Broken Carts ✔️

Aisle 14: Disclosure

Goosebumps refused to fade from my arms despite the mugginess of the bar. Vinny still wants to bang Ezra, I thought as I peed, squinting at the urinal under the harsh fluorescent lights. Or does he want to bang me? Or both of us? He could've been joking, but... I thought of his self-assured smirk. I don't think he was.

Without warning, the door to the men's room burst open. I somehow recognized Ezra by the sound of him blowing chunks into the sink.

"Hey– what the fuck are you– Ezra!" I cried as I struggled to pull up my zipper.

He used one hand to wave me away while the other gripped the edge of the sink. I ushered him into a stall. His knees seemed to give way beneath him as I locked the stall door, and he continued puking into the correct receptacle.

"Damn," I whispered as I grabbed a handful of his hair that threatened to get caught in the crossfire. "You went hard tonight, buddy."

A thick trail of saliva burst from his mouth as he laughed. "Fuck yeah," he mumbled, lacking annunciation. "Fuck yeah. I mean, it's that time of year."

"What, September?"

Ezra managed to laugh one more time before being silenced by forthcoming vomit. I remained holding his hair, finally realizing why no one in the rugby house lined up to help the pretty girls who got sick at our parties.

Eventually Ezra let out a pained "uhguh" and propped his elbows up on the toilet seat. I took this as a sign of surrender and leaned against the stall. I stared at him for a few seconds, tracing every deepening line on his face with my eyes.

Bzzt. Bzzt. "Fuck." Ezra's fingers fumbled to grab his phone out of his back pocket, then he sloppily pushed the device into my hands. "Take it. But don't answer it."

"Why not?"

"'Cause he does this every year. Every year. Don't answer it. I don't want to hear his shit again– hhnph– " Ezra's head went back in the toilet. Obeying his wishes, I pocketed the phone and resumed my position of Official Hair Holder.

"Ezra's not feeling well," I announced to the rest of the group as Ezra cleaned himself up in the bathroom. "I think he should go home. I'll take him."

Vinny looked at me funny. "But Ez never gets sick–" Lynette nudged her brother and whispered something in his ear. His expression softened immediately. "Er, yeah, I guess he should go back."

"Secrets? Really?" I said scornfully. "What the fuck can't I know about my own friend?"

Lynette, with eyes dancing in their sockets, laid both of her hands on my shoulders. "It's a bad day for 'Ra. Reeal bad. Trust me. Just get him home safe. We'll do the dancing for both of you." She winked and turned away, then a second later, whipped back around to face me. "And even though I'm pretty sure Ezra's too lifeless to manage an erection, don't you two dare even think about entering my room." Then she kissed my cheek and whisked Millie away to the jukebox.

•

Ezra had been boiled down to a less-than-solid state, indicated by the fact that he couldn't stay on his feet for more than two minutes at a time and I was forced to call a cab to get us back. There was no stability present in his humorless laugh, his discordant speech, the distant twinkle in his eye whenever he looked at me. It was like he ached to reach out for help, but had forgotten how to ask.

"You can leave me," he kept saying as I poured him into bed. "You can– you should leave me and go... go to bed. I'm fine on my own, okay? I'm almost sober."

"Sorry dude, but judging by the fact that you backed up the sink in the Rock's bathroom with puke, I think you're far from sober. Drink some water." He pouted as I handed him a glass. "Drink some water for me." Reluctantly, he held it to his lips. Half the water dribbled down his chin and dampened the bedsheets. I smirked as I took the glass from him. "I didn't expect the whole 'for me' argument to work, but..."