Page 78 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
Zo glances in the direction I’m looking and turns back to me. “Friend of yours?” they ask.
“Yeah, we’re friends,” I say, hating how sad the word sounds out loud. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”
I slip out of the kitchen and make my way across the living room without giving them a chance to ask questions. I weave my way through a sea of drunk college students until I make it to the bathroom. Once again, it seems like no one here has heard of a trash can. A few red cups line the sink, some precariously stacked on top of each other. I sigh and start pushing them into the trash, which isright fucking there. One of the cups unstacks andmisses the bin, rolling onto the floor, a condom falling right on my shoe.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my irritation tempered. But when I go to bite the bullet and throw the condom away, I realize it’s... off. Whatever’s inside it isn’t any kind of liquid. It’s almost like there’s a crumpled-up piece of paper in there. I pick it up, doing my best to convince myself it’s not gross if it’s not actually used.
I turn it inside out, and fifty bucks pops out.
Maybe I get to have one thing Sasha can’t tonight. Looks like I found the money shot.
I shove the cash in my pocket and make my way back to the party. My satisfaction is almost immediately interrupted when I find Jamal and Sasha full-on making out. I’m not even upset that he’s making out with someone, but at hownot himhe seems. Jamal doesn’t party. He doesn’t do PDA. He barely drinks. I know I’ve been pushing him away for a while now, but has he really changed that much?
How many open mics have I missed by now? How many accomplishments or failures has he had without me? How many drunken kisses? All this time, someone else has been there through all those things with him, and I’ve been nowhere to be found.
I want to slap myself in the face for feeling jealous. I have no right to feel any kind of way about who Jamal kisses. He haseveryright to kiss other boys. Heshouldkiss other boys. I want him to. Want him to be happy. To find someone who can love him back out in the open. To be loved by someone who feels no shame.
But I still want to throw up.
I can still see Jamal from across the room as I get closer to the hallway, even though I’m trying not to look. He pulls away from Sasha, and right when I feel like I could throw up, puke shoots out of Jamal’s mouth instead. Right onto Sasha’s shirt.
From the distance I’m at, I can’t hear what Sasha says, but he looks disgusted, and he runs away to the bathroom.
Without thinking, I quickly grab one of the trash bins near the wall and rush over to Jamal.
He doesn’t see that it’s me holding the trash can in front of his face as he vomits into it. Doesn’t see that it’s me who’s rubbing his back and telling him to let it out.
I’ve never seen Jamal actually get drunk before. He was always the one who took care of me while I blacked out. But if it’s going to be the other way around tonight, at least it’s good that he won’t remember this in the morning.
“Did you drive here?” I ask, and Jamal wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
“Cesar?” he asks instead of answering my question, like he somehow already forgot I was here. “What are you...” Then he throws up again into the bin a few more times.
“Let’s get you some fresh air,” I say when he finally seems to be done. Not only because fresh air would do him good right now, but because he’ll be less embarrassed if he’s throwing up outside with no one to watch.
“M’kay... ,” he slurs as I pull one of his arms over my shoulder and lead him out to the front yard so we can be alone without judging eyes.
We sit on the grass in front of the curb. Well, I sit. Jamal flops down in my lap. He must be too drunk to remember he hates me right now.
“I’m so drunk...” He states the obvious, and I chuckle to myself.
“Did you drive here?” I ask again. He should probably get home, but there’s no way he can drive in his condition.
“Mmhm...”
Then Hunter comes out looking for us. “Jamal, you okay, bro?” he asks.
“He’s shit-faced,” I say. “I think I’m gonna take him home.”
“Damn,” Hunter says, disappointed. “Do you want me to drive so I can take you back here after?” he asks.
“Thanks, but nah, I’ll take Jamal’s car. Otherwise, he’ll have to figure out how to get here tomorrow to pick it up.” And I’m not really in a partying mood after seeing Jamal puke his guts out just now. Besides, my house is walking distance from Jamal’s, so I won’t need to drive home. I feel a little bad since Hunter invited everyone from group here just for me, but I’m sure they’ll have a better time without my sulking anyways.
“All right, I’m glad you still have his back. He’s lucky.” Hunter smiles a little for some reason. “Next time we’ll show up before anyone has a chance to get shit-faced, promise.” He laughs, then goes back inside.
DoI have Jamal’s back? I fucked him over so many times. It’s moreunlucky than anything that he had to meet me. I look back down at Jamal, whose eyes are half open as he stares off into the distance. He groans, eyes still closed.
“Let’s get you home, all right?”
