Chapter 22
MORTE DEL TOPO
ZEKE
‘What just happened?’ Ahmed asks.
‘Did I hear right?’ Rex asks. ‘Kade Hammersmith is a closet case?’
‘The biggest,’ Charlie says, before glaring at me again. ‘Zeke, I can’t believe you think I would out him.’
‘You admitted it!’ I blurt out.
‘I was winding him up,’ Charlie snaps. ‘He deserves a taste of his own medicine. Good on whoever’s sending those messages. Hope it teaches him to be a better person.’
‘He’s clearly not well in the head,’ I say. ‘He doesn’t deserve that.’
Curtis grabs his phone abruptly. ‘You mean I just had a distressed, closeted boy in my house and I shouted at him to leave?’ he says. ‘Shit.’
‘Babe, for God’s sake, you can’t save every single one of them!’ Ahmed snaps. ‘We’ve been through the wringer this week. Let’s just take care of each other, rather than trying to solve everyone else’s problems.’
Curtis fobs him off, already moving for the door. ‘I have to try – I might’ve done real damage …’
Ahmed rises to his feet, knocking over his cup in the process.
Hot green tea spills all over the toast. ‘And what, you’ll invite him to live in the kennel with the rest of your rescue dogs?
’ he cries, apparently not caring that we can all hear him.
Curtis freezes in the doorway. ‘First Rex, then Charlie, then Zeke – now you want a fourth?’ Ahmed says.
‘Nice young hot muscular footy boy. You gonna fuck him, too?’
Rex stands up abruptly. ‘Uh, I might get going to the gym,’ he mutters.
‘Oh, sure, where you first met my husband and felt him up in the showers,’ Ahmed cries. ‘Oh yeah, I know, Rex. And I know about you, Charlie. And what about you?’ He turns to me, eyes wild. ‘Zeke, I assume you’ve had sex with my husband too?’
I’ve never seen Ahmed like this. I had no idea there was this seedy background to our living arrangements.
‘No, never,’ I say. ‘I swear.’
Curtis is in the doorway still. ‘I can’t let this kid get behind the wheel of his car distressed,’ he says firmly. ‘I can’t be the reason a boy like him suffers.’
‘I am distressed!’ Ahmed shrieks back at him. ‘Me! Your husband! We have been attacked from every angle all week and I’m hurt and upset and I want you here, with me, in our house. How about you try giving a shit about my feelings, Curtis?’
Curtis hesitates. ‘I love you, baby. But you’ll be fine,’ he says. ‘He might not.’ He slides his thongs on and races out the door after Hammer.
Ahmed grabs his iPhone and hurls it across the room. The phone smashes against the wall and crashes to the floorboards, screen shattered. He screams something after Curtis in what I assume is Arabic, then turns his rage on the rest of us. ‘Get out of my house, you freeloading sluts!’
Our usually tranquil and tree-lined Inglewood street is momentarily very trash.
Hammer’s storming towards his car, kicking twigs and pebbles on the path.
Curtis is running after him, bellowing at him to wait up.
Rex jumps into his Hilux, wheeling away and doing a burnout for good measure.
I unlock my car and gesture at Charlie to jump in, but Charlie pulls his middle finger.
‘What?’ I say.
‘You really thought I’d out a closeted guy?’ Charlie says, through gritted teeth. ‘Your opinion of me is that low?’
‘Charlie, the way you goaded Hammer – it’s like you wished you had done it,’ I tell him. ‘You didn’t have a lot of sympathy for him.’
‘Oh, sorry, I forgot you’re not always playing cool-footy-boy Zeke,’ Charlie sneers. ‘Sometimes you’re still weak-arse nerd Zeke, too scared to stand up to your bully. You’ll worship a closet case if he lets you suck his dick, right?’
‘You hypocrite,’ I say back.
‘Hey, you can call me a lot of things,’ Charlie says, ‘but not a hypocrite.’
‘You’re the biggest hypocrite,’ I counter. ‘You mock me for worshipping Hammer when you still think the sun shines out of Matt’s arse.’
A heavy silence falls between us. Our neighbour slides her patio door shut, either as a sign of respect for our privacy or out of fear our fight will spill into her yard.
‘Don’t you dare,’ Charlie says. ‘You never knew Matt like I did.’
‘Well, you never knew Hammer like I did,’ I attack.
‘Newsflash: Matt wasn’t that different from Hammer.
Matt wasn’t a bully, sure, but he was a masculine guy, deathly afraid to come out, just like Hammer.
He didn’t fit in, just like Hammer. You can forgive Matt for being imperfect, but not Hammer? Hypocrite.’
‘BECAUSE I LOVED HIM!’ Charlie screeches.
Tears are running down his face and he’s still holding his Vegemite toast. He looks like a crying toddler nobody has ever comforted.
‘AND HE LOVED ME! Fuck you, making fun of that. I liked you better when you were a mouse, Zeke. Playing pretend jock boy has made you as much of an arsehole as Hammer.’
‘IT’S NOT PRETEND!’
Now I’m the one shouting, fists clenched.
‘Oh, did I hit a nerve?’ Charlie smirks. ‘Good. I hope it hurts. That’s all you are. A big phony. No matter how much you play footy with the big boys, you’re still just a soft little loser. Everyone can see right through you. You’re a joke.’
The confidence footy has given me leaches out of my lungs like carbon dioxide. My fists unclench pathetically.
‘Yeah, like I said: a fake tough guy,’ Charlie says. ‘I’m going for a walk. Maybe you should find somewhere else to live, ay? Ungrateful prick.’
He frisbees his toast into our neighbour’s rose garden, plugs his earbuds in, and walks down the street away from me.
I get in my car and start driving with no destination in mind.
Perth has been a mistake. Adulthood has been a mistake. Befriending Charlie Roth was a mistake.
Both times.
I end up getting to Perth Steam Works as it opens.
I pay twenty-five bucks, get my towel and locker key from Muscle Boy Johnny, and within ten minutes, I’m on my back on a black vinyl mat in a room made of mirrors.
A forty-year-old bloke with a tattooed neck comes in and rails me.
When he asks me if he can hit me, I say yes, the harder the better.
He backhands me in the face repeatedly.
I love being punished.
It’s night-time when I get home.
The only person in the house is Rex. Curtis and Charlie are working at the bar. Ahmed’s staying the night with Kayla and Tenille.
Rex and I sit on the white sofas watching Friday Night Footy. He gets stoned and I get drunk.
‘What you doin’ tomorrow night?’ Rex asks. He holds up his phone: the black-and-yellow Grindr background is recognisable. ‘Wanna split a dude?’
‘Huh?’
‘You wanna split a dude?’ he repeats, burping. ‘I got some bottom coming round; he wants to be double-teamed. Real sub pig. You wanna spit-roast him with me?’
It’s so surreal the way he talks about splitting a bloke’s arse the way most guys discuss splitting a slab of beer.
‘Don’t think I’m free,’ I say. I am, but I’m not sure having a threeway with a housemate is a stellar idea – what if things get awkward?
‘Damn shame,’ Rex says. ‘This one really wants to be used.’
I scroll through my socials and see Sabrina has made a new post on Facebook. She’s shared Xander’s open letter about the Tool Shed, adding her own commentary:
About time someone took a stand against this bar. Congratulations @Xander.Sullivan. As an ally I believe LGBTQIA+ venues are important but there is no need for them to be vile and display pornography in public. Please sign & share! Support LGBTQIA+ venues that are safe and inclusive instead.
She’s signed off the post with a rainbow flag emoji.
My guts go ice cold. I feel like I might vomit. How could I say yes to moving back in with Sabrina when this is what she really thinks?
Allison – Shane’s new girlfriend – has left a comment on Sabrina’s post: Why are you such a prude, Sabrina?! You’re the most fake feminist I’ve ever met.
Allison’s comment has seven angry-face reacts from Sabrina, Victoria and their other friends, but three likes, and a heart react from Shane himself – who apparently hasn’t been blocked yet.
I desperately want to like Allison’s comment too.
But Ghost Zeke is in charge, so I don’t.
I pass out on the sofa, which is for the best. When I wake up on Saturday morning, I don’t have to deal with being in the same room as Charlie, who I assume is passed out in his bed.
Nor do I have to deal with Curtis or Rex or Ahmed. Everything feels so negative in this house right now. I think it’s time I did move out.
At least I still have footy. Footy’s the only thing left that makes me happy.
When I rock up to the oval, I walk to the Centurions’ usual circle. Rogan’s pumping footies up with Dom. Brick is looking at his phone. Fergus and Tommo are handballing a footy to each other. Jack’s nowhere to be seen.
I make eye contact with Mason, who’s pulling a stray thread off his guernsey and staring at the goals like he has no idea what to do with them. ‘Hey, Firetruck,’ I say gently. ‘You okay?’
Mason’s Adam’s apple bobs tellingly. ‘Not so great, mate,’ he admits. His eyes are pained. ‘Charlie’s not answering my texts.’
‘Wish I could help,’ I say. ‘We had a blue last night, too.’
‘Oh.’
‘Charlie gets like this sometimes,’ I say. ‘He pushes everyone away.’
‘I don’t get what I did wrong,’ Mason mumbles.
I don’t form a proper response, because on the sidelines of the oval, I see a slim, blonde-haired figure in a beige cardigan appear, carrying a folding chair and a takeaway cup of coffee, and I fly clean out of my body.
What the hell is Sabrina doing at footy training?
Sabrina snaps her folding chair into place a few metres from our circle. I overhear her have a short exchange with Brick, who looks mildly bemused at her presence, but adds, ‘Well, any mate of Zeke’s is welcome to support us at training, I guess!’
I try to catch Brick’s eye as I jog past him – I want to give him a sign I don’t want Sabrina here – but he’s distracted by Rogan asking him something.
I’m panting when I reach Sabrina. She’s taken the lid off her steaming latte, blowing on it.