When I hadn’t seen him in some time, and he was suddenly married, it made sense that something was up. He was fat, and even though he always bragged about his nine-inch pecker, a previous girlfriend of his told me he lied and his penis fell just short of average.
So when I found out Ben was married, at first I couldn’t believe it. I had to meet this new chick. My own girlfriend, Lacey from LA, was out with some friends that night, so I drove myself to Ben and Christy Boyd’s Section 8 apartment in Wellesley, MA.
His apartment was located behind a used car lot. I parked in a Dunkin Donuts parking lot. It was still daylight when I got there. As I’d never seen his new apartment, he agreed to meet me outside the Dunkin Donuts. I saw him there, and he waved me over.
“Long time no see,” he said.
“Wait till you meet her,” he said.
We cut through a line of thick, bushy trees and entered a patchy field. His building was three-stories. We walked through the field and came to the residents-only parking lot and he punched in the passcode and the door buzzed and I followed him in. Up on the second floor was where he lived.
On the way, we passed his neighbor just leaving and Ben said: “This is Frankie.”
“Sup,” said Frankie.
“Frankie’s a major pot head,” said Ben.
“Cool,” I said. “So you two must have a lot in common, then.” I chuckled.
We entered his apartment and that’s when I met Christy. Christy was kinda chubby, with short orange hair. As always, Ben was loaded with booze and we drank the booze and chatted and laughed.
Eventually Frankie came over and we smoked pot in his water bong.
Everything was real crazy and details went missing like slots of time had vanished and I sat on the beanbag chair and Ben and Frankie sat on the couch as Christy lay on the floor beside me. She kept smiling at me and we might have even been flirting and Ben had no idea.
Eventually I decided to leave. But of course, Christy wanted me to stay.
“Please stay,” she said, grasping my arm.
“I really gotta go.”
“I’ll see you again some other time.”
I went down the stairs, through the front door, around the building, through the trees, and I came out surrounded by cars. There were cars everywhere. I wandered left and right, back and forth, searching for my own car. It was almost impossible with all these other cars everywhere.
I sat down on the grass and stared off into the sky. The stars were like pixels and the sky was moving like TV static.
Fuck! I had no idea where I was.
I stared off into the sky for a moment longer, until I looked to my left and saw the Dunkin Donuts sign and I remembered that was where I had parked my car. I staggered between the rows of various used vehicles until I reached the end of the used car lot and I hopped into my own car and left.
When I got home, I called Lacey. I was shitfaced. I could have just told her the truth about what had happened, but for some reason—I don’t know why I did it—I lied to her.
I said: “I met Ben’s new wife tonight.”
“How is she?” Lacey asked me.
“We had sex,” I told her.
Lacey was furious.
I was hammered.
I went through the kitchen and started to head downstairs, when I tripped and slammed my face through the wall at the bottom. I lay there in a heap of discomfort.
My dad must have heard the noise, because I saw him at the top of the stairs, looking down at me. He shook his head in disapproval and then he was gone.
The next day, Lacey came over to drop off some stuff I had left at her dorm. She was going to break up with me.
But when she walked in the door, first thing she saw was my face. It was covered in bruises and cuts and dried-on blood.
“Jesus!” she said.
I told her the truth about what had happened—now that I was sober and much more rational. For some reason she forgave me for what I had done….
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