The table with the stale breakfast

There was a new man in Eugenie’s life. How did Darlene know such a thing? Barry and Ivan suspected she was using Robortor’s spyware, the little link of blinkers circling above town that people often mistook for UFO’s, to check her facts. It was true that the two women often talked on the phone, but Barry had a difficult time believing that the reports came from the mouth of his Eugenie White. Would she be one to say that this man was ‘so enamored with her’? Would she call him a sweetheart, a darling, someone who was ‘hanging on a leash at her every move, ready to unroll a trail of flowers and petals of flowers under anything she’s present from her life’ with her own words, casually chatting with Darlene? Barry thought that she was more reserved than this behavior suggested.

Uberwoman noticed the murderous eyes Barry was darting at Darlene above the breakfast table. She always joined them as an act of politeness on Friday mornings, since she didn’t know hunger nor thirst. He felt her hand tap on top of his like it was the sugary top of a cupcake, “Cheer up Barry” she said with a warm smile, “you couldn’t possibly imagine that Eugenie was going to stay and hang out with us forever”

“Or stay single forever” Darlene added

He felt the lobes of his ears become hotter, fought mightily against retrieving his hand from Marlene’s as a defensive reflex and showing his middle finger to Darlene “WHAT no” he laughed horribly, so loud that even sleepy Ivan lifted his head from his plate, “I was not even listening, I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“You think Eugenie White belongs to you” Darlene teased him, “you have like, this human, she is like” she chuckled, particularly inspired, “your little human”

“We are all human here, except for Uberwoman” Robortor said.

“I mean your little civilian”

“Sorry Marlene I didn’t mean” Robortor offered a hand as an apology, “you make up for the fact that you’re not an organic human by being the most human in your heart, evidently”

“No offense taken, George”

“Eugenie’s like, your pet” Darlene continued to pester Barry and pointed her spoon at him. The embarrassment heat was becoming an ire red burning in his cheeks, now.

“Darlene” Marlene tilted her head at her, “coffee, anyone?”

“Then why else would you be so grumpy when we talk about her new date?”

“I don’t care!” Barry grunted back, “my arm hurts, that’s all”

“Because you don’t do your physical therapy” Darlene winked at him, “without Eugenie, the fact that Alphonse is your new nurse, you don’t want to practice so m—”

“Darlene” Uberwoman looked intensely at her. Robortor shoved a fork of eggs into his mouth with a scoff. He was really struggling to not laugh out loud.

“What physical therapy” Barry said, “I’m the Bolt, I can get better on my own”

Darlene seemed to regret her rushed judgement and nodded at him, “I know. That’s actually very cool”

“Besides” Barry heard himself say, “I’m having enough of this place. I’m spending the weekend at Eugenie’s” When the silence fell, he saw that he had made that decision right there and then. Added, “which, conveniently, is also my home” Not really he could read at the bottom of Darlene’s incredulous eyes, but even she didn’t dare going there.

Robortor’s eyes bulged at him, his silent laughing bringing him to the verge of tears, while carefully chewing the copious quantity of food inside his mouth so as not to choke, “Ghahtf bmy mbooy” he approved.

“Can I come with you?” Ivan asked –he really couldn’t read between the lines, and he really couldn’t read people, or a room, although, he was good at books, and even a gifted writer.

“No, it’s too small there”

Darlene’s eye shone evilly, “that’s a great idea, actually, Barry” she circled the bottom of her plate with the tip of her spoon, creating elegant patterns in the maple syrup, “go and see for yourself”

Before he could say anything, Marlene recaptured Barry’s hand, “is Eugenie aware of… your plans”

“Yes” he lied

“Have you apologized for your uh…” Darlene made a tentative but even she changed her mind halfway, remained silent.

“How does she know that you’re coming over” Ivan asked, “you don’t have a phone”

“Emails” Barry lied more

“And she’s okay with that?” Darlene squinted suspiciously

“You send each other emails?” Ivan was doubting it too

“None of this is your business anyway” Marlene said, but she couldn’t stop looking at Barry, “maybe email her like… once more. To be sure”

Barry forced a cool vibe to guide his movement, a chill undulation to dissimulate his frustration. He put down his fork, “I don’t recall asking any advice from any of you about like, life, in general” he dried his mouth with his paper napkin deposited it next to the plate.

“We have nothing going on anyway” Robortor pointed out, “crime’s asleep in this town”

“Not that Barry can participate, with his shoulder and hand being like, marshmallows” Ivan smiled at him.

Barry flicked him the ball of his discarded paper tissue, “Marshmallows” he sighed, “coming from you, Mr I-Shoot-Some-Goo-For-A-Living” They both laughed like the teenagers they were.

“How will you go there?” Alphonse walked in the room with a boiler and his favorite mug, on which all could read Why Beavers Hate Water Streams.

“Bolting, obviously”

“Nu-uh, you still have too many fresh stitches everywhere”

“Oh my god” Barry massaged the bridge of his nose, blinked at Alphonse, “you and your stitches, can’t you talk about anything else?”

“You said your arm hurts”

Still clinging on the calmness while he wished he could just storm out and grab the table cloth after him, knock over everything that was on the table, Barry got up, “I missed the part where I asked you to be like, my parents or anything. I’m totally okay now. I’m dying of boredom here, I just need some fresh air. I’ll take the train”

“Station’s been destroyed, if you remember. You were there” Darlene masticated on some raisins with her mouth open, “getting gunned down, there, at the station”

“DARLENE” Uberwoman snapped

“I’m just trolling him, he loves it, it’s like, his love language”

“Anyway, I was lying” Barry said, “I wasn’t making a face because my arm hurts, it’s just, this breakfast is really terrible”

“Hey” Robortor took offense, he, the breakfast maker of the week

“It’s true that everything is either burned or stale” Ivan added. Alphonse sipped on his tea.

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“Why do you say stuff like this” George moaned, “it’s gratuitous meanness”

“Don’t worry, it’s really because his arm hurts” Ivan said

“It’s because he’s jealous of Eugenie’s new guy”

“I’m leaving you now, immature people” Barry shoved his right hand inside his pocket and gathered his plate and utensils with his left hand, focused immensely while rotating towards the sink, where he dropped everything, “have a good weekend” then aimed at the stairs behind the dining room door and, counting on the stratospheric power of his pride to carry him like an angel would on top of white fluffy clouds, he drew a big gulp of air and ran the stairs upwards, as if nothing was bothering his movements. The pain detonated inside his chest under his right shoulder and he barely reached the last step and, turning the corner, disappeared into the darkness of the first floor corridor. There, he stopped, out of breath, bent down against the wall and caught himself with one hand on his lap. “Stu…” he swallowed hard, munched on something rough in his mouth “…pid” but the pieces of the conversation he could still hear from his colleagues cheered him up in the storm of negative feelings he was experiencing.

“He didn’t even take the lift” commented Ivan

“Wow he’s really healed” he heard from Darlene

“That’s really impressive” Alphonse added, followed by a big sluurp

Barry smiled in the black of the hallway. That’s what he was. Impressive.

It’s not that he thought that Eugenie White would, in fact, remain single for the rest of her life. On the contrary, he was picturing that she would not be single at all. In Barry’s heart, since the first hour he had met her, he had envisioned that they would end up together, and that, ladies and gentlemen, would be the thing that would last until the end of time. Barry reviewed all the information he had unwillingly obtained from Darlene’s gossip as he was absent-mindedly packing a small backpack, his socks, some pills, an unopened box of teabags, Sansha flavored.

So there was this guy she had met at a conference about special education needs, his name was John, or Joe, or Jack, or Jimmy, and he was so into Eugenie that he had invited her for dinner in Vegas right away, ah yes, Barry thought, because Las Vegas was where the conference took place! Totally absurd. Apparently, the two conference attendees hadn’t seen the hours go by while talking and drinking and playing pool that evening turned into early morning. Barry couldn’t reconcile the Eugenie White he knew with this description of a person who survives through a sleepless night until dawn.

Darlene didn’t know whether Eugenie and Joffrey had slept together, but the idea brought some flare into Barry’s nostrils. In any case, since that day, they had been dating. Darlene wasn’t able to be sure she chose the right term, as the new generation of romance the first quarter of the twenty-first century brought up contained way too many situation-ships possible. Dating? Seeing each other? Seeing other people and each other? She wasn’t sure, as Darlene was, herself, asexual and completely uninterested in dating.

He went into his bathroom and stripped to his underwear and used the sink to wash up. Everything he had heard was some awful, terrible bullshit. He was Barry Masquevert, he thought while the drops of hot water splashed his face. He was top-of-the-tier handsome, he was super good-looking, he was a hell of a catch. No matter who this Johnny or Jimbo was, Eugenie had surely forgotten that she could do better.

He snatched a small towel to dry his face and shoulders, threw it on top of his backpack. He would bring it, making it seem like he had thought about some necessities, in case she was late on laundry. She would think it was clever, and anticipating, and courteous. Then he rose to look at himself in the mirror on top of the sink with dread. He grimaced in front of his reflection.

Barry’s indestructible self-confidence wasn’t nearly ready to face any possible destruction, not in this universe, not on this plane, but even he agreed that he looked a fright. “Oh mann” he shrunk in, “Masquevert” He felt skinnier, which was a devastating feeling. Surely, being deprived of real food while he was breathing through an enormous tube between his teeth had made him lose a couple kilos. His face was still alluring, a jawline that would cut through a brick wall, his eyebrows circumflexed in a innate expression of detached flirt, the small curl at the birth of his upper lips continuously menacing to smile and conquer, his messy hair a bit deflated but still adding a boost to the whole thing. However, he couldn’t move well. He couldn’t roll his shoulders like he usually did to transform any of his actions into a spell, switch the energy of the room from warm to hot.

The top part of his chest was wrapped into some thick bandages in order to hold his ribs together, so Barry grabbed a pair of scissors from the cupboard next to the skin and cut through them with rising anger. Better, now, he let the strips of spongy fabric drop to the floor. He shook his head in desolation. Two enormous band-aids were still taking ample space under his right shoulder, with their twins on his upper back. Barry repressed a gag. The bruises on his torso had been turning from lavender to brown and yellow, imitating the spots of an ill-looking leopard. Now that he was free of the mummy rolls, he felt liberated, but everything hurt more. Eugenie had mentioned that three of his ribs had been turned into dust at the passage of the two bullets that went through him, which she knew because she had opened him. One last element of sadness adorning him was the long line of gauze climbing from his sternum almost to the shadow of his chin.

Could he really be frustrated at her for supposedly not remembering anything of their episode under the assault of bullets at the train station, when he wasn’t in the position to recall the traumatizing stuff she had had to face alone, slicing him open like a cake, then spreading his rib cage with some birthing forceps and digging inside the gooey mess while he was sound asleep? No, he saw, and he looked down at the sink, the little bubbles of soap he hadn’t rinsed there, floating lightly towards the hole in a lazy whirlpool motion. He was ashamed and sad. And one feeling kept swelling inside his bruised and cut and butchered and stitched-up chest: jealousy. Barry had never known that feeling before and he was well resolute to get rid of it as soon as possible, as it was too similar to grief, to mourning, and burned his sinuses like tears did, nastily.

His eyes traveled lower, on his stomach, on the huge ugly scar curved like a comma above his belly button, which still bore some purple and red inflammation hue marks around it. He closed his eyes and held himself against the sink, breathing deeply. Had Ivan really nicknamed him a bullet blanket when he was not around? Could it be that he was that kind of guy, chasing adrenaline so furiously that he didn’t feel fear, didn’t turn around in front of danger, one who put his life at risk every day until his ass was majorly kicked? He couldn’t possibly imagine such a ridiculous explanation for his most recent ordeals, and he was still hot, so fuck it, Barry thought. He tried to flex his muscles but, again, everything was hurting. He would have to rely only on the power of his face, although a little pale, a little gaunt, and he was sure that it would still work. He knew how to throw a perfectly well darkened glance at girls –women, he corrected himself—, how to half smile with the promise of something secret and enigmatic.

Whatever kind of guy he was, Barry thought, it was still a thousand times better than any kind of guy Eugenie believed she had in her radar, seducing her with acceptance, while he knew that she liked defiance, wooing her with words of adoration, while she liked persiflage, showering her with flowers, while she craved madness. When she told people she was plagued by her autism and she preferred her personal space bubble left untouched on a daily basis, it meant anyone but Barry. He had learned how to constantly brush against her, his fingers around her like bumblebees, he knew how to smoothly penetrate it, and there was something so refreshing about it that it sometimes cut off the breath at his lips, just the thought of it. It was like taming a wild animal, or a specimen from one of those species that stood at the verge of extinction. So what if he couldn’t really use his right arm and hand, at the moment? He would employ his left one, flutter around her neck, hover somewhere near her waist. Still winning, he smiled at the mirror while brushing his teeth.

The trains were cancelled, that was true, after the town’s main station had been leveled, Barry thought and tried to not reminisce as he was painfully sliding into a clean shirt, a large hoodie and, finally, whimpering through the right sleeve, a winter coat. The sun was shining outside like winter could often sparkle when the sky was so blue and deserted by clouds, with an ice sheet covering everything and the concrete of the sidewalk and the needles of the pine trees and the metal of the cars.

He shoved his feet into some comfortable tennis shoes; he would take the subway, walk a little to the main square, then take two more buses and a tram. He could get somewhere without bolting, come on, Masquevert, he reluctantly stuck his right arm into the sling that Alphonse told him to use, otherwise, the old man would never let him leave, you are winning, w i n n i ng. Now he truly looked like a crippled individual, but he forced a smile at the moment to pass the front door, “you will be careful, won’t you?” Alphonse asked, “you’re not a hundred percent recovered, far from it”

“How many percent, do you think”

“You’re not taking me seriously”

“Alphoonse” Barry groaned, feigning to be disinterested when, as a matter of fact, the perspective of the outside world and its bright sunlight and the exposure of it scared him a little bit, “you enjoy being a nurse too much”

“Just don’t bolt”

“I’m going like, next door”

“It’s on the other side of the city”

“I have taken a bus before” he protested, suddenly remembering that the last time he had been on a bus, he was also bleeding heavily from being shot in the stomach. The thought made him shiver, bullet blanket, wink-wink, but he grinned at Alphonse, “I’ll text you when I’m there”

“But you don’t have a phone, Barry Masquevert”

“I’ll email you”

Barry honestly couldn’t picture Eugenie White playing pool, let alone in a Vegas casino or busy dinner hall. Darlene must have been planting some triggering thoughts in his brain just for her own entertainment, that wasn’t such a far-fetched theory, when you knew Darlene. Barry shut the massive door of Hobbes manor and walked the hundred steps leading to the fence with the same disbelief in his heart, that Eugenie had engaged in a game of billiard with an unknown guy, in some bubbling and groovy location on a Saturday night. At the foot of the tall gate, he pressed the eight keys of the opening code and slid the arm sling off his neck, freed himself from it, discarded it in the first trash bin he found. He tidied his right hand into the deep pocket of his winter coat. He turned around in his sneakers and the light blinded him.