Cupid Painted Blind

by Marcus Herzig

  “Why, I like you too, Jack,” I reply. It’s not something I thought I’d ever say, but right here, right now it seems like a perfectly reasonable response.

  I’m not sure who is supporting whom as we totter up the stairs. I prop up Jack but he’s the one leading the way on unsteady legs.

  “You’re a good guy, Maddie,” he says. “A really good guy.”

  “You think?”

  “Of course! A really good guy.”

  “Right,” I say and giggle. “I’m just asking because you have a funny way of showing that sometimes, you know?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He caresses my cheek with his hand, gently, almost lovingly. “You know how it’s meant, though, right? Right, Maddie? I love to tease, and I tease because I love. I love you, Maddie Matt.”

  I’m so baffled by this unexpected revelation that I can’t help but reply, “Why, I love you too, Jacky Jack.”

  My response makes Jack giggle through his nose, and a drop of clear, watery snot is hanging from the tip of his nose as he says, “You say the cutest things, Maddie.”

  He removes his arm from my neck and opens the door to what turns out to be his bedroom. We go inside, but we’re not alone. Chris, my candy crush Chris is sitting in a tatty armchair and staring at a clunky, twenty-year-old computer monitor on Jack’s desk. For some reason he’s taken off his T-shirt and shoes. Jack closes the door, shutting out the noise from the party below. I’m still hearing voices though, so I look around for other people, but the voices are coming from the video Chris is watching. Two guys, maybe eighteen, maybe twenty years old, buck naked, engaging in explicit sexual conduct with the primal sounds to match, drowning out the muffled party music from down below.

  Suddenly, my mood changes. It almost feels like when I’m taking a hot shower and Greg turns on the hot water tap in the other bathroom, except that makes sense because Greg does it all the time and on purpose. Here, nothing seems to make sense. I feel dizzy and my legs give way underneath me. Heroically, Jack catches me before I fall, and assisted by Chris he leads me over to the bed where they sit me down.

  “He’s so wasted,” Jack slurs in Chris’s direction before he floats away.

  Chris sits down next to me and puts his arm around me to help me keep my body upright. I lean my head against his shoulder, and since everything seems to be spinning around me, I close my eyes but the spinning doesn’t stop. In fact, it gets even spinnier. I lean in closer to Chris, press my face against his strong, smooth, muscular neck.

  He smells so nice.

  As he's rubbing my back, he sniffs my hair and whispers, “You smell like an ashtray full of beer.”

  “I had one of them funny cigarettes.”

  He snickers. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Everything is spinning.”

  “I bet it is. You should lie down.”

  Our feet still on the floor, we both sink backward onto the bed.

  His arm supporting my head, he puts his other hand on my chest.

  “You got a jackhammer in there?”

  “You smell so nice,” I say.

  He chuckles and plants a kiss on my forehead. On my nose. On one cheek, then on the other. On my lips. His tongue gently forces its way into my mouth, and I’m too weak to resist. I don’t even want to resist. I’ve been secretly wanting to kiss him from the moment I first saw him. Rejecting him now would be stupid and render the last few weeks of love’s labor entirely lost.

  We kiss, maybe ten seconds, maybe ten minutes, who can tell? I keep losing myself in the comfort of his arms and his warm, wet mouth. Chris is kissing me like fire and ice, and I let it happen. I want it to happen. I’ve fallen for him, and I keep falling, ever so much deeper, ever so much faster, but I’m not scared. I’m feeling safe and warm in his arms, and I’m hoping this moment will never end.

  As Chris’s left hand is caressing the back of my head, his right hand starts wandering. First he rubs my chest, then my belly. He pulls my T-shirt out of my pants and slides his hand across my skin. My head in his hand, our tongues entwined, his fingers are fondling my nipple. A heat wave engulfs my body as he unbuckles my belt and unzips my jeans. Our kissing intensifies, and cold air is sending down shivers down my spine as he frees my grateful dick from the confines of my boxers, pulling them down with both hands while playfully pinching my nipple and gently pulling the hair at the back of my head.

  Wait.

  What.

  Something’s not right.

  How many hands does he actually have?

  I push Chris away, gently at first but he keeps pulling me back in so I push harder.

  “Relax,” he whispers. “Everything is fine.”

  He puts one of his way too many hands on my neck and pulls me closer, his lips once again seeking mine. But everything is not fine. Something is terribly, terribly wrong, because even though I may be drunk and stoned and my view of reality may be impaired, I’m pretty sure there is no way can he do all these things at the same time.

  I open my eyes and see Chris looking back at me with a knavish smile. With the back of my hand I wipe his saliva off my lips, and when I lift my head to look at my crotch I see Jack kneeling right in front of me on the floor, admiring the proud flagpole that is my fully erect dick.

  Overwhelmed by the nightmare I’m finding myself in, my head starts spinning, and I feel a tension in my body, rising from deep within my bowels. My body suddenly feels burning hot except for that small exposed spot between my legs that is tickled by a rush of fresh air. Leaning forward, Jack opens his mouth, and just as he’s about to go down on me, the music abruptly grows louder, and a painfully high-pitched scream tears the whole universe apart.

  All our heads turn toward the open door where Sandy is standing, both hands covering her mouth as her horrified gaze keeps jumping back and forth between Chris, Jack, me, and the flagpole.

  This is too much.

  With everything spinning, reality collapses in on me. My heart bursts into a million pieces, my head explodes, my guts churn, and before I even know what’s happening, I’m emptying the entire contents of my stomach onto Jack’s bed.

  * * *

  It’s a chilly night for October, so I’ve buried my hands deep the pockets of my pants. I’m shivering, but the cold helps me to sober up. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing, because the clearer my mind becomes, the more I’m horrified by what happened. Maybe I should have another couple of drinks and kill another couple of thousand brain cells. I wish the physical effects of alcohol would wear off more quickly than the mental ones. I’d rather be oblivious to tonight’s events than be unable to walk in a straight line without stumbling over my own feet every other couple of steps.

  Sandy is walking next to me, steadying my gait with one hand whenever necessary while working her phone with the other, trying to get a hold of El Niño.

  “Fonso! Where the hell are you? Call me back, this is an emergency.”

  She groans and puts the phone back in her pocket.

  “If he’s on the Xbox, he’ll be wearing headphones,” I mumble. “That’s why he doesn’t hear his phone.”

  She looks at me. “Should I take you to his place now?”

  “No!” I blurt out. Startled by the loudness of my own voice, I tone it down a notch. “No. Not yet. He can’t see me like this. I need to sober up first.”

  “So where do you want to go? It’s kinda cold.”

  I stop and rub both her arms. “Oh my God, Sandy, I’m so sorry! Are you cold? You want my jacket? I can give you my jacket. I don’t mind. I don’t want you to be cold!”

  “Matthew,” she says. “You’re not wearing a jacket.”

  I look at myself. “Oh my God, where’s my jacket?”

  “Were you wearing a jacket when you got to Jack’s?”

  I think for a moment. “No?”

  “There you go.”

  We keep on walking down the deserted street.

  “I’m so sorry, Sandy.”

  “It’s
okay, don’t worry,” she says. Then she points across the street. “Looks like Milo’s still up.”

  I turn my head. A hundred meters away, the Korova is brightly lit.

  I can go a hundred meters in 12.5 seconds.

  “Oh my God, coffee!” I say. “I so need some coffee.”

  Without further ado, I let go of Sandy, turn around and start crossing the street.

  “Watch out!” Sandy shrieks, but by the time her shriek registers with me, it’s already being drowned out by the screeching tires of a braking car. I turn my head and stare into its beaming headlights. Blinded, I take a step back, stumble, and fall backward. My butt hits the ground the moment the car comes to a halt just inches in front of me. Hyperventilating, my heart pounding heavily in my chest, I push my hands and feet against the ground, trying to get up, but I’m too drunk to coordinate that many limbs, so I just move backward three or four feet in an awkward crab walk before I collapse. I try again, but now Sandy is kneeling down next to me, and putting her arm around my shoulders, pinning me down.

  “Matt! Oh my God, are you okay?”

  I shake my head, but it’s not in response to her question.

  As my eyes are getting used to the glistening light, I realize why I didn’t hear the car when I stepped into the street. It’s the kind of car that barely makes any noise.

  It’s a Tesla.

  Still shaking my head, I lift my arm and point. “No. No!”

  The car door opens, and two heavy boots hit the ground. In them, legs clad in black cargo pants.

  “It’s … it’s …,” I stammer almost hysterically, still pointing.

  “Matthew, calm down!” Sandy begs me.

  I look at her, shaking my head. “Run,” I say. “We have to run!”

  But Sandy keeps holding me down as Special Agent Nicole Tesla approaches us with big strides and gets down on one knee in front of me, but I don’t think she’s going to propose.

  “Good God, are you okay?” she asks.

  I shake my head and point at her. “You! I know you!”

  “You know her?” Sandy asks.

  “She’s been following me around! She’s FBI or something, but I haven’t done anything! They were only stories I posted on Wattpad!”

  “What are you talking about, Matthew?”

  Special Agent Nicole Tesla looks at her, frowning. “Did he hit his head?”

  “No,” Sandy says. “I mean, I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so. He’s pretty drunk.”

  “You have to run, Sandy. You can’t save me, but you can save yourself!”

  “Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No amnulance,” I slur. “It’s a trap!”

  Sandy shakes her head. “He’s gonna be okay. He’s just had too much to drink.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You have to run, Sandy!”

  “Pretty sure,” Sandy says.

  Nicole nods. “Okay. We should get him off the road though.”

  I have little resistance to offer as Sandy and Nicole lift me up and put me back on my feet.

  They walk me back onto the sidewalk, and Nicole says, “You really shouldn’t be walking around town like that in the middle of the night. You want me to give you a ride home?”

  I shake my head emphatically. “I’m not getting into a creepy stranger’s car! My mom told me to never get into a stranger’s car.” I turn to Sandy. “Let’s call an Uber.”

  “Matthew, that is literally summoning a creepy stranger to get into their car!” She looks at Nicole. “It’s okay, we’ll walk. It’s only a couple of blocks. We want to get some coffee first anyway. It’s kind of our regular place over there.” She flicks her head at the Korova.

  Nicole shrugs. “All right then. Just don’t let him reel into the street again.”

  As we cross the street, Nicole gets back into her car and follows us at walking speed until we reach the Korova. Then she takes off, just like that.

  That’s your tax dollars at work. Law enforcement in this country is so inadequate.

  As I watch Nicole’s tail lights disappear in the distance, Sandy slams the palm of her hand against the glass door of the Korova. “Milo! Open up!”

  Milo is standing behind the counter polishing glasses. When he sees us he shakes his head and mouths, “We’re closed,” but Sandy keeps slamming her hand against the door.

  “Open up, Milo!”

  Milo sighs, flings the towel over his shoulder and makes his way to the door. He opens the door and says, “Sorry, sweetheart, but we’re already closed.” Then his gaze falls upon me, his face aghast. “Oh dear! What happened to you?”

  I must look pretty awful, but if I look only half as bad as I feel, I can’t blame him for his reaction.

  “Long story,” I say.

  “Can we come inside, Milo? Just for a few minutes. Please.”

  Milo sighs. Then he steps aside and motions us inside.

  “Thanks, Milo. You’re the best.”

  “Don’t I just know it?” he says and locks the door behind us. He follows us to our booth, and as we slide into it he asks, “Coffee?”

  “Double espresso,” Sandy says. “No wait, make that a triple. Extra strong. And water for me.”

  “Coming right up,” Milo says and scurries back behind the counter.

  I grab the menu off the table. Not that I want to order anything, but I need something to keep my fingers busy. It has a calming effect, and I need something I can focus on because I really want to distract myself from what happened.

  “How are you feeling?” Sandy asks.

  “How do I look?” I say without looking at her.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

  I know that I don’t, but I also know that I probably have to. I just can’t let Sandy go home without offering some kind of explanation for what she’s witnessed in Jack’s bedroom, so I look at her and say, “Sandy, I’m gay.”

  She chuckles. “Yeah, I kinda figured.”

  “Right. I guess it was pretty obvious the moment you walked in on us.”

  “Oh, no no.” She shakes her head. “I kinda figured you were gay a long time before tonight.”

  My shoulders slump. Will this ever stop? Why do I even put so much energy in clasping the closet door shut with my fingernails when apparently my closet has glass doors?

  “Hey,” Sandy says. “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

  “No, that’s not it. It’s just … it seems that everyone I’m coming out to already knows I’m gay, and it’s kinda … depressing.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You’re way too sweet for a straight guy. Trust me, that’s a good thing.”

  Milo comes and puts our beverages in front of us. “Listen, darlings,” he says, “I’m gonna give you a bit of privacy. I’ll be back in the kitchen giving Hans a handjo— … I mean, giving Hans a hand cleaning up the mess he’s been making all day. If you need anything or you want me to unlock the door for you, just give me a holler.”

  “Thanks, Milo.”

  “Sure,” he says with a sweet smile and disappears into the kitchen.

  Over coffee and water, we talk. I tell Sandy everything. Everything that’s pertaining to my crush on Chris and my perennial feud with Jack, that is. I keep Phil and my coming out to Alfonso out of the equation to keep things simple and to the point. When I get to the moment right before she walked in on us, Sandy asks, “So do you think Jack is gay?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Given his attitude towards me and gay people in general, I find it hard to believe. Then again, tonight I found him getting ready to suck my dick. Not sure why he would do that if he weren’t gay.”

  After thinking about it for a while, Sandy says, “I know it’s a very clichéd thing to say it might be just a phase, but sometimes that’s just what it is. Some people need more time to figure out their sexuality than others. And some people have
a hard time accepting themselves the way they are. Maybe that’s where Jack’s at at the moment.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.”

  “You know what I really can’t wrap my head around though?”

  I look at her. “What’s that?”

  “I’m trying to make sense of Chris’s role in this. I mean, the way you describe your relationship, he really seems to be into you, and he wants to be your boyfriend and everything. But if you’re in love with someone or have a crush on them or whatever, why would you want to share them with someone else? Do you know what I mean?”

  I know exactly what she means, but the implications are too devastating to consider.

  “Was it the first time you and Chris were … you know … making out?”

  I reply with a silent nod because if I were to open my mouth right now I’d probably burst into tears like a colicky infant.

  “See,” Sandy continues, “and that’s what’s confusing me. I mean, to go from a few kisses straight to a threesome seems like an awfully big leap.”

  I stare at the table, trying to avoid Sandy’s prying gaze. The triple espresso helped me sober up just enough to realize that everything around me has started spinning again, and the bitter liquid in my stomach is making me feel sick. With my cold, sweaty hands I rub my tired eyes, and I sigh.

  “I’m sorry,” Sandy says. “I’m talking too much. I should probably shut up.”

  “No, no.” I look at her, my vision all blurry. “It’s okay. It’s just … too much. Everything is too much, and I’m still too drunk to make any sense of … anything, really.”

  “I understand.”

  “Sandy,” I slur, taking both her hands, “one girl is more use than twenty boys. I really appreciate everything you did tonight. Like, taking me out of there. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. Good God, I don’t even want to think about all the ways things could have turned even worse, you know? And thank you for listening. And understanding. And offering your own perspective. And not judging. And everything. It’s … it’s really good to have someone to talk to when there’s no one else to talk to. I don’t even know if that makes any sense. Right now I’m just sitting here and I’m listening to myself and I have no idea where all the words that are leaving my mouth are coming from because I’m still, like, totally wasted, and I’m so so sorry that you have to see me like this because I’m usually not like this. I’ve never been drunk before. Or stoned. Or feeling sick like that. Or all of the above. And I don’t even know what I’m talking about, but—”