Fat Off Sex and Violence (9 page)

            He tore his clothes off, looked down at his groin. The curly mess of brown hair was dreadlocked with the two girls’ juices. His penis stiffened, barely stuck out past his unkempt bush as he replayed his sexual adventures over and over in his mind. He leaned against the wall and laughed as he thought about the pandemonium at Saint Ignatius.

            Stepping into the shower, he moaned as the hot water rushed over him. He tilted his head back, shut his eyes, exhaled deep as the previous day and night melted off him and swirled into the drain. His mouth opened, filled with water, spat it out. The pubic mess grew heavy as it soaked up the water, and when Gary opened his eyes, he saw Chester’s electric shaver sitting on the soap dish just in front of him.

            The shaver buzzed, choked on the water. When he slid it across the hair, it struggled, nearly died, but shaved a stripe through the tangled nest. He snickered as he shaved the rest, then set the shaver back where he’d found it, the matted hair still stuck to it. Gary decided not to clean it off.

            He looked down at himself, could actually see his dick now. Still small, unimpressive, but it did look better without the forest of pubes to hide under. Not that it mattered anymore how big he was—the girls wouldn’t care.

            As he stood there, enjoying the warm spray, his knees began to wobble, his eyelids became heavy. He sat on the shower floor, leaned against the tile wall, and let the water rain down on him. His head bobbed forward and he relaxed his chin on his chest. Before he knew it, he’d drifted off.

***

Thump…thump…thump.

            Gary flinched awake, gasped, swallowed a mouthful of water and choked. He reached up, cut the water off, eased up to his feet. His fingertips and toes had become prunes, and his dick had retreated into his body.

            As he stepped out of the tub, he cocked an eyebrow and listened. There was a rhythmic thumping…coming from the living room.

           
Oh shit, now what?

           
He wanted to call out to Mary Jane, make sure she was okay. But just in case she was hiding, he didn’t want to blow her cover. If Sheila and Chester were home, they probably wouldn’t take kindly to him bringing a little girl there.

            As he dried himself off, the thumping continued. Then a woman’s voice. Moaning…screaming. Sheila’s voice.

            He wrapped the towel around his waist, eased the bathroom door open.

Orange light.

No…

His feet were still wet, and he nearly slipped when he stepped onto the kitchen tile.

            “Fuck…yeah.” Chester’s voice, the couch squeaking. “You fucking bitch. Take that…take that…”

            “Mary Jane?” Gary didn’t need to see it, already knew what waited for him when he turned the corner.

            Mary Jane sat in the middle of the living room floor, facing the couch…where his mother was gripping her ankles, ass in the air. Chester stood on the couch, one hand gripping a handful of her hair, pulling, tilting her face toward the ceiling, the other hand gripping her hip. His cock went in and out of her ass hole with violent thrusts. She screamed with each penetration.

            “Mary Jane, what the fuck are you doing?”

            She didn’t turn to address him, just stuffed herself full of the sex floating around her.

            Chester looked up, locked eyes with Gary for a moment. He grinned, stuck his tongue out like Gene Simmons, then pumped even harder. “You fucking like that, bitch? I’ll fuck your son next, you hear me?”

            Gary flinched at the ferocity of the words. The air smelled of shit, and just knowing it was Sheila he was smelling, Gary’s hatred for Chester, hatred for everyone, erupted.

            He stomped toward his bedroom, kicked the door open. His fingers flexed into fists and his skin spewed sweat. A Punisher sweatshirt was yanked from a wire hanger, and he pulled it on, scooped up a pair of jeans, yanked them over his legs. He swung the strap of the bag holding his comics over his shoulder, then dug to the back of the closet, amongst the boxes and various junk.

            And found his samurai sword.

He’d ordered it from Mr. Shipley’s catalogue at the Rusty Dungeon, used four paychecks on it. Raw power surged through his palms every time he held it, and just thinking about Chester behind his mother in the other room made him reach out, grab the hilt, and stomp back to the living room.

            Mary Jane’s eyes had faded and she looked ready to pass out. She chewed lazily, blinked like she was drugged.

            Chester sat down now, Gary’s mother on her knees between his legs…sucking, cleaning him off.

            “Let her go, you son of a bitch.” Gary stepped past Mary Jane, held his sword at his side.

            Chester only smiled, puckered his lips and blew a kiss at Gary.

            And then his idiotic expression twisted into a sneer. Sheila pushed away from Chester, gagged, looked around the room with rapid blinking eyes, gagged again.

            From just behind him, Gary heard the snores. And then from just in front of him, he heard the growl.

            “You little motherfucker.” Chester hopped up, his erection bobbing as if agreeing with his rage. He shoved Sheila aside, came at Gary with fists at the ready.

            “Stay back,” Gary said. The sword shook in front of him.

            “What you gonna do, huh? Ninja me to death?” He lunged, teeth bared.

            Gary thrust forward, gasped when the tip of the blade slid into Chester’s left thigh. The flesh sucked the metal into it—blood gurgled out. Chester stared down at it for what seemed like a whole minute before he finally groaned and grimaced.

            “You stabbed me…you fucking stabbed me.”

            “Gary, what are you doing?” Sheila had one arm covering her breasts while she pulled her shorts on. “What’s gotten into you?”

            The sight of the blood bubbling out from where his blade still stuck sent shivers up Gary’s back. He pushed harder—Chester screamed.

            “Both of you shut up,” he said. “Things are different now. I’m the master, the fucking king of the world.”

            “I’ll f-fuckin…ngghh.”

            Gary twisted the blade just slightly. “I said shut up, asshole.” He yanked the blade out, held it over his head as if to split Chester’s head in two. “Get the fuck back.”

            Chester hit the floor, pressed his hand to his wound. Sheila grabbed him and they stared up. Chester bared his teeth.

            Gary walked around them, picked Mary Jane up by the fat on the back of her neck.

            “Who is this little—”

            “Shut your mouth, Sheila. You turned your back on me…your own son. For this piece of shit!” Gary pointed at Chester with the point of the blade. “I should kill him right now.”

            It was as if the old Gary came roaring back into his mind, and all of a sudden, he was weak again, scared. He looked down at Chester, the bleeding leg, looked at the sword in his own quivering hand, and he wanted to leave, wanted to run away and never look back again. Warm tears poured from his eyes and the whole apartment swam in his vision.

            He turned, sword in one hand, Mary Jane in the other, and ran out the front door. A small part of him wanted to jab the sword into the feedling for using his mother to feed on like that, for making Gary see it, smell it.

            But those thoughts shut off at once when he saw his neighbor looking through her window at him. Her eyes went from his sword with the dripping red tip to the girl hanging limp from his other hand. She slammed her curtain shut, and Gary knew she was going for her phone again. He thought about storming into her apartment and handling her like he had the last two girls, but he wasn’t in the mood. All he wanted to do was be alone in the woods, away from everyone in the world.

            He took off down the steps, didn’t look back as he ran toward his safe place.

***

Gary panted as he zigzagged through the trees. When he reached the clearing, he dropped Mary Jane and collapsed. On the journey, he’d caught curious glances from every person he’d passed, but he never made eye contact, just kept pushing, pumping his legs as hard as they’d go. He saw lots of cell phones being pulled from pockets.

            The taste of grass and dirt filled his mouth as he lay on his stomach and wheezed. His sadness spilled out like hot vomit no matter how hard he tried to keep it down. He sobbed, turned the dirt under his face into mud with his tears and saliva.

           
I’ll never go back home again. This is my home now.

           
Mary Jane just snored. She’d doubled in size since Gary’s first run in with her: face rounder, arms and legs plumper, torso inflated.

            A rustling behind him. Gary rolled over, sat up. He ran his arm over his face, wiped the tears and snot away.

           
Oh God, it’s the cops. Someone called the cops and they found me.

           
He grabbed his sword and Mary Jane, ran around the other side of the rowan tree, covered them the best he could with broken branches and leaves.

            Then he rounded the tree. He wished it was the cops.

            Gary backpedaled for a moment, staring dumbfounded. He spun on his heels to grab his sword, but even with a limp, Chester was too fast. A hard fist caught the back of Gary’s head and he crashed to the dirt, face nearly smashing into the tree. Black dots danced and weaved in his vision.

            “Just me and you now, you fat fuck.”           

            Chester kicked Gary in the stomach—the air exploded out of him. Gary rolled over, clutched his belly, sucked for oxygen that wouldn’t come.

            “Not so tough without your ninja sword, huh?” Gary caught a mouth full of knuckles, then another. The pain was so intense, he couldn’t scream, could only stare at his attacker with blurred vision. Blood filled his mouth, choked him—shards of teeth floated in it. “Get up. Get up and fight me like a man, you chickenshit motherfucker.”

            The next thing Gary knew, he was on his feet, the front of his sweatshirt balled up in Chester’s fist. His legs wobbled under him, threatened to give out and let him taste the dirt again. Then another explosion of pain—his nose cracked.

            The world went black then. Gary thought the ground slammed against his back, but he couldn’t be sure. When he tried to breathe, he choked, nearly drowned. As his vision cleared, he saw the sun above him, thought he felt its warmth basting him.

            Then it was Chester’s face, his eyes hard and bloodshot, his mouth twisted. As Gary was yanked back to his feet, he realized the warmth was his own blood coating his face, his piss soaking his pants.

            He thought about calling out to Mary Jane, asking her to make it all stop. But what could she do? Even if she was awake, her influence might make things worse.

           
I’ll fuck your son next…

           
Gary heard the words over and over in his head.

            “If you ever come back to the apartment, ever try to interfere in our lives again, I’ll fucking kill you.” Fist to the stomach. “You understand me?”

            Gary stayed on his feet, doubled over, clutching his mid-section. He saw the red stain on Chester’s jeans over his thigh. Then he fell backward, cracked his head against a tree root.

            He heard Chester spit, and a thick wad slapped Gary in the side of the face, ran down into the corner of his mouth. It mixed with the blood that ran out of him, into the dirt.

            Gary wanted to feel relieved when he saw Chester retreating back into the woods, but he could only feel the hurt. The pain was everywhere, and it was worse than Gary ever thought possible. All he could do was weep and try to breathe.

            And that’s when the earth started to shake.

—9—

Gary spat a red wad into the dirt, gripped a tree root for support, yanked his hand away.

            Hot. The ground rumbled.

            “M-mary Jane?” It hurt to speak, hurt all over. Gary rose to his hands and knees, crawled away as quickly as his aching body would take him.

            The earth cracked at the base of the tree, just as it had before. Red light shone out, made the woods look coated in blood.

            And then the hands burst from the dirt. Pale like Mary Jane’s, the fingernails black.

           
Another feedling?

           
Gary didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified, but at that moment, the latter took over. He tried to rise to his feet so he could run away, but it hurt too bad. A cry belted from his throat, and he nearly vomited from the pain.

            Then Mary Jane walked out from behind the tree. She took one look at the red light and grinned wider than Gary had seen yet, jumped up and down and clapped and giggled. “Yippie, yippie. You released him!”

            Gary winced. “R-released…
him?
”

            “My brother,” she said.

            The boy’s head popped out of the ground, mouth wide, like a great white breaking the surface of the ocean. When he ripped himself free of the soil and grass roots, he stretched, yawned, then was tackled by Mary Jane.

            The red light shining from his eyes showed the black substance floating in the air around them, like storm clouds swirling around. The rotten egg scent that wafted from the boy’s body dwarfed that which emanated from Mary Jane.

            “I’ve missed you,” Mary Jane said. She kissed him on the face, and though the boy smiled, he shoved her away.

            “I’m starving.” His voice was rough, deep. He nudged Mary Jane aside, glanced up at Gary. “Hello, Master.”