Two Gracious Guests (18+)

The first light of day came not too terribly long after the men had peaked. Aaron and Marty lay in a bed of satisfaction, wrapped in a cocoon of satiated fantasy. Each one slept in their respective places. Their slumbers were long but, towards the end, they had collected a myriad of unimaginable nightmares that neither could commit to understanding as anything more than the worst subconscious hangover imaginable. When they finally woke up it was dark. They had slept through the entire day. The girls were gone and the two friends weren’t in their beds anymore. They weren’t even in the bedroom. Aaron and Marty found themselves sitting at the table they thought they had seen on the tour the night before. This time, however, it was much longer.

From his left side something squeezed Marty’s hand. He looked over and the fog that had polluted his mind lifted. There, Evelyn sat smiling at him.

“Last night was wonderful, Marty.” She kissed him appreciatively on his lips. Marty’s heart lifted and beat faster.

“Th-thanks. I-I...thanks.” Marty was still caught in her kiss. Evelyn chuckled and kissed him again. Marty felt as though his heart may explode. He swallowed hard and a wide grin replaced a dumbfounded look on his face. There was his dream woman, still looking into his eyes. Marty knew it was crazy, but he just couldn’t help it. He had only met her the night before, but, like they always say in the films, it was like he’d known her his whole life. He only prayed she felt the same.

“I love you,” he uttered silently.

To his right, something else stirred.

“Huh,” Aaron uttered, looking around and shaking his head. “What, how did I get here?” He looked around some more, still disoriented. He still couldn’t make everything out the way he needed. “Was, was I sleep walking again?”

“Marty?” Aaron heard the sound of a glass being set down on the space to his left.

“Yea, Aaron, I’m here.”

“Where’s here?” Aaron squinted and let his eyes clear a bit more.

“We’re sitting at the table with Evelyn and her family.”

“Dinner time? Where’s Evelyn? I don’t see her.”

“Here I am, Aaron.” Evelyn’s voice leaped over Marty. He heard Marty’s chair creak as he leaned to his left to kiss her.

“It smells delicious, Evelyn, what’s under those covers?”

“It’s my mother’s famous recipe. She’s kept it alive all these years. It was her mother’s before that.” Evelyn pointed to each of the two corresponding family members who sat next to each other holding hands. Evelyn spoke to them in her native tongue. Aaron listened intently, understanding not a word.

“Doesn’t it smell great, Aaron,” Marty asked. “God, I’m starving.” Aaron took a moment to get his senses used to his displacement and, eventually, inhaled briefly.

“Yea. Yea it does.” Helplessly, Aaron’s mouth began to water and he picked up his fork. Evelyn’s father stood up and gave a short speech in a strange, heavy accent. Evelyn translated:

“To our gracious guests. We are so happy to have such wonderful, handsome young men to grace this household tonight. This dinner is a tradition of the Koskekh family for generations and, without you, it couldn’t have been possible. So, please, join us in celebratory feast and drink!”

Every Koskekh cheered and toasted. Aaron, out of obligation, joined an enthusiastic Marty and grabbed his glass. In the process, his fork fell off of the table and onto the floor. Aaron switched his drinking hands and quickly went after it. As he prodded underneath the table, his hand came upon something coarse and wet and discomforting. Out of impulsive surprise, Aaron pulled his hand into the light and bit his lip to sever a scream that just about fell out. Blood. He pushed the table cloth up and under the table to let in more light from the candles flickering along the walls behind him, revealing a horrific sight.

“Aaron, you’re up.” Marty nudged him persistently. “Hurry. I wanna eat.”

Aaron looked up and saw Evelyn’s father holding a slab of seasoned roast. Fresh rosemary and pepper lined the moist meat that tempted Aaron from where it rested, pinched between Mr. Koskekh’s fork and carving knife. Reluctantly, Aaron held up his index finger. Mr. Koskekh smiled and gently rested the slab of roast upon the plate Aaron held up and moved on. Aaron looked down at his plate. It sure looked delicious. He looked at his fingers, which were faintly stained with the remnants of blood he had put them in when he was prodding for his fork. The rest devoured their portions, including Marty. He and Evelyn talked and joked and flirted and kissed. And Iana was nowhere to do the same with Aaron. He figured her for a hit and run, but that was the least of his worries. Where did the blood come from? What was under that table? Was it coming from Marty? And if it was, how had he not noticed it? Aaron was still waking up. He still felt funny. Parts of him weren’t with the program, whatever the program was. He had overslept for sure and now nothing felt right. Was it alcohol poisoning? Was his body reacting to some strange European drink that only that club could supply? He had to look under that table again. Innocently, he dropped his knife.

From where Marty sat he was king and he felt as though his kingdom had found him. There, sitting at the table around him were his subjects, upon the table was placed a feast only a ruler could be truly worthy of; and to his left sat his queen, the one who made this all possible. Here, Marty forgot all about the unreliable and sickly ironic uncertainty of everyday life that he suffered in the States. Here everything fit, everything was perfect.

Aaron bent down and pushed the table cloth forward again. He looked at Marty’s legs. Then he screamed for real this time, making no attempts to try to hold back. Marty’s legs were gone! All that hung over that wooden chair he sat on were slightly uneven nubs all wrapped up in gauze, undoubtedly cauterized and shot full of painkillers. The blood must just have been where they had missed a spot. But how the hell did he know, Aaron wasn’t a doctor. He shot up and looked at Marty. Everyone was looking at him, but only for a second, and then they returned to their plates of meat.

“Marty,” Aaron murmured. “You’re legs. They’re...they’re...they’re gone!”

“What?”

“Yea, your legs are gone from mid-thigh!” Aaron spoke a little louder this time. Marty just looked blankly at his friend. Aaron sat there in shock.

“So.”

Aaron always had a bad habit of making mountains out of mole hills. He always did it at the worst times, too, and Marty had grown tired of it.

“What!?” Aaron became hectic. “So? So!? Your fucking legs are gone. Someone’s hacked off your legs! Look!”

Marty looked down to where Aaron pointed. He shrugged and took another bite.

“So, what’s the problem? I don’t see you complaining.” Marty pointed and looked down at Aaron’s legs. Aaron began to sweat, great swollen trickles of madness beaded and rolled down his face at the fear of just what Marty meant when he said that and motioned.

“So, what’s the problem? I don’t see you complaining.”

Slowly, Aaron lifted up and tucked the tablecloth that draped over his thighs and hid the rest of his lower appendages from sight. He let the light in carefully, and it inched its way down as the table cloth lifted. At about mid-thigh his pants were saturated with a dark stain that looked very much like something he didn’t want to accept. Following that discovery was the tightly bound wrapping of bloody gauze and those tell-tale stubs that were too drugged up from God knows what to have allowed Aaron to notice that they simply weren’t there. How was this possible? How had he not noticed that his legs couldn’t move? He looked over at Marty. There was a potentially plausible explanation present. Marty was crippled from the waist down; the result of a car accident approximately ten years ago. But he surely would have noticed. And from his earlier response, it seemed like he had. Marty nudged Aaron and he came out of it as best he could.

“Are you going to eat that?” Marty pointed to the untouched roast that was melting on Aaron’s plate. Aaron looked down at it and then over at Marty again. He looked around the room and saw that everyone was looking at him smiling; all the Koskekhs and Marty. Aaron swallowed hard again and grabbed an extra knife and fork and carved himself a small, succulent square. Slowly, he put it in his mouth. It was delicious. Aaron was disturbed that he could still taste, yet he chewed on it with as much care as an officer goes about diffusing a bomb.

“So, what’s the problem? I don’t see you complaining.”

The Koskekhs smiled at Aaron as he chewed on. Mrs. Koskekh came in from the kitchen with a platter balanced in her arms. Mr. Koskekh got up and spoke something to Marty. Evelyn translated, but it was out of earshot of Aaron. He leaned forward. Aaron watched him intently. He shook his head; the drugs or whatever he had still swimming around his helpless, legless body, still worked within him and were coming around for another lap. Aaron briefly felt dizzy and shook his head to rid himself of it. When he was composed, he stretched his arms out to a platter still covered and lifted it up. There, from the steam that rose like a ring of clouds off of a mountain, was revealed two grotesquely identifiable second helpings. Two sets of human feet; roasted, seasoned, and slathered in a rich sauce, rested in a carefully placed pile, much like corn on the cob would at a summer barbeque. Marty motioned for one and Mr. Koskekh planted his carving knife in it and laid it gently upon his plate.

“You’re being rude, Aaron.” But Aaron wasn’t there. He was over the edge. Outraged and disgusted, he spit the meat out of his mouth; the little piece of Marty or himself that he had been chewing on for the past two or so minutes splattered on the plate in front of him in a tattered, seeping wad. How much of him had Marty digested, or how much of himself even? Marty tried to keep himself composed, to keep polite, but he was starting to get visibly angry. Of all the fame and attention Aaron got for every insignificant thing he did that left Marty in his shadow, he couldn’t just let Marty have a chance of letting his dreams come true. He had met an amazing woman and Aaron ought to know this by now. How could he be so selfish and immature? So what if his legs are gone. Is life really over? And so what if they’re now being put to nutritious use. He doesn’t have to eat them. And if so, does one bite, one dinner make someone a cannibal?

“Marty, have you gone fucking nuts!?” Aaron scrambled in his chair.

“What are you talking about? And you’re being rude, Aaron. Mr. Koskekh is trying to get your attention.”

“I don’t give a fuck about him or Evelyn or good fucking manners! Look at what they’ve done to you. Look what they’ve done to us!”

Marty leaned in closer to Aaron.

“Dude, you’re being a buzz kill.”

“What?!”

“Yea,” Marty motioned over to where a bewildered Evelyn sat. “You’re kind of souring my chance here, man.” Marty wanted to lash out and unleash the tempest of frustration that spiraled out of control in his head. He wanted to point out the thousandth-fucking-time that Aaron was hindering his happiness. But he knew better than to cause a scene. Aaron was doing a splendid job and Marty wanted no part in that equation.

“Chance?! With someone who’s fucking eating you!?” Aaron tried to stand up but realized he lacked the proper equipment. Instead, he fell over and out of his chair, landing on the hardwood floor with a thump. Several of the Koskekhs rushed over to lift him back up and he fought at them to release him.

“Aaron, you need to settle down. We’re guests here, remember?” Aaron shook his head.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Have you gone mad?”

“No, I’m in love, Aaron. And I’ve got a real chance with Evelyn.” Evelyn leaned in and kissed Marty. Aaron looked at the both of them in a defiant stupor.

“You’re kidding me...”

“No Aaron, I’m not.” Marty leaned in. “Hey, she’s got a sister and, if you behave yourself for the rest of the night, you may have a shot. Apparently she’s a model and really digs guys like you. She thinks guys like you got real taste. Evelyn can introduce ya.”

Aaron didn’t even stop to comprehend what “real taste” could mean, he just pointed.

“Marty, look at that platter! It’s our feet!”

Marty’s expression was starting to grow heavy.

“I don’t understand what the problem is, Aaron. And frankly, you’re starting to get on my nerves.”

Aaron stared back in disbelief. He was staring at a stranger. Marty back home would never have been this nuts. He would have drawn the line somewhere and wouldn’t have compromised his legs, or his friend’s.

Marty stared back at Aaron and felt pity on his compulsive habits. Everything was always drama before a show. But Marty strongly cared for Aaron, as he had been his long-time friend, even before the accident that landed him in his chair. And when Marty weighed this observation with the situation at hand, he calmed himself and spoke.

“We’re guests here. And, besides, it’s just our feet and legs. It’s not like they’re eating anything else.”

“How do you know,” Aaron shot back. “How do you know that our feet and legs aren’t just appetizers!?”

Several Koskekhs started talking amongst themselves.

“What about my legs, you prick?” Aaron was seething. “I use my legs. I use them every fucking day!”

Marty wanted to correct him, but he felt it in poor taste to make a fool out of his friend, in addition to what was of Aaron’s own making. In the whole period in which Marty knew him, Aaron had kept a desk job for going on eight-plus years and his hobbies were either watching sports or playing them via video games. He never actually played them the way they originally were meant to be played.

Marty shrugged. “Legs are overrated. So many people don’t use their own. They never walk anywhere. Now you and I can have everything in common,” Marty elated.

“You’re fucking psycho! Nuts! What the hell has gotten into you? And besides, we don’t have that much in common. Certainly not enough to get my legs lopped off!” Aaron spit the rest of either of their taste onto Marty’s face. Marty wiped Aaron’s spit off of his face and now felt something besides anger grow inside him. It was pity; pity at a friend he tried so hard to help and gave so much to. Hadn’t he learned by now? Hadn’t Aaron sat back and realized that there is more to life than just petty, superficial conveniences? When Marty lost his legs he was in that exact situation, but even he learned quicker. He found that opportunities don’t necessarily cease, they just require a different approach.

“I’m leaving. Where’s your chair?”

Marty’s attention was diverted by Evelyn’s whispering in his ear. He nodded and directed his attention back onto Aaron.

“It’s over there in the corner.” Marty pointed. “It’s yours if you want it. Evelyn said that she’ll even show you out. I’m staying, just so you know.”

“Fuck you. Stay here and rot, asshole.”

Aaron’s resentful attack nearly broke something precious inside Marty and Evelyn, feeling it split, gave Marty reassuring affection. Then she got up and retrieved the wheelchair and brought it to where Aaron sat. He stared at it for what seemed to be hours. It taunted him and reminded him of a new, unwanted home. Eventually, Aaron expanded it and feebly hoisted himself in. Mr. Koskekh came over to assist and he cursed him and attempted to fight him off. However, Mr. Koskekh insisted and, out of his state of frustration, fatigue, and the semblance of foreign substances that were still dissipating within him, Aaron eventually gave in to his charity. The creaking of the chair and the squeaking of wheels cut through Aaron like rusty razors and, as he rolled out of sight, Aaron flashed Marty one last spiteful, betrayed-filled glare. Marty let his face fall and Evelyn came over to comfort him.

“He’s just not happy that you’re part of the family now,” Evelyn spoke as she leaned in to Marty.

“But don’t worry. Father will have a talk with him and make everything better.”

Marty looked over at her, a bright and hopeful expression beamed from his face.

“Father has a way to make him understand.”

END