PUCKED Up

by Helena Hunting

  “I already told you, she’s fighting with Benji.” She shifts around, leaning against a wall. Words are written on it in marker, or scratched into the surface, exposing silver where there was paint before.

  “Are you in a bathroom?”

  She nods and sniffs. The sound of toilet paper being pulled from a roll follows. She brings the wad to her nose and blows. “It smells horrible in here.”

  “I bet. Why don’t you go outside? It’ll smell way better and be quieter.”

  She drops her voice to a whisper. “I’m hiding.”

  “From who?”

  “Kale. He tried to kiss me. He hasn’t brushed his teeth since we got here, I don’t think. Or maybe he has cavities. Anyway, his breath is bad. And his beard—I don’t like it. It’s not soft like yours was during playoffs. I like your beard. It feels nice on my nipples.” She strokes along her collarbone. She might be wearing a dress, but I can only see from her shoulders up. “I like you a lot, Miller. Everyone thinks I shouldn’t. Except Violet and my mom. She thinks you’re perfect and that you’ll take care me, but I can take care of me. Lily tells me I’m gonna get hurt, and maybe she’s right, but I don’t wanna listen because I want to be with you, but sometimes it’s so hard.”

  Her candidness gives me a lot to process. There’s a quick burst of noise. Country music and male voices filter through the phone, along with a flush and the sound of water running.

  “Sunny, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you in the men’s bathroom?”

  “Uh-huh. No one will look for me here ’cause I have a cookie, not a penis.”

  She’d be funny if I was there to take care of her. I’m angry at Lily for not being a better friend and Patch McBushman for making her feel like she needs to hide. “You need to get out of there, sweets.”

  “I can’t. There are urinals. Men pee in rows. It’s weird—like cows feeding at a trough, but they’re peeing. They’re right outside the stall. I’ll see penises. Or is it peni? I don’t know what the plural is.” Her eyes are wide with drunken horror. “I only want to look at your penis.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. But the men’s bathroom isn’t a good place for you to be. Just cover your eyes and head for the door.”

  She takes a couple of deep breaths.

  “You can do it, Sunny. I’d come get you if I could. Camp’s done tomorrow. I’ll come as soon as the kids leave.”

  “I don’t need you to save me, Miller. I’m self-succinct.”

  I think she means self-sufficient, but she’s mixing up her words. “I know that. I’m just worried, and I don’t like that you’re upset. I want to be there to make it better.”

  She licks her lips. “I like it when you make it better. Better always feels good.”

  “I’ll make you feel really good when I see you, ’kay?” I hope it’s loud enough in the bathroom that no one else can hear our conversation.

  “Okay. Maybe. First I want to be mad about the picture of you and that girl who looks like me.”

  “That’s cool. You can be upset about that. We’ll talk about lots of stuff.” We both have things to be unhappy about. “You gonna get out of that bathroom, now?”

  “Okay.” She nods, resolved. “I’m gonna put you in my bra.”

  “I love being in your bra.”

  “I know. Oh, wait. I’m not wearing a bra. Hmm. I’ll put you in my underwear.”

  “Even better.”

  She’s definitely wearing a dress. She stands and hikes it to her waist, shoving the phone down the front. It’s the closest I’ve been to her pussy in a week.

  There’s a rattling sound, then Sunny panicking. I try to tell her to calm down, but since I’m in her underwear, she can’t hear me. All of a sudden there’s a loud slam. Deep voices issue shouts of surprise and a couple of whistles.

  “Sunny? What are you doing in here?” I know that voice. It’s Patch McBushman.

  There’s some fumbling and arguing. The music gets obnoxiously loud, then there’s crunching. Gravel, maybe. More muffled talking. All of a sudden it’s not dark anymore. Sunny’s phone drops out of her underwear and onto the floor of the trailer. I can see her legs and her panties. They have little flowers on them.

  A hand covers the screen like a spider. It’s not Sunny’s face I’m met with afterwards. I almost gag; it’s Bushman.

  I point at him. “I’m coming for you.”

  He might smirk, but I can’t tell because his beard covers his mouth. “Come on, Sunny Bunny. Let’s get you into bed.”

  “Don’t call me that! Hey, where’s my phone? Give me that.”

  He ends the call before I can say another word. I try to call back, but I get voice mail.

  It’s on. I’m gonna take that fucker and his stinky breath down.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DEFLATED

  The next morning I get up early, partly because I can’t stop thinking about Sunny, and partly because my balls hurt, and I have to pee. I head to the bathroom, still hobbling, but not quite as bad as I was last night. I’m unhappy to see that my balls are still bigger than they should be when I free the lightning rod. The swelling hasn’t gone down the way I’d hoped it would overnight.

  I stop by the medical clinic before breakfast. I’ll get another shot of antihistamine, participate in closing activities, and get my ass to Sunny.

  I drop my drawers; Nurse Debbie’s expression remains neutral as she inspects the situation.

  “Shouldn’t the swelling have gone down more than this?” I ask.

  “It’s not the swelling that’s the issue. It’s the fluid.”

  “Fluid?”

  “Sometimes this happens, especially when there’s an allergic reaction to the bite. The site fills with fluid.”

  “Like a blister?”

  “That’s a reasonable comparison, yes.”

  “Okay. So will it go down on its own?” I can’t be walking around with balls the size of grapefruits. And I have a long drive ahead of me. Sitting isn’t going to be comfortable like this. Most importantly, I need my parts to work again. Soon.

  “Eventually, yes.”

  “How long is eventually?”

  “It could take a few days, maybe longer.”

  “That’s no good. Isn’t there something we can do? Something you can give me?”

  Nurse Debbie clears her throat and looks at her clipboard. “The antibiotics I gave you last night should help. There’s another option—”

  I slap my thighs. “Well, what is it? Anything is better than having a giant nut sac.”

  “I can drain the bite.”

  “Drain it?”

  She nods. “That will definitely alleviate swelling.”

  “So you’d do that by . . .” I let the question hang. I have a feeling I already know the answer. There’s only one way to drain fluid.

  “Using a needle.”

  “Right. Okay.”

  I run my hands up and down my thighs. My stomach feels like it’s hanging out in my toes. I’ve had stitches plenty of times without any freezing. I’ve watched the team doctor put a huge needle in a gaping wound on my arm, and it didn’t even faze me. But a needle in the balls is different. They’re attached to the center of my universe.

  “My balls will go back to being their regular size?”

  “It should help significantly.”

  “I’ll be in working order sooner?”

  “You should be if you take it easy and don’t overexert yourself. You’ll have to sit out today, and no strenuous activity for the next few days.”

  “What’s considered strenuous?”

  “Anything high impact. I’m also recommending that you wear briefs to reduce friction.”

  “I’ll get briefs today.” I can make sex with Sunny low impact if I need to for a few days. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  “If you’re sure.” She’s giving me an out.

  I can’t take it now even if I want
to. “I’m sure.”

  “I’ll numb the site first.”

  “Sounds good.” I’m not above making this more manageable.

  Nurse Debbie gives me another one of those hospital gowns to change in to. It’s ironic that she gives me privacy for that, since she’ll be spending time with my nuts again shortly, but I put it on and sit back down. I have to keep my legs spread so I have enough room for my swollen parts. After the numbing, Nurse Debbie leaves me alone again while we wait for it to take effect.

  Since there’s no one else around, I use the voice-to-text function to send Sunny a message. I honestly don’t know why people bother typing. This is so much easier.

  How are you feeling this morning?

  I flip through my emails while I wait for a response. It looks like Amber had access to the Internet yesterday. I have twelve new emails from her. Most of them are audio messages.

  Nurse Debbie comes back with a covered tray. I stop checking messages and let her do her thing, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. I have no interest in seeing the needle she plans to use.

  “Okay. There’s going to be a pinch, but I need you to stay as still as you can.”

  I’m trying to stay relaxed. The “pinch” feels more like someone jabbed me in the balls with a hot poker.

  When she’s done, she swabs the site and covers it with gauze and medical tape. That’s going to be a bitch to get off. I sit up and check out my package. It’s not as swollen. I get another shot of antihistamines, a straight shot of antibiotics, and a couple more painkillers. I’m still not allowed to play in the tournament this morning, which blows, but not as much as giant balls.

  I slide off the bed and give walking a shot. My limp isn’t as pronounced anymore. Still, I’ll take Nurse Debbie’s advice and get myself some briefs.

  After the clinic, I hit the mess hall. I can sit with the counselors, but sometimes it’s nice to hang out with the kids and shoot the shit. It’s still early, and they’re trickling in a few at a time. My buddy Michael sits at a table by himself, poking at his pancakes.

  I gingerly sit beside him and ruffle his hair. “How you doing this morning?”

  He gives me a halfhearted smile and lifts one shoulder. “All right.”

  “You party it up last night?”

  “We stayed up ’til midnight.” He gives me a cheeky grin.

  “Hardcore. You tired today, then?”

  “I’m okay.” He looks around, making sure no one else is near. “The medication they give me makes me feel sick. I didn’t want to have the treatment yesterday, but they said I had to, and now I can’t play today. I hate this.”

  “I bet. That has to suck.”

  He pushes his food around his plate. “It does. I never used to get sick, and now it’s like I’m always feeling crappy.”

  “You gotta take care of the body first, though, right? So it can get better?” I cut into my short stack, which is actually seven pancakes layered with margarine and fake maple syrup. “I can’t play today, either.” I shove food in my mouth and chew. Now that my balls aren’t the size of my head, I’m hungry again.

  “Why not?”

  “I got a spider bite.”

  His cheeks flush. “I wasn’t sure if it was a rumor.”

  “I wish. I’m on coaching duty; you wanna be my junior coach today?”

  His eyes light up like I’ve told him I’m buying him a Ferrari. “Seriously? Like f’reals?”

  “Yeah, man. I’mma need some help. You in?”

  “For sure.”

  “Cool.” I take off my ball cap and put it on his head. It’s way too big, and I probably have the worst case of hathead ever, but I don’t care. I’ve got that warm feeling I get when I do something that makes someone else feel good. It’s a rush. I pull out my phone and snap a couple of pictures. “Is it okay if I post these?”

  “Yeah. Totally.”

  I put up one of the pictures and caption it: Stratigizing with my junor caoch over bfast. Team Butterson has it in the bag.

  “How do you do in school?” I ask him.

  “Good. I get mostly As. Except in music.”

  “So you’re good with spelling?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I guess I’m decent.”

  “Cool.” I do something I’ve never done before, because it feels right. “You wanna check that over for me before I post. My spelling sucks.”

  “Really?’

  “Yup. I’m dyslexic.”

  There’s no hesitation or judgment, which is the great thing about kids. He sits up straight. “One of my friends has that! He sees all this stuff backwards. It’s like it’s all mixed up and upside down, right?”

  “Pretty much.” I pass him my phone. He checks it over, and we tag him, which is great. It means I can monitor his progress, and see what kind of financial need his family has.

  ***

  Four hours later, I’m standing at the edge of the parking lot with Randy, giving autographs to parents, hugging kids, and taking pictures. I haven’t had a chance to give him shit over the balls picture, but we’ll be in the car soon enough.

  The people from the local paper are here, just like Amber said. They interview me and Randy, as well as a few of the kids. Amber was right about them; they’re not like the usual reporters I deal with. Everything is way more relaxed up here.

  Michael’s parents pick him up in an older van. It’s not a junker, but it’s definitely on its way out. His mom’s out of the car before it’s even in park. She embarrasses the shit out of Michael by hugging him and kissing his face while crying. She checks him over the way moms are supposed to, with a critical eye full of love.

  When she’s done making him wish he could sink into the ground, she drags him over to me and Randy. Michael stuffs his hands in his pockets and mumbles an introduction. His mom cries even harder and hugs me, thanking me for giving him this opportunity.

  They’re a great family, and they look like they’re managing, for now. I don’t know if that will change with Michael’s treatment. He’s a kid. He could need full-time care for months, which would mean someone staying home instead of working. I need to find out if that’s going to be an issue. I get their information so I can keep in touch. I know exactly how I want to move forward now with the fundraiser. If Vi and Amber want some positive media coverage, they’re gonna get it.

  Once all the kids are gone, I throw my bags in the back of the rental and check my messages. I hope Sunny’s gotten back to me; otherwise it’s going to be a challenge finding her out in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, Canada. I have five new messages from her, all of them sent within the last hour.

  The first one makes no sense:

  Rsodfld fluck bod

  The next one is super clear.

  Don't come 2 Chapleau

  It’s a kick in the already achy balls until I read on.

  We r at Alexs cottage. Let me no when ur cuming

  She links directions. The final message makes me wonder how much of last night’s conversation she remembers. I don’t need text-to-speech to get it.

  Cnt wait 2cu

  I don’t send a message back. I want to see her, but I’m still not happy about last night, or all the pictures this week. Her lack of communication might not be her fault, but the rest of it is up in the air.

  They can’t have been there long since last night at midnight they were at a bar, and it’s only two in the afternoon. Looks like Waters’ cottage is only about a forty-five-minute drive from camp. I have to wait for Randy to finish consoling his girl of the week before we can go. She’s a puffy-eyed mess as he hugs her goodbye. She goes in for a kiss, but he pulls the forehead move. Oh yeah, he’s done with this one for sure. He has to pry her off him to get in the car.

  Once we’re on the road, he lowers the window and heaves a sigh of relief.

  “Made a bad choice with that one, huh?”

  “I can’t even tell you. She was up for anything, though. Speaking of getting it up, how’re your balls?�
��

  “Don’t you worry about my balls. Worry about your own. I hope the Internet stalking is worth the contortionist tricks.”

  “I’ve already blocked her.” He’s not smiling, so I know it’s not a joke.

  I shake my head and bite my tongue. I was as bad less than four months ago, so I can’t say anything.

  “Thanks for posting the picture of my balls, by the way. I told you not to. It caused me an assload of problems with Sunny last night.”

  “What? But your face wasn’t even in the picture. How could she know it was you?”

  “Because you posted it using your own damn name.”

  “Oh shit. But it could’ve been anyone’s balls. How did she trace them back to you?”

  “It wasn’t just Sunny. Bunnies galore, which is the bigger problem. That other picture you took at the clinic went up on your feed. Sunny’s Doppelganger posted it every damn place, and my shorts are the same in both pics, obviously. That’s how Violet knew it was me, and everyone else too.”

  “I’m sorry, man.” Randy looks horrified. “Is Waters shitting a brick? Do you need me to talk to him? Explain what happened? I’ll talk to Sunny for you.”

  He means it. Which is why I can’t stay mad at him for long. He wouldn’t have posted the picture if he’d known it was going to mess things up.

  “What’s done is done,” I tell him, checking the GPS to make sure we’re still on track. “So there’s a change of plans. I’m not going to Chapleau anymore.”

  “I messed things up that bad for you?”

  “Sunny’s at her brother’s cottage, not all the way in BF Nowhere, so that saves me seven hours of driving.”

  “So what’s the deal? You still gonna drop me at the hotel?” He checks the time. “I should be able to check in. I’ve gotta kick around until tomorrow for that charity car wash I’m supposed to go to.”

  “Cancel the reservation; you don’t need it. Waters’ cottage isn’t all that far from here. You can come with me, but that means dealing with Lily and the khaki twins.”