The backroom greeted him with nearly three pallets of unstocked merchandise. Items the night shift neglected to put on the shelves and returned to the back before seven. Either they ran out of time or didn’t have the room—both possible, both equally irritating. Either way, he’d have to scan and reorganize every one of ’em, in addition to the new stock scheduled for today. Jeremy considered throwing it all in the baler and crushing the evidence. A frequent fantasy that one day, just maybe, he might act on.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he spun around, swallowing back a scream. Amy stood in front of him, smiling and holding two styrofoam travel cups. “The coffee shop near my house screwed up—added sugar when I specifically asked for Splenda. Since I’m a diabetic, I’d probably die if I drank this one.” She lifted the cup in her left hand. “So, you want some coffee or what?”
The dark desires in him slightly lightened. He nodded. “Sounds like exactly what I need right now.”
She winked. “Luckily your guardian angel’s got your back.”
He accepted the coffee and held it close to his nose, absorbing the heat as Amy clocked in with one hand. “How were your days off?” He regretted the question immediately, realizing she’d ask him the same and he didn’t know how to properly answer such an inquiry given everything going on in his life.
She shrugged. “Bullshit as usual. If my brother doesn’t get a job soon, I swear to Christ, I’m kicking his fat-ass out. All he does is sit around playing video games and eating all my fuckin’ food.”
A manager passing by raised his brow. “Amy, watch your mouth.”
“Fuck you, Ron. Mind your own business.”
Ron laughed and continued into the break room.
“What about you? How was your weekend?”
Jeremy gulped and looked down at his crotch before he realized what he was doing. He kneeled down to tighten his shoelaces in a desperate attempt to cover his tracks. “It was okay. Didn’t really do anything.”
“Sounds like heaven.” Sipping her coffee, Amy gazed at the abundance of merchandise awaiting categorization. “Holy fuck, would you look at that.”
Jeremy stood and tested his own coffee. A bit too sweet for his liking. “I know.”
“Some days, don’t you just wanna throw all this shit in the baler and crush it out of existence?”
4.
The thought of discussing his new problem with another human being terrified him, but so did the possibility of it worsening without proper treatment. On his lunch break, he called a urologist and made an appointment. Miraculously, they had an open slot later that day, a little over an hour after his shift ended.
He drove into downtown San Antonio and had a scone and hot chocolate at Starbucks while he waited. It was the first thing he’d been able to eat all day and it immediately threatened to backfire, but he forced it to remain and eventually the urge to regurgitate expired. He watched random men walk into the coffee shop and screw around on their phones as they waited in line. None of them had ever bled from their genitalia. If they had, they’d be too concerned about the universe to scroll a social media feed. Once you’ve bled from your cock, nothing else really seemed relevant. Your perspective on life altered drastically. Negatively or positively, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about a lot these days.
The entrance opened and a gust of wind invaded the coffee shop as a new potential patron walked inside. Jeremy stared at him awhile, something not quite right about the man, then realized with horrific certainly that he recognized him. How could he forget about Nick Malerman? They’d shared enough needles back in the day to practically be blood brothers at this point.
Blood.
Jeremy threw the rest of his scone in the trash and tried to sneak out, but stopped when Nick shouted his name. He froze, considered ignoring what he heard and continuing out the door, but feared Nick would only give chase. He slowly turned around and met the man face-to-face. Neither smiled. Just stared at each other, Jeremy’s expression half-terror, half-anger, Nick’s expression full anger.
He cracked his neck. “Long time, motherfucker.”
Jeremy shrugged, twitched. “Yeah. Wow.”
“So this is where you’ve been hiding out these days. Starbucks.”
“Among other establishments.”
“Thought maybe you’d OD’d in a ditch somewhere, became wolf food.”
Jeremy scratched his head, unable to meet his old friend’s eyes. “Actually, I’m clean now.”
Nick laughed and looked him over, head-to-toe. “No shit.”
“No shit.”
A lady behind them cleared her throat. “If you’re not ordering, then get out of the way. This is my lunch hour.”
Jeremy sidestepped out of line, but Nick stayed his ground, staring at her, amused. “Bitch, talk to me that way again and you’ll never talk again.” The lady gasped and rushed out of the building. Nick redirected his attention back to Jeremy. “So, you’re really clean?”
Jeremy nodded.
“Wow. You, of all people, I never would’ve guessed it.”
Unsure of how to respond, Jeremy nodded again. The front doors waited only a few feet away. He wondered if he could just slip away and flee down the street before Nick noticed.
“So.” Nick cleared his throat, scratching his arms. Jeremy tried not to look at the fresh track marks and animated veins but nobody’s willpower was that strong. “I was just going to get a coffee. Something sugary to satisfy the ol’ sweet tooth. You know how it goes.”
“Ye-yeah.”
“But afterward, why don’t we hang out, catch up, shoot the shit like old times?”
It would’ve been so easy to go along with him. It’d start off innocently enough. Just two guys sitting in a booth, drinking coffee and talking about old friends. Then they’d leave the coffee shop and stroll through the city, hitting all their favorite hangout spots. One thing would lead to another, and eventually Nick would pull out a tiny baggie and ask Jeremy if he missed it at all. And Jeremy would hesitate before answering, because of course he fucking missed it, he’d be a goddamn liar if he said otherwise, but honesty would only lead to another question: “Then why don’t you just shoot up with me, just this one last time—you know, for nostalgia’s sake?” And there’s no way in hell Jeremy would have the strength to decline such an offer. And sure enough, that one last hit wouldn’t come close to being his last. It would repeat, over and over, until a garbage man finally discovered his decomposing corpse in a dumpster.
So Jeremy said no, told him he had a doctor’s appointment that he couldn’t miss.
And the way Nick looked at him, it was like he’d just been stabbed in the gut. “Okay, man, sure. Maybe next time.”
Jeremy left the Starbucks praying there’d never be a next time, but something about the way Nick stared at him convinced him his prayers were worthless.
5.
It felt like he was outside of his body—an astral projection—watching from an outsider’s point of view as he sat in the waiting room, as the nurse called his name and led him down the hall, as she weighed him and assaulted him with a myriad of questions. Do you smoke? Do you drink alcohol? Do you have any STDs? Are you craving a dirty needle? Is your life utterly pathetic? How have you not killed yourself yet?
“Are you experiencing any pain?”
“Yeah. Kinda. Mm-hmm.”
“Where at?”
“What?”
“Where is the pain, dear?”
“Uh.” Jeremy wiped sweat from his eyes, palm cold and clammy. “In my penis, ma’am.”
“Oh, right. Well, just wait shortly, the doctor will be in as soon as he can.”
The nurse backed out of the examination room and shut the door. Jeremy sat down on a cot and drifted off in a haze, mentally and physically exhausted. No person could ever be this tired. It was impossible. Could the bleeding be to blame? Or the hepatitis? A deep, cosmic fatigue. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaned his head back, and ins
tantly fell asleep. The projector inside his mind played him a picture about a man much like himself waiting in line at a Starbucks. The man shared physical similarities to Jeremy but they weren’t quite the same person. The man in line did not possess flesh, but instead wore only a skeleton covered in tissue and muscle and drenched in blood. The man did not show any sign of pain, but the contrary. As he waited in line, he furiously masturbated his skin-less cock. The patrons in front of him did not seem to notice, which only increased his determination to shower them with cum. The man opened his lipless mouth and screamed, “You will all know the taste of my blood! You will all know the power of God! You will all succumb to the forever!”
The doctor knocked on the door and opened it. Jeremy woke up in the seat, covered in sweat, neck stiff from hanging in his sleep. How long had he been waiting?
“Sorry to wake you.” The doctor smirked as he grabbed a chair and sat in front of Jeremy.
“It’s...it’s okay.”
“I’m Doctor Canseco.” He held out his hand and Jeremy shook it, introducing himself. “Well, Jeremy, what seems to be the problem today?”
“Uh. Well.”
Canseco gestured at his clipboard. “It says here you’ve spotted blood in your sperm. How many times has this happened?”
“Twice. And I don’t think it was, uh, blood in my sperm as much it was no sperm at all and just...blood. Bright red blood that leaked out for about...I don’t know, five minutes straight.”
“Five minutes?” His brow bent between his eyes.
“I would say so, yeah.”
“I see.” He studied his clipboard for a moment, then returned his gaze to Jeremy. “And it’s painful? The ejaculation?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“And when you urinate? Any blood or pain?”
“No. Just when I...uh...”
“Ejaculate.”
“Right.”
Canseco nodded. “Right, okay. Please stand.” He pushed himself back in his chair to the other side of the office, grabbed a latex glove and motioned for Jeremy to come closer. “All right, drop your pants and underwear. I’m going to need to have a feel.”
Jeremy groaned and unbuckled his belt. His pants fell to his ankles and his boxers followed. Canseco grabbed at his balls and rubbed them. Jeremy refused to look down, instead training his eyes on the wall ahead, at a poster of a cartoon scrotum with the caption: SCROTUM IF YOU GOT ’EM.
“That is the worst poster I’ve ever seen.”
“It was a present from my wife.” Canseco stood and cleared his throat. “All right, Jeremy, please turn around and place your hands on the bed there. Now bend over.”
“Is—is that necessary?”
Canseco laughed. “I’m not doing this for sport, kid. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
Jeremy sighed, waiting for the inevitable, then gasped as the cold chill of lube-covered fingers probed his asshole. It only lasted a few seconds, but a second never felt so long. Canseco removed his fingers and the sensation convinced him he’d just shit in the doctor’s hand. Jeremy almost apologized before realizing the lube was merely deluding him.
Canseco tossed his latex glove in the trash and placed a box of tissues down beside Jeremy. “I’ll let you clean yourself up. Be back in a minute.”
The doctor exited the office and Jeremy cleaned himself up, feeling slightly ashamed and immensely exhausted. He wanted to go back home and crawl into bed. He should have never come here. The problem was only present during ejaculation, which meant all he had to do was stop ejaculating. Big deal. He could give it up. He could make a life adjustment. Why not?
Half a box of tissues later, the lube still refused to come off. He decided to hell with it and pulled his pants back up, then sat and waited. Canseco returned and sat across from him again and asked how he felt.
“Like you just had your hand up my ass.”
“Reasonable.”
“You didn’t even buy me dinner first.”
“I’ll send you flowers. I promise.” He cracked his knuckles, then his neck. “All right, so, straight to the point. I want you to know that this is not a serious problem you’re experiencing. Men come in from time to time reporting blood in their ejaculate, and let’s be real, it scares the bejeezus out of ’em. However, it is nothing to be too concerned about.”
“Okay...”
“Right, so, the prostate.”
“The prostate.”
“Yes. I want you to visualize a loaf of bread, okay?”
“A loaf of bread?”
Canseco nodded. “Uh-huh. A loaf of bread that’s sliced in half—which is sort of what our prostates look like. Visualize the little seeds that run through a loaf of bread. Well, the prostate has the same kind of thing going for it, although instead of seeds, these would be blood vessels. And sometimes, these blood vessels will just—for no reason, none at all—rupture. Then you’ll find yourself bleeding whenever exercising it, which yes, does include ejaculating. Honestly, it’s no big deal. It happens all the time. It seems like the end of the world only because everybody is too shy to discuss it. It’s one of those under-the-rug injuries.”
“Under the rug?”
The doctor grinned, as if hoping Jeremy would ask. “You haven’t cleaned your house in months and there’s dirt and animal hairs all over your floor. You find out your parents are coming to visit at the very last second—hell, they’re out in the driveway right now, getting out of their car. You don’t have time to vacuum, and you’re too ashamed to just leave it there, so you brush it all under your rug, hide it from view, make it your little secret.”
“My parents are dead.”
“Oh.” Canseco broke eye contact and focused on his clipboard for a moment. “Well, anyway, I’m going to write you a prescription for some good antibiotics, and basically as long as you refrain from straining yourself for the next week or so, give it some time to heal on its own, you’ll be as good as new in no time.”
As if the doctor’s words were that of a spell, the desire to shoot up drained from Jeremy’s body all at once. It’d been the dread—that paranoia—that had caused him to ache for a dose. Everything seems hopeless when you were alone. All he needed was someone else’s confidence for a change.
“Thanks, doc.”
Canseco nodded, then pointed to the cot. “Now, why don’t you bend over once more, huh? This time, I can use three fingers.”
Jeremy slowly backed out of the office as the doctor erupted with laughter.
6.
When he arrived at his apartment, he rushed into the bathroom and frantically wiped at his ass with a fistful of toilet paper. The lube refused to disappear—permanent and stigmatic. Made him sick to his stomach. He plopped down on the toilet and let himself go. His cell phone buzzed in his pants, somewhere around his ankles. He scavenged it out and read Eliza’s text message, asking how he was doing. “A little better but still not 100%,” he replied. She asked if he wanted to hang out tonight, but his instincts forced him to decline. No way could he face her yet. Meeting with her meant he’d have to tell her the truth, tell her he was a recovering addict poisoned with hepatitis—hepatitis she was most likely now infected with. She texted him a few more times, begging for him to change his mind, but he turned his phone on silent and passed out on the couch.
The first time Jeremy opened his eyes, the world was dark. He lay on his stomach across the couch and a weight pressed down on his back. It wasn’t until hot, rancid breath spilled across his neck that he realized someone was on top of him, pulling his pants down. A cold, wet lube splattered against his anus and something massive penetrated him. The pain was electricity jolting through him, from head to toe then back again. His fingernails dug into the couch’s armrest and when he opened his mouth to scream, thousands of tiny squirming creatures crawled down his throat and drowned all sound from escaping.
Behind him, a voice alien in nature roared to life: “There is nothing you can do. There is n
owhere you can go.”
The second time Jeremy opened his eyes, the world was bright. Daylight squeezed through the cracks in his blinds and lit up the living room. The alarm clock next to the couch vibrated and shouted to be put down. He punched it asleep and stumbled to the shower. The lube was still present, and he had to crank the temp extra hot to rid it from his body. Even then, he still felt it lingering inside him.
At the time clock, Amy asked him if he was dying.
“Wh-what?”
“You had a doctor’s appointment yesterday, right? That’s why you couldn’t come out for drinks with the rest of us.”
“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his head, digging for what else he told her. “Yeah, that’s right. I did. Everything looks good. No dying. At least, not right now.”
They headed toward the back of automotives. “So, what was wrong, then?”
Jeremy held in his breath.
“Oh, man, excuse me, like that’s any of my fuckin’ business, right?” Amy laughed and picked up a box of wiper fluid, inspecting its UPC. “Sometimes I kinda forget the concept of privacy, ya know? Sorry about that.”
For one insane second, Jeremy almost told her the truth. “No, it’s okay. Wasn’t anything major. Just a routine check-up.”
“A few summers ago, my uncle goes in for a routine check-up, probably just like the one you had. Everything’s fine, doc sees no issues, sends him on his way. Poor motherfucker has a heart attack walking back to his car. Dies on the spot.”
“That’s, uh, reassuring.”
She shrugged, looking down at a box in her hands like she didn’t remember why she was holding it. “I’m just saying. Nowhere’s safe. You know?”
Jeremy pushed a box of oil containers across the room, grunting more than usual. Most days, he could pick these things up without too much of a struggle. His energy drained by the minute. Soon enough he wouldn’t have the strength to stand. His body would deflate and collapse to the floor and remain there for customers to stomp upon until a custodian came by and swept him up with the rest of the dirt. Under the rug.
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