by E Cleveland
I click the image and it grows on my screen into a full-sized picture. One of those memes that people share on Facebook and Reddit. The top is my picture. Someone wrote: When you think you’re strong. Underneath is a still shot taken from the video. I’m hunched over on the step in front of Farrah’s big belly bursting with another man’s children. The pain etched into my face forces bile to rise up my throat. It’s too real. Too raw. It’s like whoever put this together found the exact moment my heart broke and went with it. Under that pic, the one I can barely look at, they wrote: But you’re really a lame duck.
In the comments section someone oh-so-cleverly improved on the message: “more like a lame cuck.”
Sure enough, when I Google “lame cuck” a hundred of those images appear with the revision edited in. There are other versions of it too. Things like: “How I think I look at the gym vs. How I actually look” and a bunch of other variations that have nothing to do with me. And yet, they do, because that is me. That is my face, my photo, my life that they’ve turned into a joke.
I’m a fucking joke.
Rap-rap-rap!
I jump up, looking through the peephole before opening the door to Cole’s concerned face. “Hey, man.”
“How did you know I was here?” My speech slurs slightly and I wobble a bit as I fight to act like the rum hasn’t hit me.
“I didn’t.” He pushes past me into the room and I shrug, closing the door. “I’ve been checking in at every hotel and motel in the city.” Cole crosses his arms and wrinkles his nose at my room. “Dude, this place fucking reeks. You know you could’ve crashed at my place, right? What are you doing here?”
“For one, it’s your parent’s house, not yours. There’s no way I’m crashing in your parents living room or whatever. I know how close you and your family are, I’m guessing your little sister is bouncing off the walls to have you back. I wasn’t going to crash the party.”
“Yeah, she’s stoked.” He can’t help but smile. Cole’s never settled down or even taken most of the big boy steps we all take as adults like moving out, finding a woman, all that shit. He always says he’s not home long enough to bother with any of that stuff and that family is all he needs.
I can’t believe I used to make fun of him for that. He was so right. An ache for the parents I lost so long ago blooms in my chest and builds up into a storm cloud of sadness that I can’t fall back on them. I can’t stumble into their safety net of love and understanding, even when the entire fucking world feels like it’s kicking me like an angry mob stomping someone to death.
“But tonight isn’t about them. It’s about you, Sawyer. Come on, get some shoes on, go splash some water on your face, I’m taking you out.”
“No, man, I’m good.” I stare at the blur of nastiness on my computer screen and Cole walks over, taking a look.
“You think I’m gonna let you do this shit all night? No chance, man. I’m not letting you hole up in this dump, drinking your sorrows away while you read this crap.” He flicks the laptop screen down.
I shrug. “What else am I supposed to do, huh? Act like it didn’t happen? Act like my entire fucking life isn’t falling apart?”
“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying to get your ass out of here and go out to a real bar with me and drown your sorrows properly, like a normal guy.”
I stare at the dwindling booze on the table and then back at Cole. “Fine,” I give in.
“Good, let’s go.”
I don’t bother with the water on my face or trying to make myself look good. I don’t give a fuck about how I smell or look. Cole’s right, some fresh air and a change of scenery is a good idea. We head out into the night and quickly spot a pub about a half block up the road that we duck into.
“Grab a seat and I’ll get us some beer.” Cole runs interference, protecting me from needing to talk to the bartender. Probably a little bit because I’m already too drunk, but mostly to help me stay off the radar.
I ease down into a seat and Cole joins me within a minute with two big pints of brew. He doesn’t ramble out some kind of lecture or plunge into a “plenty of fish in the sea,” kind of pep talk, instead he does what only friends you’re most comfortable with can do, he lets the silence surround us. We both sip our beer, there’s no pressure to talk, especially not about what happened.
“I think I’m gonna move,” I finally speak after downing half my beer.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. You should get yourself a bachelor pad downtown, go live the life for a bit, you know? Take some time to get over all that shit. I know there are tons of women who would kill to go on a date with you. Women love to fix a broken heart,” he muses.
“No, I mean farther away.”
“How much farther?”
“Alaska.”
“Wow, that is far.” He frowns at his diminishing beer. “I mean, I’m not here to shit on your Into the Wild fantasy or whatever, but do you think that might be a bit drastic? Why don’t you just re-up with the Army and leave Farrah and her bullshit in the rearview? Keep on keeping on. You don’t need to move way the fuck up to Alaska to get back on your feet, you know?”
“I can’t get a new contract; you know it’s not that easy. My official release date was today. I’m no longer the property of the United States government. My parents are dead. I’ve got no brothers or sisters and the woman I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, well, I’m sure you saw the video.”
Cole empties his glass and nods at the table. “Yeah, it’s pretty bleak. I’ll give you that. But you’ve been through bleak before and come out the other side. Just because you’re no longer in the Army doesn’t mean you don’t have family. I’m your brother. We all are. You know that, man.”
“I know.” I don’t tell him that it won’t be the same. That with each deployment or training exercise we’ll grow more distant. That I’ll grow more isolated. More bitter that I was wrong, that I should’ve listened to him the whole time.
“Besides, how are you gonna just up and move to Alaska? You going to go work on those fishing boats?”
“Nah, I’ve got money.”
“Oh yeah? So I guess the next round is on you then, huh?” He laughs, but I don’t join him.
“Yeah, it’s on me.” I pull out my wallet and drop a couple bills on the table.
“I was joking, man.” He tries to push the twenties back my way but I refuse to take them.
“I’m not. Not about the money, I got a bunch when my parents died. Plus my savings. And not about moving. I’m going to Alaska. I’ve thought it through. I’m fucking done.”
“So that’s it? You’re gonna turn tail and run? That’s not the Sawyer I know. This will pass, man. Everything does. Give it some time…”
“Dude, that’s totally him.” A young guy with greasy hair and a nose that looks like it’s been broken a few times points at me from the other table.
“Nah, I don’t think so,” his red-headed friend disagrees.
“Oh my God, it totally is.” A girl who might not be old enough to be in here looks at me with wide eyes and a sultry smile.
“I’m gonna ask him.” The oily one jerks his head at me. “Hey! You! Aren’t you that guy from the news?”
Cole’s lips curl into a sneer. “How about you mind your own fucking business, guy?”
“I fucking knew it.” The living, breathing oil slick stands up and stumbles our way. “Dude, you’re like, Internet famous. Let me take a pic, this is awesome.” He pulls out his cell phone and flicks it in my face.
“Leave him alone, Steve.” The girl looks horrified but does nothing to stop her friend.
“Nah, fuck that,” he slurs. “How many times am I going to meet someone famous? Huh? C’mon, lemme take a pic with ya. It’ll only take a sec.” He saunters on over like I owe him something. Like I’m not a real person, just a statue in a park or some monument for him to post on his timeline later.
“Get that thing out of my face,” I
snarl, balling up my fists.
“Don’t be a lame cuck, man. Take the fucking picture with me,” he slobbers.
“What the fuck did you say?” I pop up from my chair and start swinging. The first couple punches don’t land, but then I connect. The girl starts screaming as the asshole’s other friend jumps in and tries to take me down.
Cole knocks over his seat and jumps into the chaos, fists are flying, the girl is still screaming and the bartender is threatening to call the cops, but I keep hitting the guy. My hand splits back open and blood goes flying everywhere. I’m not sure whose it is. I don’t even care. This rage is boiling over and I can’t stop it from spilling all over the place.
“Fuck, let’s go. The cops are on the way.” Cole yanks me off the guy. How did I get on top of him? How long have I been smashing his face into ground beef? My senses return and I let Cole drag me out of the bar and back down the road. We duck into my motel room as sirens wail down the empty street.
It takes a second for us to catch our breath, but as soon as we do Cole starts laughing. “There? Feel better?” He looks at me, his eyes full of hope.
“No, not really.”
“Well, you will,” he reassures me.
“No, listen. My mind is made up. I’m going. I’m going off the fucking grid. No cell phones. No Internet. No fucking viral videos where we laugh at people’s worst moments. Just no.”
“Don’t run away, Sawyer.”
“I’m not running away, Cole. I’m turning my fucking back. On all of it. I’m done. If you’re really my brother, you’ll understand that.”
Cole looks down at the floor and then back up to me, a flicker of understanding burns in his eyes. “Okay,” he finally agrees. “Then I’ll do everything I can to help you go.”
4
Elsie
“Can you believe my pic already has thirteen thousand likes? I only put it up, what, an hour ago?” I sweep my cell in front of Tom’s and Stacey’s faces. They don’t pay attention to the image of my ass perched on the edge of our hot tub in these killer Victoria’s Secret string bikini bottoms. They lived it, standing awkwardly to the side with their drinks while Ben helped me get the perfect shot.
I ignore their indifference, smiling down at the screen. I love how the light sparkles off my eighteen-carat diamond, like Ben stole a star from the sky and put it on my finger. I don’t care if everyone is bored or jealous or whatever, this shot is getting the love it deserves. It might have taken almost an hour to get the angle and the lighting perfect, but amazing butt selfies don’t just happen.
I should know, it’s kinda my thing.
“I believe it.” Ben nuzzles up against me in the hot tub. “Everyone wants a piece of that ass.”
I lean back against him and close my eyes, feeling the world swirl a little as the jets from the tub whirl over my skin and the pricey champagne hits me.
“You guys are too cute.” Kate intrudes on my moment from across the ten-seater tub.
I flicker my eyes open and the room spirals a tad, but as soon as her sour face comes into focus, I miss the drunken kaleidoscope of colors.
“I know, right? Aren’t they adorbs, bae?” Stacey prods on her husband, Tom, tilting her cut jaw at him and flicking her eyes our way. God, even her chin looks like it has muscles. Stacey and her man are both fitness models. I swear, my left ass cheek probably has more fat than both of their entire bodies put together.
Tom wraps his thick arm over her shoulder and smiles. For a second, I wonder if his arm is crushing her with his ridiculously built bicep. “They’re perfect together,” he answers, “just like us.”
Tom’s hand breaks up through the surface of the bubbly water and cups his wife’s strong jaw. The two of them might be built like human armor, but they still kiss tenderly. I can tell that it won’t be long before they retire to their room in our ski cabin and go fuck each other’s brains out. The image of their bodies slapping together, like two planks of hardwood, sweeps through my mind.
“You know, it’s getting late,” Stacey purrs, leaning over Tom like a kitty about to pounce. I can’t see either of her hands, but I can imagine where they are. I wonder if Tom’s dick looks really small when compared to his muscles on an even more muscular frame.
I smirk over at Ben. Next to Tom he looks like a pipsqueak, not that I’d ever tell him that. Still, I prefer the more natural look, even if he is a little on the short side and a bit scrawnier than I’d prefer. I shake the thought from my head and get another rush from the booze messing with my vision. Who cares if he’s a little small? He’s filthy rich. Besides, ever since he proposed my Instagram fame has propelled to new heights.
Just don’t wear heels over three inches around him. And don’t get fat. Then he won’t look like such a waif beside you. See? His stature is actually a good thing, it’s more motivation to stick to your diet. I smile at the famous bachelor who proposed to me after only four months together.
Ben smirks back at me, his green eyes locking on mine. The day he put a ring on it, a lot of hearts on the Internet were broken. Not only is he young and hot, but the fact he earned his millions by outsmarting his opponents in poker games only adds to his appeal.
He’s a risk taker. Hard to read. Sexy as hell. And he’s mine.
5
Elsie
“Thanks for inviting us up here. Can you believe we’ve never been to Alaska before? We’ve always meant to come here for a little vacay, but never found the time,” Stacey explains. I still can’t see her hands. I push the uncomfortable idea of her playing with her hubby’s little pecker out of my mind.
“Of course! What’s an engagement celebration without my best friends?” Ben answers in a chipper tone.
“And my stepsister,” I chime in.
“Foster sister,” Kate corrects me.
Thanks for sucking the air out of the room, sis.
I roll my eyes at her and ignore her bitterness. She’s just jealous that my star is on the rise and she’s still trying to get her first fifty thousand followers on Instagram.
Like it’s my fault Ben saw me online and decided to ask me out? It’s my fault we hit it off and our fans absolutely loved us together? Seriously, she needs to get over herself.
I always asked Ben what photo on my profile made him decide to contact me. His answer has stayed consistent. The one where I’m in a field of flowers in a Taylor Swift hat and a little sundress is the shot he insists stole his heart. I don’t believe it, though. Not when eighty percent of my pics are of my big bubble butt. I know what really drew him in. And I know how to keep him.
I snuggle back in the tub against my man, rubbing the ass that’s made me famous against him.
“We should probably hit the hay, though,” Tom announces loudly, tossing back the last gulp of his Patron. I look over at Stacey and notice her shoulders are slightly trembling, her hands still mysteriously under the water.
Ewww.
“Okay, wait, guys. Before you go do your thing, let’s take a group selfie!” I know I’m kinda cockblocking, but it’s only going to take a second. Besides, that’s what they get for jerking each other off in the hot tub when we’re all sitting in it.
“Another one?” Stacey whines.
“It will only take a second.” I turn around and take another swig of my Dom Perignon, scrunching up my nose as the bubbles tickle their way down my throat.
“You always say that,” Kate chimes in, “then it takes an hour!”
“Oh shush! We’re here to celebrate my engagement, remember?” I grab the selfie stick, with my phone already attached. “So, please indulge me if I want to take pictures to remember it by,” I chide them. I leave out the part that the photos I’ve been taking at the resort have never been more popular.
Stacey and Kate quit being crybabies and everyone scooches together on one side of the tub.
“Everyone ready?” I ask.
“No, wait a sec. Here, Tom, put your arm under my tits and push it up so I
look like I actually have some,” Stacey instructs her husband.
“Are you sure you’re okay with your face being in this one? You don’t want to turn around and moon the phone?” Kate sneers.
Jealous bitch.
She probably wishes it was like the good ol’ days when she was the popular one and I was often confused for a boy with my short, anti-lice haircut and tattered clothes.
“No need to take another belfie.” I use the popular phrase that Kim Kardashian made famous with the selfie of her huge ass. “Not when I’ve got the most desired man on the Internet on my arm.” I force a smile at her that turns genuine as I watch her lips twist down with envy.
“All right, everyone, in three, two, one.” The flash on my cell phone strobes over us from where it’s perched on my selfie stick. It’s hovering at the perfect angle over our heads and, with the fireplace crackling with soft light behind us, we might not even need a filter with how good we’ll all look. Who am I kidding? You always need a filter.
“Ellen DeGeneres has got nothing on us!” I squeal and flick my finger across the screen. “This looks even better than that Academy Awards pic she took with all the celebs.”
“Ohhh, let me see. Did you get my good side?” Kate plucks the iPhone from my fingers and scrutinizes it. Her big brown eyes squint down as she analyzes the picture to death.
“No, you don’t, gimme that.” I grab it back from her and quickly add my hashtags before she can find any problems. “It’s done. Everyone will love it. Annndddd, posted.” I smile up at her angry face and turn the phone screen back toward her. “See, it’s already getting tons of love.” I twist it back so I can watch the heart symbols collect numbers from my adoring Instagram followers.
I hold my breath anxiously, willing the numbers to rise. My chest tightens as I wait for the first thousand likes to roll in. If my picture doesn’t get that many off the bat, I have to delete it. You don’t make a living from being a model on this site with pictures no one cares about.