The Firework Exploded

by Tara Sivec

  Moving around the foot of the bed while fumbling to try and wrap the sheet around my body, I stomp across the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind me, but not before he gets the last word.

  “I JERKED OFF INTO ONE OF YOUR BOTTLES OF LOTION, SHAMPOO, OR CONDINTIONER! GOOD LUCK TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHICH ONE!”

  “At least you’re jerking off into something!” I whisper irritably.

  Don’t worry, it was under my breath. I’m not a complete asshole.

  Feeling a headache coming on from clenching my teeth during the fifteen minutes of dry thrusting, along with the stupid pee fight, I open the medicine cabinet to grab some Tylenol, when a prescription bottle with Sam’s name on it catches my eye.

  I hear the muffled sound of the television turning on in our bedroom and quickly grab the bottle that wasn’t here yesterday, my eyes widening and my jaw dropping when I see the date the prescription was issued, as well as the side effects.

  Suddenly, having a cold, pee-covered ass doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore.

  Chapter 2

  Spit the Spooge

  Sam

  “Jesus, man, pull yourself together,” I mutter, stopping in the middle of my best friend Alex’s living room to stare at him in disgust.

  After he’d called off of work for the last three days and hadn’t answered any of my phone calls or texts, I let myself into his apartment with the spare key he’d given me, to make sure he was okay. A decision I’m seriously regretting now that I see he’s still alive and can only imagine what he’s been doing with himself the last few days. Or not doing with himself, considering the smell that burns my nose, what looks like dried hot wing sauce stuck to his cheeks and piles of empty pizza boxes, crumpled up potato chip bags, and about a hundred beer bottles littering the floor around his recliner where it looks like he hasn’t moved in days.

  “Dude, is that a stack of chicken wing bones in your lap?” I ask, afraid to move from where I’m standing to get a closer look in case I step in something that might give me Hepatitis or make me vomit.

  Or, step in actual vomit.

  “Did you know BW3’s now delivers wings?” Alex asks in between pathetic sniffles as he stares at the television mounted on the wall across from him. “I mean, technically they don’t deliver, but I told Lenny he could have my PlayStation 4 if he stopped and picked up a dozen hot wings on his way over here.”

  Leaning over to the window next to him, I open the blinds to let in some sunlight, regretting that decision even more than the one to come over here.

  “Are you crying? And who the hell is Lenny?” I ask, wiping my hands on the front of my jeans, not wanting to even think about why opening the blinds made my hands sticky.

  “Lenny is the pizza delivery guy for Dominos. He’s in a band and his mom doesn’t even care if he has a chick spend the night in his room in the basement. He’s got his whole life together and look at me? I have nothing,” Alex states, sniffling again as he aims the remote at the TV and rewinds the movie he’s watching back a couple of minutes. “This scene gets me every time.”

  Sucking it up, I walk toward him, avoiding the unfolded piece of newspaper covering up God knows what on the floor, snatch the remote out of his hand, and turn off the TV.

  “Hey! I was watching that!” Alex complains, finally looking up at me. “It’s The Way We Were with Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford!”

  With a sigh, I toss the remote over to the couch and out of his reach. When Alex hadn’t shown up for work and I couldn’t get ahold of him, I casually mentioned it to Noel and found out Scheva had broken up with him. In a text. Three days ago. I figured he would be a little down in the dumps considering Noel’s best friend is the first girlfriend he’s had that lasted more than one night and they professed their love for each other on Valentine’s Day, never spending longer than a few hours apart since then. I did NOT expect to show up here and find an entire apartment filled with multiple science experiments and Alex eating away his pain while watching some stupid chick movie.

  “Look, I know you’re upset about Scheva—”

  “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” he screams, interrupting me. “NEVER SPEAK HER NAME IN MY PRESENCE AGAIN! SHE’S DEAD TO ME!”

  I sigh and shake my head at him, pulling my phone out of my back pocket when it dings with an incoming text. Alex vaults out of the recliner, spilling chicken wing bones all over the floor, and tripping over empty beer bottles as he charges me, grabbing onto my arms and shaking me.

  “Is it her? Is it Scheva? What did she say? Is she sorry? Does she want me back? Tell her I love her and I forgive her!” he rambles, using the sleeve of his already filthy shirt to wipe some of the wing sauce from his face.

  “No, it was from Noel. You need to get your shit together, right the fuck now!” I yell at him. “She sent me a text to remind me we have an appointment to get fitted for our tuxes and I am not taking you there smelling like regurgitated pizza and stale beer.”

  Alex is my best friend and I know I should be more supportive and understanding, but I don’t have time for this right now. I’ve got more important things to worry about like trying not to fight with Noel about stupid shit a month before our wedding because my God damn dick doesn’t feel like cooperating, and I’d rather argue about The Toilet Seat Cover Incident of 2016 over and over again instead of talking about the real issue. It’s embarrassing. It’s pathetic. It’s turning me into a crazy person and making me worry that Noel is going to change her mind about marrying a guy who has no problem getting it up, but can’t finish the deed.

  “Stop yelling at me, I’m in a really emotional place right now!” Alex whines, lifting his arm and taking a whiff, then dry heaving when he gets a smell of himself. “Okay, you’re right. I could probably use a shower. And when I’m done, we’re going to sit down and have a nice little chat about what’s bothering you. According to Dr. Phil, you should never take out your own anger and frustrations on someone else.”

  Grabbing a towel from the pile in the laundry basket by the wall, that may or may not be clean, I throw it at his face.

  “Just get in the damn shower already. I’m hiding your remote. You’re never allowed to watch daytime television or the Lifetime channel again.”

  * * *

  “I’d give you a hug, but I’m honestly concerned my hotness would finally push you over the edge and you’d come in your pants, crossing a line in our relationship that can never be uncrossed,” Alex smirks as he stares at himself in the full-length mirror at the tux shop.

  “You’re an asshole. I can’t believe I thought it was a good idea to confide in you,” I complain while he does up his tie.

  I couldn’t take one more second of Alex rereading the text Scheva sent him the other day, so I broke down on the ride over here and told him what’s been happening with me and Noel. It was the only way I could get him to stop repeating, “I need a break. I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me,” before I swerved the car into oncoming traffic just to put myself out of my misery. Interrupting him after the twenty-seventh time to scream, “MY DICK IS BROKEN, EVERYTHING HURTS, AND NOTHING WILL EVER BE GOOD AGAIN!” wasn’t very wise, but it shut him up. Until now, after he had the rest of the car ride to come up with plenty of ways to bust my balls. Pun not intended…stupid balls.

  “Seriously, look at me,” Alex demands, turning around to face me with his arms out to the side. “I’m a stud. It’s okay to admit how hot I look in this thing. I won’t tell Noel that you think I’m hotter than she is.”

  Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and put my head in my hands.

  “That’s not even funny. Noel thinks that’s seriously the reason why I’ve been having problems. She’s gorgeous. She’s sexy as hell and there isn’t one second in my day that I don’t spend thinking about having sex with her. Noel is not the problem.”

  Alex turns back to face the mirror, messing with his hair and buttoning up the vest under his tux jacket.

&nb
sp; “Clearly Noel isn’t the problem. There isn’t one second in my day I don’t spend thinking about having sex with your future bride. You’re probably jerking off too much. Your balls are so empty I bet you can hear them gasping for breath every time you take your pants off,” he tells me.

  “I’m not jerking off too much,” I complain with a roll of my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I know what the problem is, we just always seem to start fighting before I can talk to her about it.”

  “I once jerked off so much in one week that I got calluses. That was a great week. Want to see a picture?” he asks, grabbing his phone from the chair next to the mirror.

  “Fuck no, I don’t want to see a picture of your blistered dick!” I reply back in horror, averting my eyes when he walks toward me holding the screen of his phone out in front of him.

  “Stop being such a pussy! It’s a picture of the blisters on my hand, you sick fucker!”

  “Um, excuse me, is everything okay here? How does the tux fit?” Katie, the seamstress of the shop asks, suddenly appearing next to us with a concerned look on her face.

  “We’re fine, everything’s fine and no I’m not showing him a dick pic,” Alex informs her, turning his head to look her up and down before giving her a smile. “How about you? How do you feel about dick pics? I’m not saying I have a couple hundred on my phone right now, but if I did, how would you feel about them?”

  With a groan, I stand up and snatch the phone out of his hand, shoving it in my back pocket.

  “Sorry, his girlfriend just dumped him and he’s gone a little insane,” I explain to the poor woman who looks like she’s about ready to kick both of us out of here.

  “Yeah? Well at least my balls aren’t suffocating from overuse and I can shoot my load in, on, and around anything I want at any time, thank you very much!” he argues back, looking away from me to smile at Katie again.

  “Hey, you’re a woman,” he muses, tapping his finger against his chin.

  “Thanks for noticing,” she deadpans.

  “I mean, you’re a woman, so maybe you can help my friend out with his problem,” he explains.

  “What the hell are you doing? I’m not having sex with some stranger a month before I get married. And it’s not a problem, it’s just a minor setback,” I whisper in irritation.

  “Get your head out of the gutter, Sir Never-Cums-A-Lot. I’m just asking her opinion. So tell me, Katie, let’s say you’ve been dating a guy for a few months, you’re madly in love and all of a sudden, he loses the ability to close the deal during sex. Not for you, just for him. What’s your take on that?” Alex asks her while I stand here wishing he would have choked on a chicken bone.

  Katie shrugs, probably realizing it’s easier to humor him than run away screaming and call the cops. “I’d probably assume he’s cheating on me. Or that I don’t turn him on anymore.”

  I groan and Alex holds his hand up, waiting for her to give him a high five. She stares at his hand for a few seconds before turning and walking away, disappearing in the back room, probably to call everyone she knows and tell them she’s decided to become a lesbian.

  “You’re welcome,” Alex tells me, brushing imaginary lint off of his shoulders.

  “I don’t remember thanking you for being an asshole. Now I have to worry about Katie taking out her anger at your stupidity by ordering a bunch of powder blue leisure suits instead of the black tuxes with red vests and ties like Noel wants,” I inform him.

  “You can thank me for polling the audience and getting a unanimous response about your dick dysfunction. You can’t spit the spooge because you’re too busy thinking about Noel thinking about not being hot enough to help you cross the finish line,” he explains. “So, stop thinking about Noel thinking about those things. Problem solved.”

  With a shake of my head, I turn and walk away from him to send Noel a text to let her know we’re almost finished and I’ll meet her at her parent’s house for dinner within the hour. Her mother wants to go over the guest list, and even though I refuse to admit that anything Alex said is right, maybe I just need to stop worrying so much. Noel already knows she’s not the problem, I’ve told her a hundred times. I’m sure she’s not freaking out about this as much as I am, anyway.

  Chapter 3

  Mister Ed

  Noel

  “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, I’m totally freaking out right now!” I screech hysterically to Scheva as she closes my parents front door behind her.

  “Will you calm the fuck down? It’s not that big of a deal,” she complains with a roll of her eyes as I thrust the prescription bottle in her face.

  “Not a big deal? NOT A BIG DEAL? This is definitely a big deal! Did you not read what it says on this bottle?”

  She grabs it from my hands, yanks my purse off of my shoulder, and shoves the pills inside.

  “Yes, I read what it says, and I also listened to you read it eight hundred times on the way over. It’s blood pressure medication, Noel. Aren’t you happy that you finally have a valid reason for his problem after all these weeks? Side effects may include a change in blood sugar, loss of appetite, headache, nausea, vomiting, leg discomfort, and problems with sexual performance,” she reminds me, rattling off the side effects listed on the bottle like a voice-over on a commercial. “There you go, problem solved.”

  “The problem isn’t solved! The problem is a whole lot worse now!” I whisper-yell, quickly glancing over my shoulder to make sure my mother hasn’t snuck up behind us before pulling the bottle back out of my purse and shoving it in her face again. “Don’t you get it? He’s going to die!”

  She rolls her eyes at me, grabs the pills and puts them back in my purse, and then throws the bag down the hall until it slides to a stop at the end against the bathroom door.

  “He’s not dying, drama queen. You know, I liked it much better when you thought your loose vagina was the reason Sam hasn’t been able to finish what he starts,” she complains. “At least it gave you some excellent new greeting card ideas for work, like ‘Sorry I can’t make you come anymore, I thought you already knew I had a sloppy twat.’”

  Reaching up, I pinch the side of her arm as hard as I can until she yelps and smacks my hand away.

  “I do NOT have a sloppy twat, asshole. Just because I got a bonus for that card outselling all the others during the month of May means absolutely nothing! Were you not paying attention when I showed you the date Sam was prescribed those pills?” I ask.

  “December 26th, so what?”

  “Oh, so you don’t think it’s a coincidence that Sam is put on high blood pressure medication the same week he met my family and one day after we officially started dating? My family is LITERALLY killing him!”

  “I thought I heard you two come in. What are you doing standing around in the hallway?” my mother asks, rounding the corner from the living room and looking back and forth between me and Scheva.

  “Just discussing Sam’s erectile dysfunction, Bev. You know, just your typical Tuesday night,” Scheva tells her with a smile, moving around me to give my mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  I love my family, I really do, but there’s a reason why I don’t tell them every single thing going on in my life.

  “Oh, dear, he got a visit from Mister Ed, did he? Don’t worry, your father had some issues with him as well. I’m sure he could have a talk with Sam and give him some pointers,” my mother says with a wink, giving me a pat on the back.

  Aaaaaand that right there is the number one reason.

  “No, absolutely not. You’re not telling Dad, you’re not telling Aunt Bobbie, and you’re not calling everyone in the Women’s Guild at church to tell them either,” I warn her.

  “I’m sorry, but can we go back to Mister Ed? Isn’t he a horse?” Scheva questions with a laugh.

  “Haven’t you done enough?” I snarl at her.

  “Well, Noel’s father wouldn’t let me talk about his little issue either, so I took to calling it Mister Ed wheneve
r he was in the room. Get it? Ed? E.D.? It worked for quite a while too, until he started getting concerned about how much I was discussing a horse having sex,” my mother tells us with a sigh. “He had been watching that TV show, My Strange Addiction, and he thought I was like one of those women who are addicted to eating their own hair or licking laundry detergent off their fingers, but with horse sex. He was very worried. I had to distract him with Viagra. Speaking of Viagra, remind me to give you a few of your father’s pills for Sam. That will fix your problem in no time.”

  I close my eyes and count to ten, wondering for the hundredth time why Sam and I didn’t just elope. Or change our names and move to another country.

  “Sorry to break it to you, Bev, but Sam’s problem can’t be cured with Viagra,” Scheva informs her, like the traitorous friend she is.

  “My Spidey senses were tingling. Are you three talking about penises without me?”

  Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse…

  My Aunt Bobbie strolls down the hall from the kitchen with a martini in her hand, giving Scheva and I air-kisses before taking a big gulp of her drink. My Aunt Bobbie, formerly known as Uncle Robert until his ex-wife, Cindy, caught him trying on her clothes and make-up. Listening to Cindy scream and watch her head explode made Uncle Robert realize he preferred dick to vagina and couture gowns to Dockers and Polo’s. Aunt Bobbie divorced Cindy and has never been happier. Aunt Bobbie can also hear people talking about all things penis from at least six miles away. I love her, but Aunt Bobbie has no boundaries and her knowledge of this information is not going to end well.

  “We were just discussing Noel and Sam’s problem with Mister Ed,” my mother informs her, saying the stupid horse name in a stage whisper.