Here I am, sitting at home… the condo, not the house. I’m letting Karen have some time to herself while I sort through some issues I’m having. Just a little stressed over work but I’m doing fine. But here I am, at home eating cold Spaghetti-O’s while listening to my answering machine. Sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by three months worth of mail, my phone, empty beer bottles and listening to Justin’s weeping voice. Most of the messages are the same. Fucking wimp. So his girlfriend died. Mine did too. What’s his point? I turn up the volume as his voice floods kitchen.nextFirst message: “JC! It’s Justin. Hey listen man, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent…. Are you there? Hello?” Click.
Fourth message: “Where the hell are you? I haven’t seen you in over a week. Are you there? Come on man, I need to talk to you.” Talk to someone who really cares, I mumble as the message continues. “It’s about Andrea. I just need some help, that’s all. Call me.” Click.
Eleventh. Doesn’t he have a life? Message: “Joey, it’s Justin. Listen, I don’t know if you know yet but Andrea is dead. And on top of that, half of my fucking house burned down. I’m over at Chris’ house right now, so if you need me, call me there. By the way, know where JC is?” Fucking dork! He called my house thinking it was Joey’s. Idiot. Maybe I should have killed him instead of Andrea.
After message thirteen, I turn off the blasted machine and head upstairs to take a shower. I spilt half the can down the front of my shirt while reaching for another beer. Way to go, Slick. While rubbing the bar of soap against my skin, I hear the phone ring again. Damn it. Now I could rush out into the bedroom, freeze my ass off, watch my dick shrink and answer the bloody thing. Or I can stay in the nice lukewarm water and play with myself just a little bit longer. I choose to play.
I turn off the water in mid-stroke as I hear the voice of Justin yell from my kitchen. Geez, I didn’t think I had it up that loud. “JC! Where the fuck are you?” He’s crying. I can hear the sobs. “I just need a fucking friend and you’re probably out getting you shit sucked like always. Damn it! Call me back! Andrea is dead! Dead! But I’m sure you really don’t give a shit about it huh? Fuck you JC! Fuck. You.” Slam.
Great, now he’s pissed at me. I hurry up jacking myself off before I leave my nice, warm safe-haven. With a towel wrapped around my waist, I head towards the kitchen, dripping water all over the carpet and tiles not really caring just as long as I get to the blasted phone. I play the message over and force myself to remember his damn number. I’m upset. No wait, I’m annoyed and furious. Yeah, when Gennie left me for Joey saying she was having his fucking kid, where was Justin for me? I bet eating his girlfriend, and I don’t mean the way I eat Karen.
Hitting the sixth number to his cell phone, a loud banging knock comes from my front door. I hate visitors. I decide to call Justin first so that I can get my boy scout badge for friendship back. I hate the twerp but I have to work with him and I hate fighting with people I don’t like. There’s no real point to it. His phone must be off. I just got his voice mail. The sweet voices of Allure and 112 fill my ears while I walk to the front door. He really should change his message, “All Cried Out” is such an old song, yet a good one. Fine, I’ll give him some credit for knowing what good music is. I’m standing beside the door, my hand on the knob as another knock comes from behind the wood. I roll my eyes as I wait for the beep.
“Justin, I was out with a few friends. I’m sorry. Call me and we’ll talk.” I hesitate as I’m about to hang up the phone and spit out another quick message. “And I’m sorry to hear about Andrea. I know how much she meant to you. It’s alright man.” I hang up, disgusted with myself because it really felt like I was sorry. I wasn’t. At least I don’t think so.
The knock comes again and I finally open the damn door. Justin, red eyes, a few days of stubble and wrinkled clothes, stands outside my door. Damn, he looks like shit. His chest is heaving up and down as he breathes, his hands are balled into fists. His bottom quivers lightly as he throws his fist into my face. I stand there and take it like an idiot. Something in me told me to take each punch he threw, I could have stopped but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. His hands start slapping me like I’m some two dollar whore until his arms wrap around me and pull me into a weak hug. I pull him closer to me and hug him back. He cries into the crook of my neck. Sobbing like a little child and I can, honestly, feel truly sorry for him.
I’m sitting in bed pondering what I had just done. A naked arm slung around my waist as the fingers strokes my side lightly. A cigarette hangs from my lips but I never move my hands to grab the lighter on the bedside table. I don’t feel like moving. My right hand’s fingers are tangled in the soft, blonde curls that Justin has been contemplating to cut for the longest time. Jesus. I just slept with my best friend… twice.
Once a few years back when we took our love for one another to the next level and just now. He’s always he bitch so I never have him go anal on me. I just suck. We’re not gay. Just… in love.
Shit. I’m in love once again.