Read Online Somebody Up There Hates You by Hollis Seamon - Free Book Online Page B

he disappears back into the crowd, backward, bowing all the way.
    The bottle is dripping and cold. The label is very cool—a blue moon and a round orange pumpkin—and at first I just sit there like an idiot, holding it and looking at the moon. Then there’s a clink and the girl in pink is saying, “Cheers, then,” and she’s tipping the bottle into her mouth.
    So I do the same. It’s so cold and nice on my raw throat that I just chug it. She’s watching me, grinning, and so I’ve got to smile. “Thirsty work, being king,” I say.
    I don’t know, maybe the beer plus the patch plus that one hit of Phil’s joint, maybe all of that is a bit much. Or maybe my eyesight’s more impaired than usual, by the mask and all. Because things get real fuzzy after I drink my first Blue Moon. There are others, too. Phil shows up every once in a while with another bottle and then bows his way out of sight. Last two times, he’s got a pretty girl hanging off his side, arms around his waist. I think she’s dressed as a leaf—can’t remember why, I just picture leafiness in this haze.
    The girl in pink—she says to just call her Marie—she sticks around. We talk—no clue about what—and laugh a lot. And at some point, she climbs into the chair with me, pushing her ass right into my lap. And I’m pretty sure I have a hard-on, although I’m kind of numb everywhere else. Because she giggles and kind of scootches herself around on there until there’s a nice place for my hard-on to fit and she’s moving her hips and humming a sweet little song in my ear. And then she whispers, “My lord, your willing servant would be most pleased to . . .” She licks my ear, all long and slow and wet. “If you’d like to step—um, roll—into my chamber.”
    I can’t say a word, of course. I’m so dizzy and horny and, like, completely surprised that anyone, anyone at all, would offer to—whatever she’s offering. So I just sort of grunt. But apparently, I’ve also got both hands on her breasts, so she takes that as a yes. She slides out of my lap—and, man, then I know I’ve got a major boner, cause ole Bingo is suddenly very cold and very lonely, sticking up into the air, until she sets the bloody head over it. She gets behind my chair and yells into the crowd, “Make way for the king. Make way, vassals.” When people are a little slow to get out of our way, she just screams, “Move it.”
    Outside, the air is much colder, and I go to wrap my blanket-cape around my arms. But it’s gone. Fell off somewhere. And for a second, I think of how Mom brought that blanket to every hospital, every single time, and it was always—always—waiting for me in my room after every torture and every operation, dark blue and starry and soft and warm and smelling like home, and I think I’m going to start to bawl. But then we’re in, like, some sort of dark quiet place and Marie is kneeling in front of me.
    â€œMy sweet lord,” she says. Then she takes the head off my lap and I manage to unzip my jeans and, whammo, my boy is right out there in the chilly air. It’s looking sort of desperate, I got to say. And we both stare at it for a minute, and then she giggles and grabs it, and it’s pretty obvious she hasn’t got a clue what to do next, but she’s trying and that’s what counts. And there’s a girl’s hand on there and, really, that’s all I need. I slide down and my head goes back against the back of the chair and I feel my crown drop away. Mask is still hanging on, though. Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except that she’s still touching me, and then I’m, like, just shaking. Gasping. Moaning. She jumps back and loses her grip, and I think I’ll die if she leaves me out there in the cold, but she doesn’t: she leans in and holds me