[ 8 ]
Charlie dresses a cut above my eyebrow, a scrape on my cheek, and a gash on my knuckle with a generous assortment of Rainbow Bright Band-Aids. He offers me a shirt, but I opt to sleep shirtless instead. I remember very little else before I lay myself down on his absurdly comfortable couch, waiting for him to get me a glass of water and an Ibuprofen.
That must’ve been when I fell asleep.
Morning throws a blanket of piss-yellow light over my head from a window draped in pink-and-blue polka-dot curtains.
“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty,” he sings from a salmon-colored armchair in the corner of the room.
I blink the light out of my eyes and twist my head. The whole room seems to twist with it. “Fuck,” I groan, touching my head and discovering a puffy bandage there.
“Do I get the story now,” asks Charlie, “or do I gotta make you pancakes first?”
I squint at him. I feel so hungover, the room like an aquarium of syrupy light and diffused sound. I push myself into a sitting position, feeling aches in my muscles that certainly weren’t making themselves known last night, what with my rage and everything.
Rage. That’s when I remember what the fuck happened last night. Trent. His dick. My misbehaving mouth. The words we threw at each other. The fist I threw into his jaw … my best fucking friend.
“Pancakes first,” I groan.
Over artful yellow-and-red plates of eggs and pancakes and chopped-up cantaloupe, I tell Charlie the whole story. Trent and my friendship that grew into something more for me. The culmination of feelings that became my one hard and horny mistake last night. The whole story has Charlie so captivated, he doesn’t interrupt once and hardly touches even the one tiny pancake he served himself.
When I’m finished, the most intelligent response he has is: “Wait … you’re gay?”
“Yeah, whatever,” I confirm with a shrug.
“Wouldn’t have guessed. Shit.” He pokes his pancake, looking annoyed. “If I’d known that, way back in the day, phew … I would ‘a had my way with you, sweetheart. In the gym locker rooms. In first period and second period and every period, even my sister’s, honey, I’d have taken you everywhere and anywhere and anyway. She had a baby last year. Girl. I’m an uncle, did you know that? Gay uncle Charlie. The baby daddy moved to Hollyweird to do gay-for-pay to afford child support. I’m a sitcom. This shit writes itself, take notes.”
“Thanks for taking me in, Charlie.”
“Oh, sweetie, stay as long as you want. Move the fuck in. Be my best friend. You can suck my cock whenever the hell you want. Saves me the hell of going to Kegs and Dregs where you only find just that: the dregs. Ugh. That place is sin. Did you know the owner’s fucked every woman over forty in this town? He’s probably fathered a fifth of our senior class. Welcome to backwater incest fuck-twat hell, it’s what we live in, leave your shoes by the door, hey.” He slurps his coffee, watching me over the brim of the mug. “You a virge?”
I narrow my eyes questioningly. “Virge?”
“Virgin, babe, keep up. Have you done the hocus in your pocus yet? I won’t tell no one, pinky swear.”
“Uh … yeah, I guess I am.” I’ve swallowed every bite on my plate. I could eat three times the amount he gave me, but I suck it up and appreciate the breakfast deck I’ve been dealt.
“Which do you think you wanna do? You the pitcher, or the lemonade? You the hot, or the sauce? I’ll teach it all to you, babe.”
“I’m not sure I’m in the mood to be taught nothin’,” I murmur, trying not to sound too ungrateful. “Mind’s a bit preoccupied with—”
“Straight boys.” I nod. “Yeah, yeah. The fly in all our chardonnays. Trent’s a cutie, I’ll give him that. He’s got one of those get-the-fuck-over-here-and-let-me-pinch-you sort of faces. I always wondered what it was like to kiss a guy with a lip ring.” Charlie pushes his cheek into his fist, pondering exactly that. He puckers his lips, as if testing it with an imaginary volunteer before him.
“You’re fuckin’ weird,” I can’t help but blurt out, stifling a laugh.
“And really lonely.”
My face turns serious, studying him. He gets up suddenly, takes both our empty plates to the sink, dumps them in loudly with the care of a barmaid.
“Me too,” I say quietly.
“I’m so tired of waiting for some asshole to ride into my life to save me,” he complains to the sink, his back turned. “Why is it so hard to just … get up and take what we want? I mean, this is our fucking life. This is my life.” He turns suddenly, a dishtowel with tiny pink unicorns dangling from his hand. “This is your life, you dumb mother fucker. Who told you to be quiet and careful and not get in anyone’s way? What the fuck are you gonna do when you’re dead, Benny? Ask for another chance? This is your chance. You took it. You saw Trent on the couch and you … you sucked it. You sucked your chance, baby, and if ever the circumstance should again arrive, I say, fuck it and suck it too. Life is here for the sucking and the fucking of it, my friend. We are alive, so be alive.”
I imagine he’s waiting for the applause of an auditorium full of attendees to his self-help seminar, but all he’s got is me, and my reaction is a blank stare and an unsatisfied grumble in my stomach. That, or I gotta take my morning dump already.
“I gotta get to work soon,” he complains.
“Me too,” I confess. “But my clothes …”
“What is it you wear to work?—Dickies? Polo? Honey, I got it all, take your pick. I have three closets and every acceptable color of this season’s and last. Have a heyday. I’m bustin’ a move, bitch. Spare key’s under the black dog statue. Place is yours.” He leaves his mug on the counter and saunters off to the bedrooms.
He’s leaving me a way in, just like that? I call after him: “You’re letting me stay?”
“I’d be crazy not to. You kidding?” He stops at the hall, his butt looking tight as a rope in those jeans, his bright eyes flashing. “Didn’t I just get done saying I’m a lonely mother fucker?”
My hands resting in my lap, I smile lamely. “Thanks.”
“Aww, babe. Don’t mention it,” he says. “Like, literally, don’t. I don’t do sappy.” He disappears into his room, the door shutting heavily at his back.
I smile, looking around and taking in the environment of his home. It’s colorful and strangely inviting. I feel like I’m in some lost aunt’s house, or a whacky grandma’s cabin who makes rainbow-sprinkled cupcakes every Tuesday for no reason at all.
Reluctantly, I pull out my phone and look at the notifications. Trent called me an hour ago, apparently. Voicemail.
My belly somersaults. My breath goes all wrong and jagged. After steeling myself far too much, I clench my jaw and tap the button, then bring the phone to my ear, listening.
“H-Hey, uh … hey. Just … just calling to see where you’re at or whatever. You kinda just fuckin’ took off and … and …” He sighs loudly, a blast of static in the voicemail. “I think we should talk about this, Benny. I’d try and, like, check all your friends’ houses and find out where the fuck you are … but I know you don’t got no friends but me, so … and maybe that’s the other reason why I’m, well … why I’m fuckin’ worried, I guess. Like, for real, Benny, like … Where the f—” And the voicemail ends, cut off.
I stare at the phone, then shut my eyes.
“Spectacular,” sings Charlie as he emerges from his room in a white t-shirt and skin-tight maroon pants. Sunglasses nest in his hair. “You can take whatever you want. We look about the same size, I reckon. Well, my stuff will likely squeeze you to death, but hey, tight is the new loose so, whatevs. See you after six or so. I’m ordering Chinese later, hope you like moo shu pork and lettuce wraps.”
The next instant, Charlie is out the door and I’m left in a strange house with just the sound of my own unsettled digestive system for company.
I set my phone on the counter, as if afraid of it. “I’m sorry,” I tell it, maybe speaking to Trent, maybe speaking to myself. I don’t know anymore.
I just don’t know anything anymore.