Read Online The Heart Does Not Grow Back: A Novel by Fred Venturini - Free Book Online
Authors: Fred Venturini
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where Mack is. He coming to the party?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
He pushed me again. “Fuckin’ smartass. You look like you need another footprint on your face.”
The haze of anger built inside of me, muddling words and images except for Clint’s jaw—that naked, exposed, punchable jaw. Clint was telling everyone how gay I was, how I was quiet because the only thing I liked to talk about was Mack’s dick. He spoke through a smile, the parted lips that had kissed Regina, perhaps in more places than just her lips.
“I know why you’re looking for Mack,” I said.
Clint stopped talking. He didn’t know that I knew, and he didn’t want the entire party knowing that Regina was cheating on him. I thought I had him, but guys like Clint don’t get had—they’ll fall on the sword before someone can stick them with it.
“Because Regina’s been blowing him? That’s exactly right. I should have known he’d tell his little lover. I just want to talk to him about it. Man to man. So far the only thing I found out was from Regina. She told me his dick tasted a lot like your asshole.”
I cracked him with a right hook and felt his jaw shift under the force of the blow, giving me the satisfying feel of flesh and bone moving with my fist, the bundle of nerves in his chin twisting with the impact. A moan of air burst from his lungs as he fell, unconscious before he hit the ground. He was out cold, his feet twitching as he sprawled on the floor.
“Give me a roll of paper towels and I’ll clean this up,” I said. Ted was stunned, but he turned around and walked into the kitchen. Everyone else just kind of stared, wondering what would happen when Clint stirred.
He was only out a few seconds when he planted his hands and tried to push himself up, so I snapped another punch into the side of his face, this time catching the hollow of his orbital bone, dropping him again. He made a wheezing sound like a leaking accordion.
I backed off, hands up, signaling I was finished, fearing I went one punch too far. I created space as he tried to get up again.
“It’s all cool if he doesn’t come at me again.”
I heard someone say, “He had that shit coming.”
Clint stumbled to his feet, looking unsteady, his pupils fat, broken blood vessels inflating the flesh of his right eye. A rosy patch was on his cheek—it would undoubtedly turn into the darkness of a full bruise by morning.
He looked around. Everyone had sucked in closer to the walls and one another, as if he were giving off an invisible force that created space around him.
“Enough of this shit,” Ted said, glaring at me. Clint grabbed him, trying to steady himself, intent on staying upright.
“That was a mistake,” Clint said. He shuffled to the door, smiling at me. Blood was thick in the channels of his teeth. He shambled out, his footsteps loud on the hardwood, echoing in the now-silent party. I believed him. I’d met that man before, the one fascinated by playing chicken with a shotgun. That was almost two years ago. Who was he now? How close did the danger have to be before the high was gone, before he had to see and feel something far more terrible to get his high? The moment wasn’t any triumph for me. Festivities resumed. Partiers still talked to one another about the incident, rather than to me. I sat at the bottom of the living-room stairs and put my head in my hands, the thrum of adrenaline hot in my fingertips. The shakes came over me as I came down from the confrontation, an urge to cry catching fire in my bones. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself in check. Still no sign of Regina. Once I collected myself, I planned on leaving, slipping out through the dark, making my way home without looking back.
The party continued to regulate itself back to normal. The music got louder, as if to urge everyone to move along. With the cover of the crowd, I got to the front door and went out.
Mack was in the driveway, at the bottom of
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
He pushed me again. “Fuckin’ smartass. You look like you need another footprint on your face.”
The haze of anger built inside of me, muddling words and images except for Clint’s jaw—that naked, exposed, punchable jaw. Clint was telling everyone how gay I was, how I was quiet because the only thing I liked to talk about was Mack’s dick. He spoke through a smile, the parted lips that had kissed Regina, perhaps in more places than just her lips.
“I know why you’re looking for Mack,” I said.
Clint stopped talking. He didn’t know that I knew, and he didn’t want the entire party knowing that Regina was cheating on him. I thought I had him, but guys like Clint don’t get had—they’ll fall on the sword before someone can stick them with it.
“Because Regina’s been blowing him? That’s exactly right. I should have known he’d tell his little lover. I just want to talk to him about it. Man to man. So far the only thing I found out was from Regina. She told me his dick tasted a lot like your asshole.”
I cracked him with a right hook and felt his jaw shift under the force of the blow, giving me the satisfying feel of flesh and bone moving with my fist, the bundle of nerves in his chin twisting with the impact. A moan of air burst from his lungs as he fell, unconscious before he hit the ground. He was out cold, his feet twitching as he sprawled on the floor.
“Give me a roll of paper towels and I’ll clean this up,” I said. Ted was stunned, but he turned around and walked into the kitchen. Everyone else just kind of stared, wondering what would happen when Clint stirred.
He was only out a few seconds when he planted his hands and tried to push himself up, so I snapped another punch into the side of his face, this time catching the hollow of his orbital bone, dropping him again. He made a wheezing sound like a leaking accordion.
I backed off, hands up, signaling I was finished, fearing I went one punch too far. I created space as he tried to get up again.
“It’s all cool if he doesn’t come at me again.”
I heard someone say, “He had that shit coming.”
Clint stumbled to his feet, looking unsteady, his pupils fat, broken blood vessels inflating the flesh of his right eye. A rosy patch was on his cheek—it would undoubtedly turn into the darkness of a full bruise by morning.
He looked around. Everyone had sucked in closer to the walls and one another, as if he were giving off an invisible force that created space around him.
“Enough of this shit,” Ted said, glaring at me. Clint grabbed him, trying to steady himself, intent on staying upright.
“That was a mistake,” Clint said. He shuffled to the door, smiling at me. Blood was thick in the channels of his teeth. He shambled out, his footsteps loud on the hardwood, echoing in the now-silent party. I believed him. I’d met that man before, the one fascinated by playing chicken with a shotgun. That was almost two years ago. Who was he now? How close did the danger have to be before the high was gone, before he had to see and feel something far more terrible to get his high? The moment wasn’t any triumph for me. Festivities resumed. Partiers still talked to one another about the incident, rather than to me. I sat at the bottom of the living-room stairs and put my head in my hands, the thrum of adrenaline hot in my fingertips. The shakes came over me as I came down from the confrontation, an urge to cry catching fire in my bones. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself in check. Still no sign of Regina. Once I collected myself, I planned on leaving, slipping out through the dark, making my way home without looking back.
The party continued to regulate itself back to normal. The music got louder, as if to urge everyone to move along. With the cover of the crowd, I got to the front door and went out.
Mack was in the driveway, at the bottom of
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