The Only Medicine

Each waking second that I can’t touch Mike Fuentes is agony. In public we maintain our distance, ignoring the rumours still circulating, every bit the picture of a healthy platonic friendship. We run out of topics to talk about that don’t lead to innuendo and meaningful stares and me pressing my thighs together. But in the car rides to and from school, we make out in Vic’s car, away from everyone’s prying eyes, one step away from being fully naked. I don’t know what it is, and Mike hasn’t pressed me about it again, but it’s good enough for now.

“When are you … you know … good to go?” Mike asks. We’ve come up for air after about twenty minutes of making out in the back seat. His cheeks are flushed. I imagine mine are the same.

“Probably tomorrow,” I say, still panting slightly. My periods usually last for about five to six days, so I should be just about finished.

“Are you staying over this weekend?” he asks, acting nonchalant.

“Well, I’m supposed to be hanging out with Vic tonight, so I guess so,” I reply. “We’re drinking in his room.”

“Wow, sounds like quite a party,” Mike says drily.

“Dude, I haven’t seen Vic all week, and I know he’s still depressed about what happened with Cara. I know he wants to talk about it.”

“Well, I’ll be in my room when you’re done with that.”

“I hope he doesn’t become comatose like last weekend.” I chew my nail. “Self-destructive Vic is not good.”

“He seems like same old Vic to me. Are you sure he’s still cut up about it?”

I just nod, then look down and straighten my clothes. I have to look presentable when we get to Vic’s house, like I haven’t been making out in the back of his car with his younger brother for almost half an hour. I’m terrified that he’ll notice anyway; my lips feel swollen and I’m sure that Mike’s stubble has left a rash around my mouth. Mike clambers out of the car and into the front, and I follow suit.


Vic’s in his room when I get to his house; I tap on the door and let myself in. He looks up from his computer.

“Oh, hey,” he says, then looks at the time on the screen. “You’re late.”

I dump my schoolbag and overnight bag in the corner, then flop onto his bed.

“Yeah, I went by my house first to get my stuff,” I lie. It shocks me how easily the lie falls off my tongue.

“Oh, okay. Mom’s making dinner for six o’clock.”

“Cool. What are you doing?”

“Writing an assignment. It’s due next week.” Vic yawns and exits out of the Word document he has open. “But enough of that … you ready to get fucked up?”

“… Vic, it’s quarter to five.”

“We’ll just have a couple before dinner. Mom and Dad won’t notice.” He rummages through one of his drawers and pulls out a bottle of Bacardi. Something about those Fuentes brothers and hiding illicit things in their underwear drawers …

“Where did you get that from?” I ask as he unscrews the cap. It’s only three quarters full.

“An older buddy from college bought it for me.”

It’s weird thinking of Vic having older college friends. I suppose it makes sense, but I’ve never met any of them and he doesn’t usually talk about them. Vic takes a swig from the bottle and offers it to me.

“Jesus, nothing to mix it with?” Rum is really not my favourite.

“We can grab some lemonade later or something. Or there might be Coke upstairs.”

I sigh and take a sip and almost spit it back out again. Somehow I manage to swallow. There is no way I’m drinking that straight all night. Something tells me that I won’t have to—Vic will drink it all and be comatose again within the next couple of hours. He takes the bottle back from me and has another drink. He doesn’t even flinch, like that’s water in the bottle and not pure alcohol.

“Dude, are you okay?” I ask.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he replies.

“Uh, because you’re drinking rum straight from the bottle and we haven’t even had dinner yet.”

He frowns at me. “I thought you wanted to come over and get drunk together.”

“I do.” I sigh and shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, tell me.”

I pause and try find the words. “It just seems like you’re self-medicating since you heard about Cara.”

He scoffs. “I’m fine. I just want to get drunk with my best friend who I never see anymore. Is that okay?”

I presume he doesn’t say it to hurt me, but it stings regardless. “I’m sorry.”

He takes my hand. “Sorry, Mia. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“I just miss you, and you’re always hanging out with Mike, and I miss hanging out with you all the time.”

I freeze at the mention of Mike. “It’s just because we’re still at school, and you’re at college.”

“I know.” He lets out a humourless laugh. “I guess I’m just a little jealous that he gets to be with you and I don’t.”

His wording sets me on edge. Does he know? Is it just a coincidence? I take a little too long to answer and hope he doesn’t notice. “We’ll hang out more, I promise.”

He just nods and gives my hand a squeeze and takes another long swig from the bottle. “Mike told me about what happened,” he says after a moment.

My insides feel like they liquefy. “What?”

“You know, about the rumours Jessica has been spreading.” His eyes narrow, searching mine. “Why? Is there something else?”

I shake my head a little too quickly. “No, I, uh, I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. People say shit all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

“He said someone spilt food on you at school, and that someone graffitied your name in the men’s bathrooms.”

“What?”

He pauses. “He said you were pretty upset about it.”

“Uh, I didn’t know about the graffiti. What did it say?”

“Um, maybe you should ask Mike. He said he tried to get rid of it for you.”

I get to my feet. God, I feel nauseous. It’s one thing to have people talking smack about you—that shit happens all the time—but writing things about me in the bathroom feels like a violation. What if they’ve put my phone number up there? Something like, “call dis number 2 get u dick sucked”, or whatever.

“Mia? Are you okay?”

My eyes have inadvertently started prickling with tears. I brush them away with one hand. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just bullshit.”

Vic tugs my arm gently and I let him pull me back to the floor with him. He wraps an arm around me and kisses my temple. “Like you said, people say shit all the time. They always have. Hopefully this will blow over soon enough.”

“I just don’t know what her problem is. Her problem should be with Mike, not me,” I mutter, even though I know damn well I deserve this for what I did, even if she doesn’t know that it’s true.

“Bitches be cray,” Vic says to try cheer me up.

“Especially that one,” I add.

“Why did Mike break up with her anyway?” He asks me. “I mean, I can think of heaps of reasons why, personally.”

“Uh … I think he just wasn’t feeling it,” I say. God, it sounds so lame. I’m sure Vic can see right through it, but he just nods like I’ve given sage advice.

“Vic! Mia!” calls a voice through the door.

“Dinner time,” Vic says, getting to his feet and extending a hand to help me. “May this be but a minor speedbump in our quest for drunkenness.”


After dinner (spaghetti with marinara sauce—vegan, of course, with meatballs for all the dead animal lovers), Vic and I retreat back to his room with some potato chips, Oreos and a couple of litres of Sprite. One would assume that we were off to OD on sugar like a couple of middle schoolers, but Mama Fuentes tells us offhandedly to “behave ourselves”, which means she knows exactly what we’re doing, doesn’t approve of it, but is glad we’re doing it under her roof. Vic is convinced that she has no idea, but it’s almost a relief for me—it means someone else is keeping an eye on Vic.

Vic puts on an old Papa Roach album when we get back to his room, for nostalgia’s sake, and I collapse back onto his bed. After a moment, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Vic calls. He hasn’t pulled the bottle of Bacardi out again, so we’re safe.

Mike pokes his head in. “Hey, uh, what are you guys doing?”

“Just chillin’,” Vic replies, looking behind his computer screen for the Bacardi.

“Right.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Do you guys wanna go to a party later?”

Vic and I look at each other.

“Oh, uh, not really. We’re just going to hang out in here, catch up, you know,” I reply before Vic can. I’m sure his answer would have been much the same, though.

Mike shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“Do you wanna hang with us until you go?” Vic asks.

Mike’s eyes flick to mine, then back to Vic’s. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just grab my Jack. Do you want me to grab cards or something?”

I meet Mike’s gaze before he ducks back out. I’m happy to play drinking games as long as it doesn’t involve anything compromising, like Truth or Dare or whatever. Mike generally just wants to play those sorts of drinking games to gauge how freaky I am in bed, but who knows. If we have to play with Vic, I’m not sure what secrets will come spilling out.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Vic asks. “He’ll probably be out of here before eleven.”

I snort, unable to help myself. “It’s fine.”

“I know.” He sits down on the floor with the bottle of Bacardi and gestures for the bottle of Sprite. I hand it to him.

Mike comes back in, a bottle of Jack in one hand, a six-pack of beer in the other and a pack of cards tucked under his chin. He shuts the door with his butt, then lets the cards drop on the floor in front of Vic. Vic is meticulously pouring the Sprite into the half-empty bottle of Bacardi, which appears to be easier said than done, because some of it is spilling down the sides onto the carpet. At least it won’t stain.

“You want a beer?” Mike offers the pack to me and I take one. Better to ease myself into the rum.

Vic brandishes the bottle of rum at me, although now I suppose it’s a potent mix of rum and lemonade. “Take a sip of this, Mia.”

“Maybe I’ll have a beer first,” I reply, frowning at the bottle.

“Suit yourself,” he says, taking a long drink.


Vic gets drunk faster than either of us, even though he’s winning at poker. He keeps taking sips out of the bottle of Bacardi when he thinks Mike and I aren’t looking.

“I’m sick of this game,” I mutter, folding for the third time in a row and taking a mouthful of my beer. I’ve gone through all six of Mike’s beers in the last couple of hours.

“We could play something else, if you want?” Mike eyes me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be going to a party?” Vic asks, slurring his words.

“Yeah, I should head off soon. Think it’s going to be pretty lame anyway.”

“Right.” Vic gets to his feet, knocks over a couple of my empty beer cans, and stumbles to the door. “I’m go pee.”

He doesn’t close the door behind him and I watch him as he staggers down the hallway, holding onto the wall with one hand. Mike reaches across and grabs the bottle of Bacardi.

“He doesn’t need any more of this shit,” he says, looking for a place to stash it where Vic won’t immediately find it.

“You can say that again.”

He ends up taking a gulp from the bottle, wincing, then tipping the rest out the window. There isn’t much.

I hear the toilet flushing down the hallway. “Quick, he’s coming back.”

Mike sits back down hurriedly, screws the cap back on and puts the bottle in roughly the same position it was before—not that Vic would notice, given how drunk he is.

“Are you okay?” I ask as he stumbles back into the room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Mm fine,” he slurs, slumping onto the bed.

“Do you want to go to sleep?”

“Where’s my drink?”

I meet Mike’s gaze quickly. “You finished it, remember?”

“Oh.”

“And Mike’s heading off to a party now, so we can just hang, okay?” I feel Mike bristle at the dismissal, but I’m more worried about Vic’s wellbeing right now.

“Yeah, see ya,” Mike says, snatching his half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels off the floor.

Vic waits until Mike leaves, then curls up on the bed towards the wall. I sit down next to him and rub his back.

“I just thought I was over her, and now she’ll never be mine,” he says in a voice so small I barely hear him.

“Oh, Vic,” I murmur.

He rolls over to face me, his eyes filled with drunken tears. “It’s like I just made it up in my head.”

I reach for his hand and freeze. The sleeve of his shirt has ridden up and my eyes catch on the little dark lines on his wrist.

“Oh, Vic, no!” I cry, pulling him to me, heartbroken for my friend. “You said you wouldn’t!”

He sobs into my side. “I didn’t want to, but it just hurts.”

How could he do this to himself again? It feels like a betrayal. I remember what he said to me years ago, back when he last did this: it’s a pain that I can control.

“You can’t do this again, okay? You can’t do this because I love you, I do.”

“I know,” he says softly. “I just had to.”

He rolls over again and I keep him close to me, me the big spoon and him the little spoon. After a while he drifts off to sleep, snoring softly. How can I protect him and hurt him at the same time? Especially after all this. It hits me like a knife to the ribs; either I hurt Vic or I hurt Mike. There’s no other choice.

Notes

Sorry it's been a while! Got a couple of new chapters for you lovely people, though.