by E. K. Blair
“People are stupid; you know that.”
“Yeah.”
“Call Mark so he doesn’t worry, okay?” she tells me and I nod. “I’m gonna go fix some Ramen for lunch. Want any?”
“Gross. No.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she teasingly mocks. “I forgot how refined your palette is.”
“Well, it’s better than having it tainted by Gabe’s tongue like yours is,” I shoot back at her.
“Ugh. Don’t remind me,” she says in disgust as she leaves my room.
Picking up my phone, I scroll through and bring up Mark’s cell number. I really don’t want to talk to him right now, but I suck it up and call him anyway.
“Hey,” he says when he answers.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Just got out of class. About to head back to the dorms. What about you? You at school?”
“No. Home,” I clip out, growing more irritated that he seems so happy.
“Why are you at home?”
“Em got suspended.”
“Wait. What?”
“Em. Got. Suspended.” I say this slow and condescendingly.
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mark. Could it be the fact that everyone knows you’re gay and you couldn’t stick around here long enough to take some of the heat that’s now our burden to bear?”
Silence. He doesn’t respond.
“Are you gonna say anything?” I push.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry that you ran away?”
“Erin . . .”
“No one will even talk to me, Mark. They’re calling me a dyke. Em wound up getting into a fight and now she’s suspended for the rest of the week.”
“Who’s saying this?”
“The whole school!”
“Tell me what I can do ‘cause I’ll do anything,” he says to me.
“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do, so just have fun and enjoy your year so at least someone in this family is happy.” I sling my words at him and then hang up.
My phone immediately starts ringing, and when I see it’s Mark, I decline the call and switch my phone off. I’m so mad at him. I know what the kids at school are saying isn’t his fault, but I need to blame someone and he’s the obvious choice, so I unload my anger onto him.
“Erin!” I hear Em shout front downstairs.
Opening my door, I walk and lean over the banister. “What?”
“Jenn just posted some shit about you on Facebook.”
I run back to my room and flip open my laptop. Once logged on, I type in Jenn’s name and go straight to read her status update.
Jennifer Carmichael
Erin, that nasty lezbo, tried coming on to me in the bathroom yesterday. That family is nothing but disgusting homos.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. There are eighteen comments and over seventy ‘likes’ and it was only posted ten minutes ago.
“Have you seen it?” Em asks as she walks into my room.
My heart pounds with anxiety and humiliation for something that isn’t even true.
“What do I do?” I ask as the tears rim my eyes.
Em sets her bowl down and moves to squeeze in and sit next to me on my desk chair. She wraps her arms around me, and I let the tears fall.
“Did you read the comments? People actually believe her,” I say.
“People are stupid.”
“It doesn’t matter. They still believe her.” I pull back and wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Why are you not more pissed?”
“I am. Trust me.”
“So what do I do?” I ask again.
“Honestly? I wouldn’t do anything. Don’t even feed into it.”
I took Emily’s advice, but the kids at school aren’t letting up. I only have a couple of friends that talk to me at this point. I just have to wonder when this will all die down and people will lose interest.
For the past few weeks, I have been forced to walk these halls that are constantly filled with sneers and whispers. Jenn has completely turned her back on me. Tonight is our school’s first football game. The one thing I refused to do was quit the cheer squad. I’ve been on it since freshman year.
“Hey, is it all right if I just drop you off tonight?” Em asks as she stands in the doorway to my room.
Lacing my shoe, I look up and ask, “Why?”
“’Cause I don’t wanna sit around with a bunch of people I can’t stand to watch a game I couldn’t care less about.”
Em is taking a lighter load of the bullying than I am, but I know it affects her all the same. For some reason, I’m the bigger target with people. Probably because I’m quiet where she has a loud bark. She’s more intimidating.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll just text you as soon as the game ends,” I tell her as I tighten my ponytail and grab my cheer bag.
When she drops me off, I keep my head down as I make my way out to the field. I don’t worry too much about anyone teasing me since the stands are loaded with parents and faculty.
The game passes slowly, and we are finally nearing the end of the forth quarter. I step away from the cheer line to quickly grab my cell out of my bag to text Emily. When I swipe the screen, I notice a text waiting on me from Mark. I don’t read it. Instead, I shoot out my text to Em and rejoin the girls.
Once the game is over, I gather all my belongings and head out to the parking lot. I stand and wait on Emily to get here, which is taking her longer than it should. I hear a few kids laughing at me when they pass, and I pull out my phone to distract me. I open up the text from Mark and read it.
I miss talking to you. I never meant to bail the way I did.
I’m surprised when I notice Ashton step up next to me. He plays cornerback and we have known each other since he moved here in the middle of our freshman year. He gives me a slight nod of his head, acknowledging me, and I turn my focus back to my brother’s text.
I haven’t spoken with him since I yelled at him on the phone a few weeks ago after that crappy first day of school. He calls and texts often, but I haven’t ever responded. I miss him, but I’m mad at him too.
When I lean over to shove the phone back into my bag, a group of girls pass me as I am bent down and purposely bump into me, knocking me off balance. I catch myself with my hand, and when I look up, I see Jenn.
“Hey, freak,” she says, and her friends bust out laughing at me.
“Don’t be a bitch,” I hear Ashton snap at her.
Standing up, I watch the girls walk away, and I turn to him, saying, “Thanks,” in a quiet voice. I wonder why he, let alone anyone, would stick up for the school leper.
“She’s turned into such a snob this year,” he says, and when I look back at him, I shyly agree.
“Sorry I’m late,” Em shouts out the driver’s side window when she pulls up.
Taking my eyes off of Ashton, I grab my bag and tell her, “It’s okay,” and then slide into the car.
Before she puts the car in drive, Ashton says, “See you Monday.”
I don’t say anything, and Emily gives me a knowing look. Turning my attention away from her, I notice he isn’t standing on the sidewalk anymore. I scan and spot him walking to a white jeep with keys in his hand. I allow happiness to creep inside when I realize that he wasn’t waiting for a ride like I was. He has his own car, but he stood with me anyway.
“So, Ashton, huh?” Emily teases.
“Just drive,” I tell her and keep quiet as we head home.
When we arrive, I go up to my room to shower and work on my homework. After a while, I notice it’s almost midnight and close my books to call it a night. Slipping into bed, I shut off the lamp and pull out my phone to read before I fall asleep. Before opening my iBooks app, I open up the text that my brother sent earlier. No matter what, I miss him. As mad as I am about how this year is turning out, I still want him here. I type out my text, my first in weeks.
I miss you too. Goodnight.
Closi
ng my texts, I open up Facebook really quick, not really sure why since all it seems to be is another outlet for people to make my life hell. I clear my notifications and notice a Friend Request alert come through. I click on it and can’t control the smile that grows.
Maybe this could be one of the few good things this year.
Here’s to hoping.
I click Accept, and immediately get a Private Message.
Ashton Yates:
You’re up late. :-)
For my husband
No fall could ever compare to the one I had with you.
Two pills. Two fuckin’ blue pills. I swore I’d stop this shit, but I can’t stand the pain that still radiates in the back of my head where he shattered his beer bottle the other night. I hate that I’m just like him—dependent on this shit. Fuck it.
Tossing them into my mouth, I pour the cheap tequila down my throat and relish the burn that singes in my chest. My body falls lifelessly back onto the bed while the muffled music pounds through the walls.
“Give me some,” Rene says. Or is it Rachel? Who the hell cares? She pulls the bottle out of my hand and takes a draw of the amber liquid.
Handing it back to me, all I see is a hazy shadow as I feel her crawl on top of me. This chick leeched herself to me when I walked into this party earlier. I knew she’d be an easy lay, and when she shoves her hand down my pants and grabs my dick, she proves me right.
I don’t even try to focus as my body starts to weigh down from the effects of the pills. I love this feeling. Numb. Heavy. Warm. Hazy. It takes me over, and I don’t even realize that this girl is now fucking me until I look up. Closing my eyes, I begin to drift. Drift from the hell that consumes me. It’s Saturday night. The night he stays out late drinking just to come home and impale everything he hates about his life into me.
Waking up, head still heavy, vision clearer, I sit on the edge of the bed. I look over my shoulder and see some redhead, naked, sleeping. Who is she? I don’t remember what happened, but I know we screwed because my pants are flung across the room, and I see the used condom on the floor.
My watch says it’s after one in the morning, and I need to get home. Pulling on my pants, I stumble slightly as I make my way through the house filled with people I barely know, drinking, dancing, making out.
When I start my car, I know I shouldn’t be driving, but I also know that I need to go because my dad normally drags his drunk-ass in around this time. I hate knowing that my mom will be there alone with him.
Pulling up to the dark grey, two-story house I have always lived in, I can’t help but think about how the impeccably manicured structure is simply a mask for the madness that lives within. My stomach clenches when I see his truck in the driveway. I shut the car off and rush inside, but I know I’m too late when I hear my mother crying. Bolting through the house and into the kitchen, I get there just in time to see my dad swinging his arm around and smashing a coffee mug into the side of her head. Turning to face me, her face is void as she falls to the floor, blood everywhere.
“What are you looking at, you piece of shit?” he spits at me, and I fuckin’ lose it.
My body roils with vengeance when I charge at him, and we tumble, crashing to the floor. Rage takes over as I begin to pound my fists into his face relentlessly. Over and over. Skin splitting. Blood gushing. The sounds of my mom screaming and the grunts I force out with every blow to his face are a distant echo in my head.
He thrashes beneath me, but I don’t stop. I know I’m gonna kill him, and I hope I do. My teeth snap shut when he drives his palm into my jaw, causing me to bite my tongue. He continues to fight his way out from under me, flailing his arms, and dumping shit everywhere when he yanks one of the kitchen drawers out of its tracks.
My mouth fills with blood, and just when I spit it into his face, I fall over onto the floor.
“Fuck!” I scream through gritted teeth as I grab my side. I hear the clatter of metal falling to the ground and watch my father’s black boots stumbling away from me.
Cold shivers prick at my body, and my vision fades as my breathing becomes more and more shallow. My mother’s warm arms scoop my shoulders onto her lap as she cries, and I let my head fall to the side. When I see the bloody butcher’s knife, I lift my shaking hand that’s clutched to my side and raise it in front of my face. All I see is red.
I wake up the next morning, body sore and twenty-seven stitches in my side, along my ribs, where that son of a bitch stabbed me last night. Sitting up, I flinch against the stinging flesh. My mom is still asleep. I made her stay in my bed last night in case my father came back home, which he didn’t.
I quietly make my way downstairs and feel the guilt from everything that happened last night flood through my veins. If I’d never gone out, my mother probably wouldn’t be sleeping in my bed with a concussion and stitches in her head.
I’ve been so selfish lately and getting too fucked up on ecstasy and alcohol to protect my mom. The drinking, the drugs, the rage that fired through me last night—I’m him. He’s a part of me. He runs through my blood. I hate him. I don’t want to be him, but I am.
Having him consume me like this makes me sick to my stomach, and I swear to God, I will do everything I can to avoid what I fear is destined to be my future. I’ve gotta stop the fuckin’ pills. I’ve gotta . . .
A loud knocking on the door pulls me out of my thoughts, and when I make my way to the front of the house and open the door, two cops are standing there, staring at me with a look I can’t quite make out.
Taking off his hat, one cop asks, “Is this the home of Richard Campbell?”
“Hey, boss. That clown you call your friend is asking for you.”
“I’m finishing up,” I tell Max as I sign off on a few orders. “How long has he been here?”
Standing in the doorway to my office, he answers, “Not long. Half an hour or so.”
I don’t say anything as I finish up my paperwork and toss my pen on the desk, leaning back in my chair with a deep sigh.
“Everything okay?”
“Tired,” I say as I look up at my friend. Max has worked for me for a few years now. He serves as security ever since business picked up at the bar after I bought it out from its previous owner. He’s a good guy and extremely loyal, which makes him a commodity I can’t afford to lose. Beneath his shaved head and insane build that intimidates most people that walk through the doors here, he’s got a big heart.
“Call it a night, man. It’s late, and you’ve been up here all day.”
“Yeah.” I push back from my desk and stand up, making my way out of the office. When I pass Max, I clap his back, saying, “I’m gonna go talk to Gav then head out.”
Max follows as we walk down the stairs and into the bar that I’ve owned since I graduated from the University of Washington. This place has become a second home to me. It’s where I spend most of my time.
Bumping shoulders through the crowd of people, I spot my old college buddy, Gavin, tossing back a bottle of beer.
“Ryan, dude? Where the hell have you been?”
“Working.”
“Mel!” he shouts over to one of the bar girls. “Get this old man a beer.”
“No, Mel. I’m good,” I tell her, and she just shakes her head at Gavin, knowing what a partier he is.
“What’s up with you tonight?”
“Tired, man.”
“You not staying?”
Before I can answer, a tall blonde catches my eye as she starts making her way through the crowd and up to the bar. She steps next to me and leans over the bar top to get Mel’s attention, and when I eye her, Gavin mumbles, “Yeah, you’re staying,” all too knowingly.
“Ryan, right?” the blonde asks as she turns to look at me, and when I nod my head, she introduces herself with a slow, “I’m Gina,” trying to sound sexy, but it’s lost on me ‘cause I couldn’t give a shit what her name is. Girls like her are an almost daily occurrence.
“Have w
e met before or something?” I ask since she already knows who I am.
“Not officially. I’ve seen you around though.” She grins at me as she says this, but her fake tits are too distracting for me to focus on her face. It’s when she giggles that I snap my attention up. “You own this place, right?”
I nod my head again. One thing about me, I’m not much of a talker. I’m a pretty quiet guy for the most part, but with chicks especially, I don’t talk. There’s no need to. I don’t care to delay the inevitable. I’m a straight shooter, and being as tired as I am, I cut the shit and say, “Wanna get to know me better in my office?”
Her smile grows, and I take her hand, leading her to the back stairs. I spot Gavin trying to nail his own bait, and he gives me a cocky grin when he sees me pass by.
We walk into my office, and I close the door, pinning her up against it, clasping her wrists in my hand above her head while I run my other hand up her skirt and between her legs. Letting go of her wrists, she works with my pants, anxious to get them off.
I fumble in my back pocket, and when I retrieve the condom, I quickly rip it open with my teeth, spitting out the shredded foil as she tugs my pants down. I waste no time. Closing my eyes, I shove her panties to the side and take her against the door.
I never care to look too much at the girls I bang. Honestly, I don’t want to connect in any way.
This is me—disconnecting.
Screwing chicks as they come along. I don’t talk. I don’t watch. My escape lasts for as long as it takes for me to get off, then I move on. I’ve been this way my whole life, from a fifteen-year-old freshman in high school to a now twenty-eight-year-old man. I’m emotionally messed up, and I don’t even try to hide it.
Clinging herself to me, legs wrapped around my waist, I bury my head in her neck, and the thick perfume she’s wearing makes me screw her harder, wanting to finish up so I can go home and wash this shit off of me.
Pouring another cup of coffee, trying to wake up before heading out to the gym, my phone starts to ring. I know it’s my mom before I even look. She always calls first thing Sunday morning—predictable.