Cupid Painted Blind by Marcus Herzig

Author:Marcus Herzig
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Bullying, School, Young Adult Fiction, Interpersonal Relations, United States, Juvenile Fiction, Cleft Lip, JUV060000, LGBT, Gay Fiction, California, Homosexuality, Athletics, Coming Out, Friendship, Facial Deformities
Publisher: Marcus Herzig
Published: 2016-10-20T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

It’s a chilly night for October, so I’ve buried my hands deep the pockets of my pants. I’m shivering, but the cold helps me to sober up. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing, because the clearer my mind becomes, the more I’m horrified by what happened. Maybe I should have another couple of drinks and kill another couple of thousand brain cells. I wish the physical effects of alcohol would wear off more quickly than the mental ones. I’d rather be oblivious to tonight’s events than be unable to walk in a straight line without stumbling over my own feet every other couple of steps.

Sandy is walking next to me, steadying my gait with one hand whenever necessary while working her phone with the other, trying to get a hold of El Niño.

“Fonso! Where the hell are you? Call me back, this is an emergency.”

She groans and puts the phone back in her pocket.

“If he’s on the Xbox, he’ll be wearing headphones,” I mumble. “That’s why he doesn’t hear his phone.”

She looks at me. “Should I take you to his place now?”

“No!” I blurt out. Startled by the loudness of my own voice, I tone it down a notch. “No. Not yet. He can’t see me like this. I need to sober up first.”

“So where do you want to go? It’s kinda cold.”

I stop and rub both her arms. “Oh my God, Sandy, I’m so sorry! Are you cold? You want my jacket? I can give you my jacket. I don’t mind. I don’t want you to be cold!”

“Matthew,” she says. “You’re not wearing a jacket.”

I look at myself. “Oh my God, where’s my jacket?”

“Were you wearing a jacket when you got to Jack’s?”

I think for a moment. “No?”

“There you go.”

We keep on walking down the deserted street.

“I’m so sorry, Sandy.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” she says. Then she points across the street. “Looks like Milo’s still up.”

I turn my head. A hundred meters away, the Korova is brightly lit.

I can go a hundred meters in 12.5 seconds.

“Oh my God, coffee!” I say. “I so need some coffee.”

Without further ado, I let go of Sandy, turn around and start crossing the street.

“Watch out!” Sandy shrieks, but by the time her shriek registers with me, it’s already being drowned out by the screeching tires of a braking car. I turn my head and stare into its beaming headlights. Blinded, I take a step back, stumble, and fall backward. My butt hits the ground the moment the car comes to a halt just inches in front of me. Hyperventilating, my heart pounding heavily in my chest, I push my hands and feet against the ground, trying to get up, but I’m too drunk to coordinate that many limbs, so I just move backward three or four feet in an awkward crab walk before I collapse. I try again, but now Sandy is kneeling down next to me, and putting her arm around my shoulders, pinning me down.

“Matt! Oh my God, are you okay?”

I shake my head, but it’s not in response to her question.

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