The Undying Man - Heroic Vol.1

Issue 9 - Cake, and Grief Counseling

Jackson Tran was not the type of guy to be pushed around, but this current ordeal was starting taking its toll on his nerves.

“You’re a Tran!” his father had always said. “You don’t take shit from anyone!”

His thumbs hammered furiously against the glass face of his phone, tiny vibrations shooting up his fingertips with every letter he commanded to appear on-screen.  

[To: Taylor:] ‘look, just drop it. i’ll block u if u keep beein a psycho’

He smacked the ‘Send’ icon and watched as the message processed. Almost straight away, a reply came through. The speed at which some people texted astounded him.

[From: Taylor:] ‘was pretty obvious the whple time u didn’t care. even when i told u I was spendin tim with Greg again, you didnt giv a shit  ://’

Jackson’s little threat had been completely ignored. He squeezed his hand into a tight fist, before starting another text.

 [To: Taylor:] ‘my fucking god!!! not this shit again! if u want some paranoed schiz fuck whos gonna flip it eveyrtime you talk to another guy then go! :o  plenty of that out there’

He stared at the unsent message for a long time, pondering whether or not to hit send. He did, and immediately felt a wave of regret rush over him.

Ten seconds.

Thirty seconds.

One minute.

The longer he waited for a reply, the more he hated himself.

Finally, his phone vibrated. The new text box filled up more than his screen could display at once.

[From: Taylor:] ‘its okay. im fine. i dont even care, really, i feel sry for u really. u know the sad thing is’ - Jackson stopped reading and quickly scrolled down to see just how long the message was - then he closed the dialog box and locked his phone.

Fuck that.

He tossed his phone onto his bed and began digging through the unorganised junkyard of clothes that covered his room.

Where’s that Cake gone to...

None of this was what he’d wanted. He’d truly enjoyed being with Taylor. He thought it was the first time he’d been a good boyfriend - a real boyfriend. But Jackson considered himself a free-spirited type of person. He’d always resisted the chains of life, always brushed off his mother’s suggestions that he find himself a nice Vietnamese girl and settle down. Settle down? He wasn’t even thirty yet!

So it was painfully disappointing when Taylor - who was the furthest thing from a ‘nice Viet girl’ - had started dropping subtle hints about marriage and children. It set off a few small alarms in his head, and over time, as the hints became a little less subtle and little more “Marry me or I’m gonna’ cut your fucking balls off!”; the alarms grew loud - very loud.

So just like that - they were finished. He was done.

He was done and now he felt like utter crap.

Now, he needed his cure. Cake would make him feel better.

Where the fuck is my Cake!

Overcome by the futile effort of scavenging through his room, he left to search the other likely spot in the apartment: his roommate’s bedroom.

If that hoe’s hidden my stash again...

Her door was closed. Jackson grasped the handle and turned. Locked.