Hiroku

by Laura Lascarso

  “She messed around with Sabrina over the summer. How is that loyalty?”

  “I can’t believe you just said that, Seth. You fuck around all the time.”

  “God, you love to throw that in my face, Hiroku. You’re so much better than me, aren’t you? Mr. Ivy League with your holier-than-thou attitude…”

  He went on like that for a while, and I tuned him out. Seth was stressed that the band might be falling apart, right when they were on the cusp of making it, so even though I probably shouldn’t have, I gave him a pass.

  “You could replace Mitchell if you had to,” I told him, hoping that might make him feel a little bit better about the situation.

  “That’s such a typical response from you,” Seth seethed.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “The band is like a family unit, Hiroku. You don’t just kick someone out because they piss you off. Otherwise, I’d have replaced Sabrina a long time ago. And you don’t just drop out because it’s inconvenient.”

  He shot me a look as if to imply that was what I was doing.

  “What are you even talking about?”

  “You haven’t been to a band rehearsal in months.”

  I balled my hands into fists and banged them against the dashboard. “You have got to be kidding me. I get about five hours of sleep a day, Seth, trying to keep up with you and your rock star lifestyle. Performing as your fucking eye candy at your shows and parties, servicing your every sexual whim. As much as you’d like for me to be your number one groupie, that shit doesn’t pay the bills, and I have to plan for something beyond high school because who the fuck knows where you’ll be by then.”

  Seth was quiet after that, stewing on his own hurt feelings. He hated it when I spoke about the two of us as if we might not be together forever. It was bizarre to me when he said shit like that, but he did get my f-ing name tattooed on his chest. It wasn’t like there were a ton of Hiroku’s out there that he could move on to after me.

  The tension in the van was thick enough to fry it up and serve it. We arrived at Eileen’s soon after, and I helped them unload their equipment. I did manage to get Mitchell alone for a minute to tell him congratulations. Only I wished it sounded less like a question. Mitchell clapped my back and said simply, “Life, man.”

  After their final mic check I asked Seth if we could go powder our noses, because it had been nearly 48 hours, and the withdrawal was bearing down on me. Like a flu from hell but with a deep-rooted anxiety at knowing exactly what would make the discomfort go away. I kept sniffling and getting chills. The aches and pains were starting to set in as well.

  “Hurry up,” Seth snapped and led me into a dressing room where costumes were stored for the club’s weekly drag shows.

  Once there, Seth cut up three lines using the back of his electric guitar as a table—my allotted dosage—while I paced the small room and watched with impatience as Seth divided up just the right amount. I stood over him, waiting for the straw to snort them, when suddenly he changed his mind and swiped the powder back into the little plastic bag.

  “Seth, what the fuck?” I asked, my body reacting in a violent way, like a car backfiring.

  “You can wait for me,” he said coldly. “I’m not your fucking dealer.”

  Rage tunneled through me like a supernova and I snapped at him, “You just love to watch me suffer, don’t you?”

  He stood and gave me a look of utter disdain. “You know, Hiroku, you should really be more careful. You’re starting to act like a real junkie.”

  Then he strutted out of the dressing room and took his place on stage for the show. He tapped the mic a couple of times to signal to the band, even though they weren’t set to start for another twenty minutes. His bandmates all scrambled to join him.

  The fury inside me was unlike any other I’d ever experienced. I was so angry that I couldn’t see straight. I wanted to go break Seth’s guitar to show him what it felt like to have something so critical taken away from him.

  Instead, I stormed out to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender gave me a look, but he knew me, and I only had to smile and say please for him to serve me.

  I sat with my back to the stage, shoulders hunched and tense. I did it to piss off Seth, knowing how much it would drive him mad to not have me in the front row hanging on his every word. Most of the patrons were on the floor watching the show, so I sulked at the bar with a tear in my beer like some sad cowboy in a country song throughout most of Petty Crime’s first set. A big guy with a short, well-kept beard sat down next to me at some point. He was in his late-twenties, early-thirties. I figured he was one of Sabrina’s Libertarian bros, so I didn’t pay him much attention until he struck up a conversation with me.

  “What do you think of the band?” he asked. I glanced over. He was angled toward the stage while leaning casually against the bar. I noticed the muscles in his arms, solid with a layer of meat on top of them. A big boy and strong too. Not built like Seth at all, but I still found him attractive, which surprised me a little. He glanced from me to the stage, motioning with his hand like he expected an answer.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Seth crooning into the microphone, aiming his seduction at someone else. Perhaps he was avoiding me, his junkie of a boyfriend, as well.

  “They’re all right,” I said noncommittally. It was a novel experience to interact with someone who didn’t already know me as Seth’s property.

  “Singer seems like he’s trying too hard,” the guy said, tilting his head and eyeing Seth with a slightly put-off expression.

  I turned a little more in my seat and tried to see Seth as this guy saw him. Perhaps Seth was a little over-the-top with his come-hithers and flirtatious looks, but he still had a magnetism that made it hard to look away, not to mention his talent as a singer.

  “Do you think he’s attractive?” I asked the stranger. We were in a biker bar that hosted weekly drag shows, so even if this man wasn’t gay himself, he could probably still make a judgment without his world being shaken to its core.

  He shrugged. “Maybe to some. Not my type though.”

  This conversation was getting more fascinating by the second. I angled myself toward the man to better gauge his reaction “What’s your type?” I asked out of sheer curiosity. I seldom had the opportunity to converse with other gay men about their personal preferences. The man’s big brown eyes slid from the stage over to me. It seemed he liked what he saw.

  “I prefer the shy, quiet types,” he said purposefully.

  My eyes must have gone wide at that because he only chuckled. “My name’s Robert.” He stuck out his hand. “Or Bobby if you’d like.”

  “Hiroku.” I clasped his thick, meaty hand. His handshake was solid and warm and surprisingly reassuring.

  Petty Crime finished up their set and said they’d be back in a few minutes. I expected Seth to come claim me like lost luggage, perhaps while also getting a drink from the bar, but he only retreated into the shadows backstage without so much as a glance in my direction.

  “Do you get high, Hiroku?” Bobby asked in a furtive voice, still with that low rumbling tone I associated with a manly man. “I have a stash in my bike.”

  This biker was some sort of fairy godmother sent to me by the blessed angel of individuals in want of getting high. I swallowed down the last of my warm beer and told Bobby with an enthusiastic nod that I was most certainly interested.

  Bobby led me to the alleyway behind Eileen’s where his bike was parked. I thought when he’d said getting high, he meant the good stuff, but he actually meant a joint of some rag weed, the type that burns your throat going down and tastes like dirt.

  Still, it couldn’t hurt my present disposition to indulge in a little marijuana. Whatever it took to take my mind off the fact that my body was trying to eat its way out of my skin thus demonstrating that I may well be a junkie.

  We smoked Bobby’s joint, and he told me he was an electrician in Austin. I wondered i
f he might know Caleb, but I didn’t ask. Electrical work required some deftness and attention to detail, which made me wonder a bit about the dexterity of Bobby’s big hands. I asked him if he ever got his wires crossed, and he chuckled and said no, he was always pretty careful in that regard. Despite my own mental tangents about what Bobby might look like naked, it was a chill conversation—nothing too flirtatious or suggestive. I was getting silly off the marijuana and laughing at something Bobby had said when Seth rounded the corner of the alleyway and glared at me like his head was about to explode.

  “What the fuck are you doing out here?” Seth demanded. Perhaps because I was presently high, I didn’t take him too seriously or notice the menace in his voice.

  “I’m getting high with Bobby,” I said with a goofy smile and passed the joint back over to him.

  Seth stormed up to us faster than a guitar lick, reared back and hit me. Hard. Across the face. A total bitchslap—there’s no other way I know how to describe it. I didn’t even realize at first what had happened, just that the side of my face was on fire and my jaw felt slightly out of place.

  “Holy shit, Seth,” I exclaimed, reeling with surprise and shock that he’d struck me so goddamned hard.

  Seth raised his hand like he was about to hit me again, but Bobby grabbed him by the back of his jacket and yanked him away from me. “You better get back inside, hombre,” Bobby growled. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the second half of your show.”

  Seth’s anger wasn’t diminished in the least as he shoved Bobby off of him and rearranged his jacket. He came at me again, but this time he wounded me with words. “I should have known this would happen,” he hissed. “Don’t even think about coming around my place tonight, you lying little slut. Go get your fix from someone else.” Seth glared at Bobby. “Hope you like my sloppy seconds.”

  “Fuck you, Seth,” I said, barely above a whisper. The shock had subsided, and the pain was setting in. My lip was cut and bleeding. My cheek was probably swollen, too. Worse, I feared I was going to burst into tears. I couldn’t believe Seth had just hit me. Not to mention this perfect stranger was witnessing our relationship at peak dysfunction.

  Seth stalked off, and even as I watched him retreat, I felt a strong compulsion to chase after him and try to make things right, explain to him this was only a misunderstanding and that I’d only agreed to get high with this stranger to take the edge off of my withdrawal.

  But Seth had assumed the worst from me, and rather than give me the chance to explain, he’d fucking hit me.

  I sighed like the world was collapsing all around me. The resounding chorus of aches and pains throughout my body reminded me that I still needed to get high.

  “You want to go get something to eat?” Bobby asked. In his eyes, I saw the pity he harbored on my behalf. Even though it would be easier to flee, I had nowhere to go and no ride there. Plus, I figured I owed Bobby some sort of an explanation and weed always gave me the worst case of the munchies.

  “Sure. Anyplace but 24-Hour Diner.” I didn’t want to risk running into Seth again that night.

  We went to a Denny’s instead. Riding on the back of Bobby’s motorcycle almost made up for the disaster the night was turning out to be. Inside we sat across from each other in a sticky booth under the dingy yellow lights, which did nothing for my complexion. Bobby asked the waitress for a bag of ice for my face. I probably looked like Quasimodo. My eye was definitely swollen, as was my lip. I kept tonguing the split skin as if needing proof of what had happened. The waitress looked at me with concern, and I quipped, “you should see the other guy,” which I’d soon realize was the beginning of a pattern of lying to cover up Seth’s abuse.

  “So, that’s your boyfriend?” Bobby asked me once we’d settled fully into this strange and awkward shared experience.

  “Yeah, that’s him.” I felt the urge to defend Seth and let Bobby know that he’d seen him at his worst and that he was actually a very nice guy, but I couldn’t exactly describe Seth in that way. I doubted it would matter anyway. First impressions and all.

  “How long have the two of you been dating?”

  “Awhile,” I said and then followed it up with a long, dismal sigh. “He doesn’t usually hit me. That was new.” I rearranged the bag against my face, which was mostly numb now, but the ice was not helping with regulating my internal temperature. I was still a bit dazed by it all. What had I done to trigger Seth like that? I’d smoked weed with other people before, sometimes without him. Perhaps it was because Seth didn’t know Bobby? Or because we’d been fighting? Because it was during a show? All of my thoughts came back to what I’d done wrong, how I’d acted out to deserve this, and how I could prevent it from happening again.

  “You could do better,” Bobby said.

  I nodded. It was always nice to hear. Sasha had told me the same thing in a text once. Sabrina had that sentiment on loop.

  “Where’d you guys meet?” Bobby asked.

  “High school.” But that wasn’t the actual beginning. “He used to live in my neighborhood. We played basketball together.” I remembered then how Seth didn’t know how to play. He’d only joined in so he could get closer to me. Remarkable, Seth had promised. How could he even know that? It seemed so very long ago.

  “High school?” Bobby asked. “How old are you?”

  I glanced up and saw the worried look in his eyes. “Seventeen,” I said with a slight lift in my voice because technically, I didn’t turn seventeen for another two months.

  Bobby shook his head like he didn’t want to believe me. “You were drinking a beer at the bar.”

  “Perks of being the band’s number one groupie.”

  Bobby nodded slowly as if realizing something important. “You shouldn’t be caught up with someone like that,” he said, taking a decidedly fatherly tone with me. I was pretty sure I’d just been relegated to the Friend Zone. Or the Jail Bait Zone. There was probably some overlap.

  Perhaps because I was still a little high, I didn’t have the same filter I normally would when admitting to Seth’s outrageousness. Also, Seth had just walloped me one good, so I wasn’t exactly feeling compelled to keep his secrets. “It’s not that easy to leave him. I’ve tried. He has my name tattooed on his chest.”

  “What?” Bobby’s eyebrows rose. He was pretty adorable in a big Saint Bernard kind of way. I’d bet he was a good cuddler too with all of that warm furry man flesh to hunker down with.

  “Yeah.” As if I could further prove my point, I added, “It’s in my own handwriting too.”

  Bobby shook his head and chuckled a little like I was telling him a whopper. “Listen, kid, I don’t know what passes for romance in your generation, but if a guy got my name tattooed on his chest, I’d run like hell.”

  I laughed at that, a bit of gallows humor. “My generation, huh? What are you, like twenty-five years old?”

  He smiled softly. “Yeah, we’ll go with that.”

  Bobby didn’t ask me too many more questions about Seth. Instead, he told me some horror stories from his own romantic pursuits. I think he was trying to make me feel better about my questionable taste in men, even though none of his tales involved abuse. Toward the end of our conversation, Bobby asked me if Seth was my first boyfriend.

  “Yeah,” I said sadly, like a fool, “first and only.”

  Bobby reached out and took one of my hands in both of his big paws. “I know it may not seem this way now, but you don’t need a guy like that to make your life complete.”

  I nodded and pinched my eyes with my free hand. I really didn’t want to cry in front of this nice big handsome man, especially after him seeing me at my worst.

  Bobby paid the bill and gave me a ride home on the back of his motorcycle. I pretended I was scared and held on extra tight, when in reality I just wanted someone solid to hold onto. I had him drop me off at Petty Crime’s rehearsal garage because my parents thought I was working a shift at Sam’s Club, and I couldn’t very well go home in my roc
k ‘n’ roll Barbie clothes.

  When Bobby saw my surroundings, I think he knew his good advice was in vain and that I’d go back to Seth the very next day, if Seth didn’t come and find me that same night.

  Still, like a good champion of lost causes, Bobby pulled out his wallet and gave me his business card. “Keep this on you in case you’re ever in a jam.”

  “And you’ll ride in on your dark steed and save me?” I asked with a lofty smile.

  He chucked my chin softly. “I’ll do what I can.” Then he gave me an appraising look that was decidedly less like a father and more like a daddy. “And when you turn eighteen, you give me a call. I’ll take you out for a night you’ll never forget.”

  His promise sent a ripple of desire through me. I took that as a good sign. It meant I wasn’t as dead inside as I thought.

  NOW

  Ryan is getting discharged from New Vistas three weeks before me. I’m happy for him and also a little bit worried, as I worry for all of my rehab buddies who must enter back into their unique and sometimes traumatic worlds of temptation. I sneak into Ryan’s room in the early morning of his last day because I want to say goodbye to him without our minders or the other residents listening in.

  Ryan seems surprised to see me there in his room, and I suddenly worry I’ve overstepped my boundaries.

  In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, I say to him, “I just came by to tell you that I’ve really appreciated having you as a friend in here. I hope you’ll look me up in a month or so so that we can compare notes.”

  Ryan looks sketchy about that, glancing everywhere around the room but at me. Again, I wonder what I’ve done wrong.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He focuses on the ground between us. “My therapist thinks it’s best if I don’t associate with anyone I met in here.”

  I wonder if it’s because of my reputation. Like I’m the bad influence? I try to cover up my hurt feelings with magnanimity. “Of course,” I tell him with a stiff nod. “Your recovery is the most important thing.”