and went to work on cleaning all my dishes before she even started the salad prep work.
“Hey, c'mon, you don't have to do that! That's my mess, let me--”
“Oh no. I want to do this, Lane – it's the least I can do. So, please. Just sit back and let me do it.”
I frowned, although I obeyed. “But why?”
“I feel bad. I feel responsible.” She lowered her head as she sponged a plate. “I'm the one who let the cat out of the bag in the first place when Jono tricked me. And then I didn't warn you that he knew. And I didn't even realize he had my e-mail password … all those things are my fault. This never would've happened if it weren't for me.”
“Oh, please.” I tutted. “This is not your fault. It's my fault. And anyway, it doesn't matter. In fact, I'm glad all this shit came out.”
“What?” She laughed. “I don't believe that. How could you be glad?”
“Well, this is what River gets for trying to keep everything all bottled up, you know? He's so fucking emotionally blocked. Just listen to him talk sometime. It's a struggle. It's like every word that he manages to push out of his mouth physically drains him.”
Devon laughed, albeit uncomfortably. “But an experience like this will only make him worse, don't you think?”
“Probably! Yeah! And you know what? Good! I'm glad. Good for him. He could've been honest about it from day one, and really just owned the fact that he wants to be his own man, and no one could've said shit about it.”
“But wasn't he kinda trying?” Devon asked cautiously.
“With us? Hell no.”
“No, I mean, with him not wanting to sign with Carolina, and testing out free agency instead.
That's kinda like him wanting to take his own path, even though he knew there'd be some public backlash over it.”
“Pftt.” I rolled my eyes. “In the most River way possible, maybe? I mean he had to appoint someone else – me – to write the story that justified his actions. He didn't have the balls to just go up to a mic, and brazenly say, 'hey, Carolina, I got some news for ya – y'all can get bent! I'm gonna sign with whoever the hell I want. I'm a free man, not your slave, and you do not own my body.'”
Devon laughed. “But that's not realistic and you know it, Lane.”
“I don't care. River's not realistic either.” I shrugged. “The point is he never would've been open and honest about us.”
“Yeah. Maybe you're right about that. It's a lot harder for a guy to be open about being into guys, though. Especially if you're a public figure like he is. And it's only gonna get crazier once he's in the professional league.”
“Yeah. Exactly. Which is why talking about him is pointless. I never should've let myself get worked up in the first place, Dev.” I let out a short, angry burst of air. “Anyway, I've been thinking about him all fucking day and I really just wanna talk about something else. Anything else! Tell me how your day went?”
“Good. Fine. … Okay, rather.”
“Uh.” I blinked at her. “That was a steady decline in the quality of your adjectives there.”
“Yeah. Got some news from Stan that isn't exactly the best, especially if we're not talking about he who shall not be named.”
“Great,” I groaned. “Lay it on me.”
“Bitch and Moan. We're canceled. Apparently the picture of River's dildo was the straw that broke the camel's back. The phones have been ringing off the hook at the office. Oh, and somebody pranked us by ordering 50 pizzas and having them delivered to the paper. That little fiasco pissed off the money people, but the editorial staff didn't mind – we had a pizza party! Anyway. Stan said sorry, and he wanted you to know that he fought for us, but the decision wasn't up to him.”
I drummed my fingers on the counter-top while I processed that bit of news.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Lane. I didn't wanna tell you until you were feeling better, but it didn't seem right to hold it back from you. Especially after we promised not to do that anymore.”
“Jesus.” I shook my head. “That's one more thing I can thank River for, I guess.”
“Yeah, it's a bummer. I really loved working on the column with you.” Devon pouted. “On the plus side, we'll have more free time?”
“Woooo,” I cheered sarcastically, my index finger making the tiniest celebratory circle in the air.
Devon stacked the last clean dish, drained the sink, and got to chopping vegetables. She kept glancing up to look at me. I knew she wanted to ask me something, but she seemed hesitant.
“What? What is it? You keep looking at me.”
“I wanna ask you something, but we're not talking about the person I wanna ask about.”
“Just spit it out.”
“… Have you talked to him since?”
“Hell no.” I turned away. “In fact, today I deleted my piece on him in a drunken rage.”
Devon's mouth fell open. “You wha'?”
“Yeah. It's gone. Deleted forever.”
“But … the assignment?”
“Will earn an incomplete grade. And I won't pass the course. I'll have to re-take it or just give up on the minor.” I shrugged. “Not the worst thing ever.”
“Oh … No, not the worst thing ever …” But her knife, once slicing and dicing with speed and confidence, slowed to a wary sawing.
“He didn't want it published, Dev. Not much I could do about it.”
She frowned. “It was so good though.”
“Ha. Oh well.” I paused. “This is just how things were meant to go, Dev. It was written in the stars.”
“Explain.”
“I mean it would've ended ugly between us somehow – because I let myself get attached to this idea of me and River. When I knew, I mean knew, that it could only end one way. Catastrophically. Just like it did with Buzz.”
“Yeah, but …” Her head swayed from side to side, as if she were weighing perspectives.
“What?”
“I dunno,” she shrugged and muttered quietly, “it doesn't sound like a Buzz situation to me.” But her body language, slumping and small, told me she was afraid to say what she thought.
“C'mon, you have something to say, just say it already. After all that time with River, trust me, I'm sick and tired of dancing around things.”
“Okay. Fine.” She stood up straighter. “River gave me that ride home Saturday night, right? Which was awesome, by the way, although I was worried I'd get sick in his helmet!”
“What about it?”
“When he dropped me off at my place, I told him it was all my fault. I told him about all that weirdness with Jono. I told him that you really hadn't told me anything in the first place. Heck, I even told him that the picture was my fault, since I was the one who told you to smuggle it out of his apartment!”
I fought off the part of me that was amused. “Okay, and?”
“I told him what a great guy you are, and how loyal a friend you've been to me. And I told him that you really liked him. He just listened quietly. And then, before he put his helmet on and rode off, he said … 'I like him too.'”
I laughed. “Well, that's cute. And thanks for your efforts. But I already knew he liked me. If only just liking me was enough to overcome everything else.”
“But it was present tense, Lane! Not past tense. He didn't say, I 'liked' him, like he was already over it. He said, 'I like him'.”
“Dev …” I rubbed my eyes. “Again. Thank you. But I'm far past the point of latching on to all these trivial little signs that point towards us someday being together. It's just not enough anymore.” I took a deep breath. “We both made mistakes. We were both a little unreasonable with each other. But the major foul was committed by me. I broke his trust. And that's the stuff that kills relationships dead.”
I fetched my half-full bottle of vodka. Devon gave me a worried look, but I shook her off.
“Don't worry. I've had enough.” I twisted off the cap and poured it down the drain. “I can't miss another day of class. I really gotta move on.”
47
Confrontation
– River –
“You son of a bitch,” I growled, my fists clenching.
Jono backed away, his hands held up in surrender. His skin turned a ghastly pale. “Hold on, big guy.”
I marched on him slowly. I wanted to savor the genuine look of fear in his eyes. There was no escape and no one around to hear him scream.
“Listen, I know you're mad, River--”
“You're fuckin' right I'm mad.” I grabbed the neck of his shirt between my two fists, shoved him against the wall and pinned him there, with my forearm clamped tight against his throat.
“How could you, Jono?” I snarled.
“I didn't want to, Riv—oof!” My fist, solid as a cement block, shot up into his gut. Jono doubled over and fell to his knees.
He wheezed and grunted. I'd knocked the wind out of him. As angry as I was, it hurt to see someone I called my friend suffering at my hands. But that's what he'd brought on us.
“After all we've been through, that's all you can say?!” I roared. “You didn't want to? You didn't want to? If you didn't want to, then you wouldn't have done it! Get up. Get up.” I grabbed Jono by the collar, lifted him off the floor and pinned him against the wall again. “Say something.”
Jono's features darkened as he struggled for air. His eyes sharpened into narrow, loathing slits.
“You think it was easy for me?” he croaked between gasps.
“Think what was easy?” I grumbled dismissively.
“… You weren't supposed to be anything special, River.”
I scoffed. “So that's it? You're just jealous?”
>
“You don't understand.” He breathed heavily, his nostrils flaring. “I was your captain back at Shattuck.”
“No shit.”
“I was Carolina's third round draft pick. You were their seventh.”
“I don't need the history lesson, Jono.”
“Yeah, you sure don't, because that's all just history to you now, huh? Gone and forgotten. All you care about now is that you're the better player, you're the bigger prize. You never considered things from my point of view. You never knew what it was like for me to watch everything get stolen away. You forget that I was Carolina's darling, and it was me that Rickert used to fawn over. He used to pump me up with promises of the future me and Carolina had together. I was supposed to be the big man on campus! Only for you to start growing like a freak and bump me out of the spotlight …”
“You sound pitiful.” I shook my head with disgust. “Blaming all your failures on a growth spurt? I didn't just grow, Jono, I worked hard. I busted my ass to get better.”
“I don't expect you to understand, River. You'll never know what it's like to have all these people talking about you, all this excitement about your future – and then have them suddenly forget about you and move on to somebody else. You'll never know what it's like to get dropped so goddamn hard, you start to feel like you never mattered in the first place. You'll never know how hard it is to claw your way back once all that support vanishes.” A smile crept across his lips and he gave a bitter chuckle. “Well actually, maybe after DildoGate, you will understand it a little better.”
“Fuck you.” I gave him another hard uppercut to the gut. Jono fell into my chest, gasping but laughing too. He thought this was funny? When he could hold himself up again, he rolled his eyes at me.
“All you had to do was sign with Carolina, River.”
“Why the fuck do you even care where I sign? It's none of your goddamn business, or anyone else's.”
“Because I'd do anything to get that NHL contract, River. I was supposed to play for Carolina. Four years later, they don't even want me anymore. But you? You're so good, you don't even want to play for them. The thing I dreamed about most? You pissed all over it. Ha! It's a joke. No one gets what they want and everyone's miserable. And all you had to do was sign with Carolina!”