chapter two The Chaos That Is My Sex Life
chapter two
The Chaos That Is My Sex Life
The worst part about being in a hospital is the smell: a malodourous mix of bleach floor cleaner, antiseptic, and sick people.
After that, I’d say it’s the lighting; the overhead flickering fluorescents make me feel like a bug under a microscope. The
third worst part is the uncomfortable chairs, with the rigid plastic making your ass go numb after sitting for only five minutes.
And being that this is Canada, if you find yourself in a situation where you need the emergency room, you can usually expect
to be sitting there for several hours. But hey, at least it’s free. I suppose most people’s least favourite part of going
to a hospital is the actual reason they’re there.
The woman beside me, Olsen’s sister, does not look pleased with the unfortunate turn her evening has taken.
She’s already had her nose looked at. The cartilage is bruised but, thankfully, not broken.
The bleeding has stopped and there are the beginnings of some wicked purple spreading under her eyes and around her nose, along with the leftovers of blood dried in the creases of her face, neck, and arm.
Her pullover sweater is ruined, permanently marred by rusty brown stains.
My foot has been stitched and bandaged, none the worse for wear. Considering this whole mess was my doing, I came out of it
relatively unscathed.
As for Olsen, he’s still in surgery. I figured I’d wait for him to come out and check on him before leaving. Apologizing for
this whole mishap is the least I can do since he was an unsuspecting victim to my terrible luck. As soon as he approached
me, I should have sent him packing. Thanks, but no thanks. You don’t want any part of this. But I’d been selfish, wanting the warmth of someone’s kiss and touch, to not spend yet another night alone. And he was so
goddamn perfect. I guess I thought, just for a second, I could have someone like him.
But look where that got me. Us.
I glance at the woman next to me, who remains laser focused ahead at a blank wall. “I’m Aubrey, by the way.” I reach my hand
toward her as if to shake it, then think better of it and pull my hand back, but then I don’t want to seem rude so I thrust
it out again.
The woman’s gaze flicks to my hand, then returns to the wall she’s studiously studying. “Lex.”
I regard her for a moment. “Lex. Just Lex? Not like, Lexi? Lex . . . Luthor?”
Her mouth twitches slightly, though from amusement or irritation I can’t be sure. I lean back in my seat, the plastic protesting,
and join her in staring at the wall. We sit in silence for another long moment. A patient is wheeled in and out in a stretcher
laden with wires and tubes. Muffled voices talk over the speakers in code. An old lady coughs into her handkerchief.
I blow out a long breath of air. “I’m really sorry about this. I’m sure this is the last thing you wanted on a Thursday night. I took a gamble with Olsen and sort of expected something like this to happen to him—to us—but you got caught in the crosshairs. And I’m sorry.”
Lex looks over at me, directing her intense focus to my face. I shift under her scrutiny. Her eyes are blue like Olsen’s,
but not large and vast like an ocean. Hers are sharp and penetrating like a cold blade. Her features are similar to his, too,
but everything is smaller, more defined, and with an accusatory edge. Same shade of brown hair too, shoulder-length and plain.
She looks like the type of person who doesn’t take shit from anyone.
“What do you mean?” she asks simply. Her voice alone would tell me she and Olsen are related. It’s as if someone took the
same instrument and raised it an octave while retaining all the resonance and warmth.
I don’t usually tell people this, but time will go by faster if I can keep her talking. Besides, I’m never going to see her
again. “It’s a curse.”
Her eyes narrow. “What?”
“I’m cursed,” I repeat with a shrug. “All of my romantic endeavours end up being super awkward. Always have been, and probably
always will be. I’m just sorry you got caught up in the chaos that is my sex life.”
Lex shakes her head. “It can’t be that bad.”
“This is the fourth time I’ve had to go to the hospital for a sex-related injury.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “What!”
“Yep.” I nod sagely. “But this is worse than the time a guy with a foot fetish tried sucking on my toes and it triggered a
weird reflex and I kicked him in the chest. Fucked up his pacemaker. I thought he was having a heart attack.”
Lex’s eyes widen. “Wow, that’s—”
“This is even worse than the time we used coconut oil as lube and the dude had an allergic reaction to it. His penis swelled
up so bad I thought it was going to burst.”
Her lips twitch in revulsion.
“And believe it or not, this is even worse than the time this guy wanted to reenact his favourite porno and we got his bowling
trophy stuck in his—”
Lex raises her hands. “I get it! Wow.” She shakes her head as if to rid herself of the unsettling image.
“So, yes.” I clasp my hands together. “I’m cursed.”
“I agree that’s all terrible, and I’m sorry that happened, but you’re not cursed.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.” She gives me a look fit for an irritating toddler. “Curses aren’t real.”
I squint. Is she really going to argue with me about this? “Pretty sure they are. Trust me. I have lots more evidence where that comes from.” I raise my finger and prepare to launch into another story.
Lex stops me by reaching out and grabbing my hand. “Please, don’t.”
I look from Lex, to her warm hand clasped around mine, and back. She drops her hand and tucks it between her thighs. “Not
to offend you,” she says, “but curses aren’t real, just like magic, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, et cetera.”
Did she literally just say et cetera? “We figured out germs were real before we could see them, we just lacked the tools to measure and study them. And the guy
who came up with germ theory was rejected so badly that he ended up having a nervous breakdown and getting imprisoned and
then dying from a wound caused by an infection from the very germs nobody else believed in.”
Lex regards me for a long moment, as if digesting this factual tidbit.
“Trust me,” I continue. “I’ve been stuck with this curse for years. It’s real whether you believe in it or not.”
She shakes her head, then reaffixes her gaze onto the wall ahead. “Whatever.”
The silence that settles over us is, of course, very awkward. Because even here, after everything I’ve already been through
tonight, I can’t escape the damn curse.
Finally, a nurse approaches us. We both stand, me wincing on my injured foot. “He’s awake. Surgery went well and he’ll make
a full recovery. I’ll take you to him.”
Lex and I follow the nurse down a corridor. She opens a door to her left and gestures the two of us inside. I step aside and
let Lex in first, since she’s next of kin and I’m just some random stranger who tried, and failed, to have sex with her brother.
The room is dimly lit, curtains drawn with a lamp beside the hospital bed. One of the machines in the corner is beeping quietly,
various tubes and cords coming out of it and extending to Olsen’s body. He’s laid out with plain sheet covering him, and it
looks like there’s extra padding over his lower half. Generally, a tent in that area is exciting, but not in this case.
Lex approaches the side of the bed and takes Olsen’s hand. “Hey! How’re you feeling? Are you in pain?”
Olsen gives his head a subtle shake. He swallows slowly, then speaks, his voice hoarse and cracking. “I’ve been better.”
“Did the doctors say how long recovery will take?”
“A few weeks.”
“On bed rest, I’m assuming?”
“Just for a few days.”
“You’ll have to take some time off work. Do you want me to, as well?”
Olsen shakes his head. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“It’s not a problem, I’m sure I can ask.”
“You need to save your sick days—”
“I can help,” I offer, interrupting. The pair look over to me, standing at the foot of the bed as I fidget with my hands.
“I really don’t mind taking a day or two off to make sure you recover,” I continue.
“I can fetch like, ice packs? Do dishes and laundry? Um . . . I make a mean chicken noodle soup!”
Lex and Olsen look at each other and share some sort of telepathic sibling communication.
“Really, it’s the least I can do after everything that’s happened,” I say, feeling immensely guilty for agreeing to go home
with Olsen. Though if I were truly remorseful, I would become celibate. Maybe I should research joining a nunnery.
“It’s fine,” Olsen says, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
“No, really, I—” I step around the bed to get closer, but trip on a wire, which pulls the beep machine toward me, yanking
on all the cords sticking out of Olsen’s arm. He cries out in shock and the beeps get much louder and more intense.
“Oh shit, sorry—” I reach for Olsen to try to right the wires and tubes, but he flinches away like I’m a venomous snake.
Lex leans over the bed protectively, her hands outstretched to push me away if needed.
I take a step back. Then another. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to!”
Olsen lifts a hand, stopping me. “It’s fine. It was an accident.” Even now, after everything that’s happened, his gaze is
warm and kind.
Lex’s, on the other hand, not so much. Which is fair; I shouldn’t be here. I wanted to make sure he was okay, and I have.
Olsen deserves to be free of me and this dreadful curse. I gesture with my thumb over my shoulder. “You know what? I should
go. It’s been a long night. You’re tired.” I begin walking backward toward the door. “And I have to go pick up my dog. Poor
thing’s probably worried sick about me. You rest up, and, uh . . . call me?”
His eyebrows lower. “You never gave me your phone number.”
“Never mind. That’s . . . for the best. I’m gonna skedaddle.” I cringe at myself. “Good luck with your penis.” Oh my god, stop talking.
Olsen smiles, as if this whole fiasco was entertaining in some macabre way.
“And, Lex, good luck with—” I gesture vaguely at her nose “—all that.”
Lex subtly shakes her head.
I limp down the hall as quickly as I can. This is it. The last time I date. Seriously, I’m done.
It’s not worth the pain.