Fat Off Sex and Violence (2 page)

            “All right, here you go, Gary,” Mr. Shipley said. He handed over the Demon Emperor card, then leaned in and whispered: “One of these days, you’re gonna have to let a customer win, you got it?” He rolled his eyes as Gary plucked the card from his fingers.

            “Hey, fat ass. Guess you won’t be needing this, huh?” And Sonny tore the Elder Wizard right down the middle, tossed the two sides to flutter to the floor.

            “Hey, you asshole.” Gary ran toward the table, caught his feet on something, and fell hard. His mouth bounced off the floor and filled with blood and the taste of dust and shoe rubber. He fought back the tears that begged to spill.

            “You little shits. Get the hell outta my store.”

            Gary rolled onto his back, saw Brett standing there displaying his outstretched foot with pride. He flipped Gary the bird as the Turner twins laughed.

            A crunching pain in his hand.

            “Nggh.” Gary pulled his hand out from under Sonny’s sneaker.

            “Oh, sorry about that.” Sonny nodded toward the boys and they giggled. “Be seeing you later, masturbator.”

            They cackled like a studio audience as they exited the shop, nearly trampling Clay as he entered. “Watch it, shithead,” one of them said.

            Clay was shoved to the side—he held a deck of cards in his hand. The boy went to the same school as Sonny and his gang, though he looked far younger. Pushing his glasses up from the tip of his nose, he squinted into the shop, smiled when he saw Gary.

            Mr. Shipley walked over like he was going to help Gary up, but he just shook his head. “Even high school nerds bully you, Gary. Show some goddamn spine, man.” He moved back behind the counter, started opening boxes. “And get all that shit cleaned up.”

            “Yeah, okay.” Gary rocked himself to his knees, had to pause for a breath, then used the table to pick himself up. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, stared at the blood for a moment. Dust clung to the front of his clothing, climbed into his nose and tried to induce a sneeze.

            “What happened, Gary?” Clay bounced across the shop—always walked on the tips of his toes, which was something that annoyed the hell out of Gary.

            “You’re late,” he said. “I won again.”

            He blew air through his lips. “I knew you would. You always win.”

            “Yeah, well I could have used your help with those guys.” Gary folded the table. “Help me with this.”

            Clay set down his measly deck, started stacking the chairs. “What could I do against those guys?
You’re
bigger than them.”

            “You think I don’t know that, Clay? Damn.” He yanked the stack of chairs away, slid them across the floor.

            “Hey, don’t drag those. You mess up my floor, I’m docking your pay.”

            “Sorry.” He nudged Clay with an elbow. “Help me out, man.”

            They carried the chairs and table to the back—Gary’s shirt became polka dotted with sweat stains. Clay’s face turned red and stayed that way.

            They stood around for a while with no customers. Mr. Shipley found odd jobs for Gary to do while Clay perused the store. Clay bought a pack of Mystical cards, sat in the corner and studied them, caught a few stink-eyes from Mr. Shipley. Gary drew new scenes for
Kronos
the Destroyer,
one of them depicting his armor-clad hero driving his magical blade into the belly of a Serpent of Satan. He tried to draw a love scene between Kronos and a rescued maiden, but he couldn’t get the proportions right on the woman, and once his paper was smudged with eraser marks, he just trashed it. Clay kept trying to look over his shoulder, but Gary would shift and block his drawing, shoot Clay a dirty look.

After over an hour and no action, Mr. Shipley told Gary to beat it.

            “And when I see you tomorrow, I don’t want any bathroom incidents, got it?” His arms were crossed over his belly again.

            Gary’s face flushed and he looked at his shoes instead of the gray eyes piercing him. “Okay. It’s not what—”

            “Just drop it, Gary. And remember what I said about the next tournament.”

            “Yeah, I got it.” Gary stomped out of the shop, let the door swing back at Clay.

            Clay caught it and followed Gary into the street. The sun painted the sky with vivid purples and pinks as it descended past the horizon.

            “What did you get this time?” Clay shuffled through his cards and hopped on his toes. “Let me see it.”

            Gary pulled the Demon Emperor card out, displayed it, but pulled it back when Clay reached for it. “Just look, I don’t need your fingerprints decreasing its value.”

            Clay shrugged, smiled as he stared. “Wow, I’ve heard of that one. Did you use your Elder Wizard card to win again?”

            Gary tucked his prize back into his deck. “Yep, sure did. But that asshole tore it. Sore loser, won’t ever beat me.”

            “What did Mr. Shipley mean about the next tournament?”

            “Said he wants me to let the customers win for once.” He snorted.

            “Are you going to?”

            “Hell no. I’m the champion and the only way to dethrone a champion is to defeat him.” Gary puffed his chest out, took deep rattling breaths.

            “Yeah,” Clay said. He fumbled with his deck, looked up at Gary with one eye squinted. “You think maybe you could give me a good card for my deck? My dad won’t give me any more money and my deck sucks. Had to save my lunch money for a week to buy that last pack.” He sighed. “Says I need to stop being a pussy and grow up, get a job and stop wasting my time with kiddie games.”

            “Yeah, well…” Gary held his deck tighter. “I can’t just give you cards, Clay.”

            “Why not? I mean, I’d trade you, but I don’t have anything you want. And you have so many good—”

            “Sorry, man. You gotta work for your deck. That’s what makes it your deck, you know what I mean?” He turned and started walking away.

            “Yeah…okay. I know what you mean,” he said. “Where you going now?” His voice got smaller as Gary kept walking.

            “Home. I’ll see you later, Clay.” Gary rolled his eyes.

            “Hey, Gary?”

            “What is it, man? I already told you my comic isn’t ready. You can’t read it until it’s finished.”

            “No…it’s just…I graduate in a few months. You think maybe you could come? It’s just going to be my dad, and it’ll sound pathetic if it’s just him clapping.”

            “Jesus, you’re a senior? I don’t remember seniors looking so…young when I was in school.” He turned his back and began walking. “Sorry, Clay. No offense, but those things are boring. See you tomorrow maybe.”

            “Okay. Tomorrow. Maybe we can play some Mystical together?”

            Gary didn’t respond. His knees ached from his fall and his stomach roared. He picked at the scab on the back of his neck as he went. The Hentai comic was tucked in the back of his jeans, and he contemplated whether or not to look through it again once he got to his room.

            Almost home now, he was already thinking about what he’d grab from the fridge on his way to his bedroom. He knew Sheila wouldn’t cook anything—hadn’t cooked a decent meal since his dad left. The days of hot meals were replaced by booze and necking with her boyfriend Chester. Which is why Gary stayed in his room most of the time, drew scenes for his comic or played on his computer.

            The apartment complex was just to his left. All he had to do was cross the street and...

            The sound of shoes shuffling from somewhere up ahead. Whispers, giggles.

            Then someone stepped out of the dark, blocked his path.

            Gary tried to cross the street, avoid this stranger in the shadows, but he was blocked again.

            “Hey, fat ass. Where do you think you’re going?”

***

Gary tensed up, a slight warm trickle soaked into his underwear. “Come on, guys. I’m just going home.”

            “No you’re not.” Sonny slammed his sneaker into Gary’s groin.

            “
Humph
…” Gary tasted concrete before he knew he’d fallen. His legs kicked and he sucked for oxygen. Pain twisted into his stomach and his balls throbbed. Their laughter was just audible over the sound of his pounding pulse, and from the corner of his eye, he saw his Mystical deck get scooped up. Loose pages of
Kronos
the Destroyer
blew around, and Gary crawled over and laid himself over the remaining drawings.

            But not before Sonny snatched one of the papers from the air as it swirled by him.

            “What do we have here?” Sonny handed the Mystical deck to Brett, and then inspected the drawing. “You did this, fat ass?”

            Gary stood up, still wincing from his aching groin, his face red and sweaty. He clutched the rest of the comic to his chest. “Give that back, asshole.”

            A pair of hands shoved him hard from behind, but he kept his balance. He snorted, swallowed. His breathing became more labored, wet and thick.

            Sonny stared at the drawing, laughed, showed it to the others. “You suck at drawing, man. Really.” And he tore it down the middle, tossed it in the air.

            Gary seethed as he watched the two pieces of his ruined drawing, his favorite one of course, swirl away in the wind. Took him at least four hours to do that one. He started toward Sonny, but was shoved again from behind.

            “Fuck, man. You smell that?” one of the twins said as he screwed up his face and waved his hand over his nose.

            The other twin covered his mouth. “It’s him.”

            Sonny leaned in, took a big whiff. “Goddamn, masturbator. You smell like my dog’s asshole.”

            A chorus of laughter.

            Gary snickered. “You spend a lot of time with your dog’s ass, huh?”

            His comment was answered with a fist to his stomach. He fell backward, landed hard on his backside, struggled for air, but still managed to keep the rest of his comic tight against his chest.

            “What a fucking loser,” Brett said.

            Sonny sniffed his knuckles. “Whew,” he said. “You are such a piece of shit, you know that?”

            Gary just kept his eyes glued to the street. Sweat ran down his face and neck, dripped down his back. He couldn’t look the kids in the eye. All he wanted to do was go home, eat some junk food, and play video games. In his video game, he was a king. A king that could not be defeated by any man or beast. He was King Kronos the Destroyer. But in life…

            “Thanks for the cards, fat ass.”

Sonny spat and Gary flinched when it splattered on the top of his head, trickled down his forehead. He waited until they were walking away before he wiped it off. “Fucking dickhead.”

Rising to his feet, he grimaced at the residual pain that still twirled in his stomach and testicles. He thought about his deck of cards, the deck he’d been building for over three years. All down the drain. He knew he wouldn’t get them back, knew those little bastards were feeling pretty good about themselves for scoring the best Mystical deck in town, probably the state.

“You’re lucky you weren’t alone.” Gary mumbled. “Kick your fucking ass.”

Just for good measure, he checked over his shoulder, saw the coast was clear, then stuck up both middle fingers and waved them in the air. He collected the loose drawings that hadn’t been destroyed or lost, added them to the pile in his arms.
They may not be the best drawings in the world
, he thought,
but they’re good enough to get me a comic book deal. Then I can move away from this shitty town, start a new life.

He trudged across the street, squashed a junebug that was wiggling on its back under the streetlight, walked through the parking lot and into the complex. From midway up the concrete steps, he could already hear Chester’s drunken laughter mixed with snorting giggles from Sheila.

Please just ignore me. Please don’t say anything to me.

He opened the door, stepped in. Cigarette smoke stung his eyes and made it hard to breath. Sheila and Chester sat on the couch in the living room playing grab ass and sucking on beer bottles. Keeping his head low, Gary eased the door shut.

“Well if it ain’t the forty year old virgin.” Chester coughed out a cloud of gray smoke, a smoldering butt hanging from his lip.

Sheila chuckled, cleared her throat. “Hey, honey.”

“Hey.” Gary went straight for the kitchen, set
Kronos
the Destroyer
on the counter, and opened the fridge. The cool air felt good on his sweaty face.

“Hey, man.” Chester’s voice already had the familiar slur. “When’re you gonna start contributing around here, huh? Eating up all your mom’s food.”

“Chester, he don’t—”

“No, no. Don’t defend him, okay? I’m sick of it.” Heavy footsteps.

Gary chewed on his tongue, grabbed a Tupperware full of spaghetti. It had no top and a plastic fork sticking out of it.

“Hey, fucker. You hear me talking to you?” Chester stomped across the kitchen, grabbed hold of the fat on the back of Gary’s neck, squeezed.

“Ah, let go, asshole,” Gary said.

Sheila stumbled into the kitchen, looked like she was holding in a laugh.

“You see what he’s doing to me?” Gary said through clenched teeth.

Chester thumped him in the middle of the forehead. “You crying to your mom, pussy? Huh?”

“Okay, that’s enough. Settle down.”

“No, fuck that. He’s about to eat my spaghetti. The fat fuck is always eating all the good shit.”

“I live here, idiot. It’s our food, not yours.” Gary grimaced, squeezed his eyes shut as the pressure on the back of his neck increased. “Let me go, goddamnit!”

Chester released him with a shove.

Gary stumbled backward, slammed into the open refrigerator door. Condiments and beer bottles crashed to the floor, soaked into the back of his shirt and jeans.