Fat Off Sex and Violence (3 page)

“Now look what you did. You better clean that shit up. And you owe me for the spilled beers, motherfucker.”

“Me? You shoved me, dickhead. And who’s the motherfucker in this house?” Gary tried to stand, slipped, crashed back into the door and spilled more beer.

Sheila burst out laughing, grabbed her knees and squealed. She stumbled backward, caught herself on the counter.

“I hate you. Both of you,” Gary said as he climbed back to his feet.

“Then get the fuck outta here. I ain’t never seen a grown-ass man be such a pussy in my life.”

Sheila howled, fell over and rolled on her back.

Gary stepped on the spilled spaghetti, kicked the refrigerator door shut, grabbed his drawings. “I’m going to my room.”

Chester swiped at his shoulder, missed, nearly slipped on the mess. “You’re gonna clean this shit up first.”

Gary tracked ketchup and mustard and beer across the carpet as he escaped toward his bedroom.

“Get your ass back here!”

Sorry, asshole. I’ve got important duties to attend to.

Gary trotted into his room, slammed the door, slid the four locks in place. He stood facing the door, smiling and waiting. In a few seconds, the door shook from punches and kicks.

“I’ll fuck you up, Gary. I swear to god.”

“Yeah, right. Why don’t you go suck the beer off the floor, you drunk piece of shit?”

The door nearly shook off its hinges. “You wanna live to see thirty, I suggest you move out. I ain’t going nowhere, you understand me, pussy?”

Gary peeled his shirt and pants off, backed up until the backs of his knees hit his bed, then let himself fall. The coolness of the sheets soaked into his warm skin. He leaned over, grabbed the Superman lunch pail from under the bed, yanked a Snickers bar from the stash, and tucked the pail back in its spot.

Caramel stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he worked at it with his tongue as he watched his door rattle. His molars shrieked in pain with every sweet bite, but he ignored that, was used to it. He looked toward his computer in the corner, then flipped through
Kronos
the Destroyer,
sighing as he took inventory of the missing pages. It would take hours upon hours to redo those drawings, but Gary was too frustrated to even attempt any of that right now.

But he read it again, for the hundredth time, and was pretty happy with its progress. The story line was just as good, if not better, than half the comics he read at the Rusty Dungeon, and he knew someone would publish it. It was his ticket out of Sheila’s apartment, his ticket to freedom.

Imagining himself escaping his current life forced him to reach for his drawing pencils and get to work. King Kronos stood in the Forest of Forgotten Souls, swinging his mighty sword at a group of goblins surrounding him, beheading the lead goblin that had an uncanny resemblance to Sonny.

—2—

Gary looked into the mirror hanging from his closet. He hated mirrors, hated what they showed him. The fat of his belly bunched up as he grabbed hold of it, gave it a good shake and counted the seconds it took for it to stop jiggling—too many.

            He reached behind his head and scraped his nail across the fresh scab on the back of his neck until he peeled it free, then bent it over and over until it broke, tossed it to camouflage into his carpet.

            A cool breeze weaved into the room from the open window. Though he didn’t feel he had time to clean his room, he never got used to the odor in there, figured if he kept his window at least cracked, some of the floating smell would escape into the world and do its part to speed up global warming.

            He walked across the room, sat in his computer chair by the window and peered out. His eyes cut across the hallway and locked onto the window opposite his. The silhouette of the girl moved back and forth, her curves clearly visible, and Gary’s pants grew tighter. Just imagining his blond bombshell neighbor caused his hands to shake, his pores to open wide and spit sweat all over him.

            There was just the slightest part in her curtains, and as her shadowy figure walked by it, Gary would get a quick glance of flesh, pink and soft and beautiful. He bit his lip, gripped the armrests on his chair. It didn’t look like her boyfriend was home, that lucky bastard. Living a dream and probably took it for granted—Gary hated that asshole’s face.

            Then the curtains flew apart. And she stared right at him, mouth agape, eyebrows slanted.

            Gary did his best to pretend he wasn’t looking in at her, that he was just observing…what, the hallway? His face cooked in its own juices, burned bright red. “I…I…uh.” He knew she couldn’t hear him, but he sat there frozen, not knowing what to do with himself.

            He didn’t need to hear her to read “fuck you” on her lips, pink and plump. She flipped him off and slammed the curtains closed.

            Gary slid his window shut, and just before he turned the blinds down, the boyfriend stepped into sight, glanced at Gary before he rapped his knuckles against the girl’s door.

You lucky bastard son of a bitch!

Gary hopped up, staggered to his bed, fell face-first into it.

           
Oh my god, I’m such a fucking idiot.

           
His deepest darkest fantasies always starred the blond neighbor. Every one of them. Even when he looked at Hentai, he sometimes imagined it was just a cartoon rendering of the neighbor girl, wide-eyed and ample-breasted.

            He never fooled himself into believing he had any kind of chance with her, but he didn’t want her thinking he was some pervert peeking in on her. Which, really, was true, but she didn’t need to know it. A sudden wave of panic smothered him as he imagined the girl’s boyfriend breaking into his room through the window and kicking his ass for peeping in on her.

            His hands covered his warm, damp face as he shook his head. The fan in his computer hummed, and he shrugged, dragged himself back to his computer chair.

            The screensaver disappeared as he rolled his mouse. He cracked his knuckles, doubleclicked on the World of Fantasy icon, and melted into another world—a world where he was king, where he reigned supreme.

***

The next day was a Saturday, and Gary woke up already late for work.

            “Shit.”

            Without bothering to shower or brush his teeth, he grabbed some wrinkled clothes from the hamper and threw them on, crept into the hallway outside of his room. He half-expected Chester to be waiting for him, but when he heard the deep snores rocketing from his mother’s bedroom, he knew he was safe.

            The mess on the kitchen floor had been cleaned up, and he felt a pang of guilt knowing it was Sheila that had to do it. He checked the time on the microwave clock.

           
I’m already late, might as well eat something.

           
He was midway through a bowl of Fruity Pebbles when he heard the bedroom door swing open. Abandoning his breakfast, he trotted to the front door and eased it shut before jetting down the stairs and toward the Rusty Dungeon.

            Mr. Shipley was supposed to be getting the new issue of Spider-Man today, so Gary had an extra pep in his step. Even though having to work was a pain in the ass, he always got to read the new comics first, always got first dibs on game pieces. He knew Mr. Shipley was going to be angry, was going to give him an earful, but it was nothing new. Gary would just nod, apologize, promise to do better, just like always.

            He had decided to leave
Kronos
the Destroyer
at home today, didn’t want another run in with Sonny, Brett, and the twins. Not only because he feared for the safety of his drawings, but also because he didn’t want to hear any more unwelcome criticism.

            But when he stepped up to the Rusty Dungeon and peered in through the windowpane, his stomach dropped and his hands shook as he reached for the door handle.

            “What, what the hell is going on?”

            Mr. Shipley’s eyes popped up from the catalogue in his hands, showed no sign of surprise or worry. “You’ve been replaced.”

            Gary locked eyes with Sonny who stood on the other side of the counter wiping the glass surface down with a paper towel. The new Spider-Man comic lay open beside him.

            Sonny only smiled, his eyes ping-ponging between Gary and Mr. Shipley.

            “Replaced? By this asshole?” He slammed his palm against the counter, leaving a milky streak. “Why?”

            The catalogue slammed onto the glass top as Shipley stood from his stool and marched toward Gary with an outstretched finger. “Why? Are you kidding me?”

            Gary backed away, though he tried to keep his facial expression stern.

            “You’re worthless. You walk around like everyone owes you something, like you’re better than everybody. But for what? What have you done to deserve any kind of respect, huh?”

            Gary collided with the wall behind him and Mr. Shipley’s finger prodded his chest.

            “I’m sick of dealing with your bullshit. Always whining about working, always showing up late, always jacking off in the goddamn restroom. You didn’t show up on time today, and Sonny here was at the right place at the right time.”

            Brett and the Turner twins stood toward the rear, flipping through comics and giggling.

            “Come back tomorrow and pick up your last check. You’re fired. And if you ask me, it’s long overdue.” He pressed his finger harder into Gary’s chest, so hard Gary thought his lung was punctured. “Now get the fuck out of my store.”

            Gary’s tongue was a dried slug in his mouth, and he realized his mouth was hanging open. Mr. Shipley began to swim in the tears filling Gary’s eyes, and no matter how hard he tried to suck them back in, one escaped and dripped down his cheek.

            “Oh, look at the wittle fat ass cwy baby,” Sonny said, and even Mr. Shipley joined in on the laughter that ensued.

            “You’ll all pay for th-this…fuck all of you!” Gary bumped a comic rack as he ran out, knocked it to the ground in a flood of colored glossy paper. As he escaped into the parking lot, Mr. Shipley shouted something about docking pay, but Gary just ran, didn’t look back.

            “Gary!”

            He didn’t slow, just kept running. There was no destination in mind, just away from the Rusty Dungeon.

            “Gary! Hey, Gary, wait up!” Clay’s voice.

            Gary turned his head but never slowed. “Not now, Clay.”

            But the little shit was quick, caught up to Gary, then jogged beside him with a stupid grin widening his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be working? Are you gonna play in the tournament today?”

            “I quit that stupid job,” Gary said as he turned a corner and leaned on the brick wall to catch his breath. “The Rusty Dungeon can…eat shit. And Shipley…can kiss…my ass.”

            Clay shoved his glasses back up his nose, squinted. “But what about—”

            “Just shut up, Clay, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “Okay, sorry.”

            Gary plopped down on the sidewalk and wiped the sweat from his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. The cotton was soaked with an old gym sock flavor. Clay sat Indian-style beside him.

            “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

            “Well, I was going to the Rusty—”

            “Just…nevermind. God.”

            “You hungry?”

            Gary glanced up at the ten bucks waving from Clay’s hand. “I guess so.”

            “I begged my dad so much, he finally gave in and gave me ten bucks for a new Mystical pack. But we can get some burgers if you want instead.”

            Gary snatched the bill away. “Let’s go.”

            As they dawdled toward Sandy’s Burger House, Gary fumed. Clay chattered away like a gossiping school girl, but it was just background noise. All Gary could hear was the pounding of his pulse, all he could see was Sonny’s silver grin from behind the counter. The dot in the middle of his chest still stung from Mr. Shipley’s finger.

           
Fucking assholes, all of them.

           
He clenched his teeth and squeezed his thumbs in his fists.

            “…gonna get?”

            “What?” They stood in line at Sandy’s and it was more the smell of sizzling meat and salty fries that snapped Gary out of his trance than Clay’s voice.

            “What are you gonna get?”

            Gary stepped up to the cashier and ordered a double cheeseburger, large fries, and an extra large soda. That left Clay with a whole two fifty for his self.

            “Just a plain hamburger,” he said, shuffling his feet and squinting.

            Gary didn’t say a word as he scarfed down his food like a high-powered vacuum. A meaty belch gurgled from his throat and he wiped his greasy hands off on his shirt.

            “Since you don’t have to work today,” Clay said as he peeled a soggy piece of lettuce from the yellow burger wrapper and popped it into his mouth, “you think we can play Mystical? Just me and you?”

            Gary thought about his deck, divvied up among the Rusty Dungeon groupies. A shudder ran through his body and he sat up straighter. “No, I think I’m done with that game.”

            “Done? But, but you can’t be done. You’re the champion.”

            “Yeah, well, I’m retired.”

            Clay crumbled his burger wrapper into a ball and squeezed it like a stress reliever. “Well maybe I can come to your place and you can show me your World of Fantasy character you’ve been talking about. Or maybe I can finally get a sneak peek at your comic?”

            “Nah, I don’t really feel like it, Clay.”

            “Yeah…okay.”