Chapter 3 #3
Bubba arches an eyebrow at me like he expects me to apologize too. Well, fuck that. I ain’t apologizing for jack-shit. I didn’t do anything wrong.
But that isn’t really true, is it? It won’t be soon, at least. Not after I pull the prank to end all pranks.
I won’t feel bad about it, neither. Not even a little bit, because Ezra has pranked me more times than I can remember.
If he ain’t pouring bleach on my clothes when no one is looking, he’s hiding in the darkest cracks and crevices of our home with cum-filled water balloons in his hand and cruelty in his heart.
I don’t know why the fuck Little Dick Edwards over there makes it a habit of collecting his cum in water balloons, or why he feels the need to throw them at me when they’re full, but it’s fucking gross.
I’ve probably had more facials than the average gay guy gets in an entire lifetime, and I don’t think Ezra has any intention of slowing down.
He don’t have his precious balloons with him now, though, so we’ll see how he likes it when the shoe is on the other foot.
Or, in Ezra’s case, on the hot-pink cowboy boot.
“Where the hell am I supposed to sit?” he asks again.
I point at the floor. “You had the right idea a second ago.”
“The floor?” His mouth falls open. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. I was just being a cheeky boy. I assumed even you, the heartless bastard you are, wouldn’t expect me to sit in the bottom of this God-forsaken, rickety, old stack of boards, crudely nailed together.
” He spots the bucket where we usually keep the fish we catch, and he looks like he’s going to be sick.
“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is. ”
“What do you think it is?” Bubba asks.
“I can only assume it’s a portable toilet system where you relieve your bladders and empty your bowels” His cheeks puff out like he’s puking, and he covers his mouth. “I am not sitting beside a bucket of your combined poos.”
I know Ezra’s a little soft around the edges, but so am I, because the thought of having to sit next to a poop bucket makes me feel physically ill, and I wretch like I’m going to hurl. “You think we just sit around sniffing a bucketful of shit all day?”
“Don’t say stuff like that. It’s gross, Johnny.”
“You said it first,” I argue, flinging my hands in the air in frustration. “You always fuckin’ do this, man. You throw nukes, then hide your hands. You’re trying to set me up to look stupid. Bubba might not see it, but I do. I see right fuckin’ through you.”
“Oh, yeah? Can you see through this?” He flips me off.
I blink at him, because I ain’t really sure what he means. “Your fingers ainn’t see-through, bro.”
He sighs and scrubs his face with his hand, then turns and looks at Bubba, holding his hands up to his chest like the entire situation offends him. “I’m sorry, Bubba. I tried, but I cannot do this today. I simply cannot.”
“Can’t what?” Bubba asks.
“I can’t pretend to get along with Johnny. It’s like trying to have a rational discussion with a walrus.”
“See?” I say, mostly to Bubba. “Another nuke.”
Ezra glares at me. “Spell nuclear.”
“Ezra,” Bubba scolds, rearing back his hand and spanking Ezra’s ass. A little too lightly, if you ask me, considering I think he just implied I’m stupid.
“N,” I begin, but then I’m not sure if it’s an E, a U, or a double O next. I was never the best speller. I ain’t book smart, but I ain’t no fuckin’ moron. I’m just country folk.
For the first time ever, Bubba looks pissed at Ezra.
He’s looking at his precious boy toy with a clenched jaw and a bulging vein in the center of his forehead.
“That was cruel, Ezra.” It’s a voice he’s never taken with him before, all low and deep and full of anger, but there's this little twinge in my heart, wanting to tell Bubba to bring it down a notch.
Ezra stares at us like he just got caught murdering a man. “Shit. Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Because you mean it,” I bite back, my voice a little weaker than I expected.
“I might not be a good speller, but I ain’t dumb.
” Tears are welling up in my eyes, and I look out at the lake like the words meant nothing, because they shouldn’t.
People have told me I’m stupid ever since I moved out of Dunsberry, but it feels different coming from Ezra.
He’s right, of course. I ain’t real smart, and I ain’t never going to be able to match his skills at Jeopardy.
He can give Bubba so much more than I can ever hope to.
As a friend, and maybe more. He’s smart, and I’m obviously not, and now Ezra’s just said it like it was true, right in front of the man we’re fighting for.
It’s no wonder Bubba didn’t wait around for me.
I sniffle. I try not to, but it's too fuckin’ hard, and it feels like there’s a lump the size of a golf ball in the back of my throat.
“Bubs?” Ezra says. I can’t bring myself to look away from the water.
“Ezra,” Bubba says. Not Ezzy. Not Little Man.
Not his Buddy. Ezra. And it’s said with so much second-hand anger, it takes my breath away.
He’s mad. If I know my best friend like I think I do, he’s pissed.
I should take joy in the fact he’s angry on my behalf, but I’m not.
I’m just sad. Sad and so fuckin’ embarassed, because I don’t want Bubba to think of me that way, and I don’t think I want Ez to think I’m stupid, neither, no matter how true it is.
“That’s the most hateful thing I’ve ever heard you say. ”
“I know,” Ezra says, his voice small. Fragile, almost. “I fucked up.”
Bubba will forgive him like he always does, and they’ll both skirt around my hurt, because his precious boy can do no wrong. That’s what I think at least, but then Bubba’s hand touches my shoulder, and it feels like coming home.
“You’re not stupid,” he says, sounding like he really means it. “You’re not dumb, Johnny Boy.”
I don’t want the focus on me right now, because if I look into his big, kind eyes, I’ll start crying, and I’m a man.
Men don’t cry. We bottle our feelings until they boil over, and we take that anger out on our bros, beating the fuck out of each other, and then sharing a beer when it’s done.
Ezra is always crying, and I don’t want Bubba to see me as weak.
Not that Ezra’s weak. He’s one of the strongest men I know.
He’d have to be after everything his parents put him through.
“It’s fine,” I say, proud of the way I keep my voice from shaking. “I’m fine, Bubba. I’m fine.” His lips press warmly against my neck, and I have to bite my bottom lip to keep quiet.
“You’re not fine,” he says, and then he brings his voice so low I can barely hear, adding, “But I know you don’t want to break in front of him.” He kisses the side of my face, rubbing my bald head with his hand. “You’re not stupid, baby. Say it.”
I don’t want to say it, because I don’t believe it, but it’s what my best friend asked me to do, and I owe him everything. “I ain’t stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Johnny,” he repeats. I guess he knows I need to hear it again.
“Bubba?” Ezra says softly, and I growl, because he’s fucking ruining it, just like he always does. He’s always fucking here with that big personality and that big, fat, perky ass, drawing the attention to him like fuckin’ moths to a flame. “Can you give me and Johnny a minute? Please?”
“Are you okay with that, Johnny Boy?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding, refusing to look back at them. “I’m okay. I ain’t a piece of china. I ain’t going to break.”
Bubba sighs. “Okay. But when I get back here, I want smiles on both your faces, and I want this fixed. It’s one thing to tease each other or play your silly pranks, but I can’t stand here and let you hurt each other like this.”
“I know,” Ezra agrees, and then Bubba’s footsteps thud down the dock, leaving us on our own.
I look up to see Bubba heading back toward the truck. He takes a seat inside, probably staring at a picture of Ezra on his phone, staring all love-sick, I’m sure. The silence between Ezra and me is so loud, it’s like a sonic boom, and then his hand touches my arm.
“Don’t,” I warn him.
“Johnny, please look at me.”
I dab at my cheeks with my palms to make sure there aren’t any tears showing, and I slowly turn to face him. “What, Ezra? What else is there to say?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and it almost sounds like he means it.
“No. You ain’t. You’ve called me stupid enough times for me to know it’s how you really feel.”
“I’ve implied it. I’ve never actually said it.”
“Like that makes it better,” I scoff. “Do I go around shaming you for jerking off in front of everyone all the time? Do I say a fuckin’ word about the way you go through the bathroom trashcan to find the tissues Bubba uses to wipe away his cum when he jacks off?”
“We don’t speak of that. I’ve warned you several times.”
“Yeah, you did. And did I say anything to Bubba? Did I tell him I walked in and saw you licking the tissue clean?”
He shakes his head so fast it’s a wonder it doesn’t fly off. “You shut that filthy fucking mouth.”
“You ate an entire fucking load out of the trash can.”
The color drains from his face. “That was one time, and I have apologized—”
“Actually, you haven’t.”
“Okay, fine. I’ve explained it endlessly. I was low on protein, so I thought I could just use Bubba’s brotein instead. It’s a mistake I’ve paid for dearly, let me fucking tell you.”
“You can say you’re low on protein all you want, that don’t mean you need to eat cum as a supplement.
You live with three muscle bros who take their gym time very seriously.
If you wanted protein, we’ve got nine-thousand supplements in the kitchen.
You did it because you wanted to eat his load. Don’t fuckin’ deny it.”
“Okay, I won’t. I wanted to eat his cum. And do you know how it tasted, Johnny?”
“Why the hell would I want to know what his cum tastes like?”