THE MARTYR

The blood trickled down. This was the first of many uncomfortable situations he would find himself in over the next few months.

“I’m sorry, she apologized.”

“It’s ok.” He whispered, searching his nightstand for a tissue, or towel or anything.

He found a rag he had used the night before, the night before he expected her to actually come over. It was disgusting, but he hoped she wouldn’t notice. She did.

“I’ve gotta run to the bathroom.” She explained, sliding out of the sheets.

“I’m really sorry.” He apologized.

“You didn’t do anything.” She yelled, her voice echoing off the white tiled walls.

He noticed that some of the blood had spotted his pillow, he scratched at it with a fingernail. Nothing happened. He forgot about it and got out of bed.

When he reached the bathroom, he peaked in carefully. She was standing naked and beautiful, leaning over the sink. Blood dripped form her nose with each beat of her heart.

“I’m not a leper, you can come in.” she said without looking up.

“You are supposed to hold your head up, so it clots.”

“But then it drips down your throat. I get these all the times, I know what I’m doing.”

He stood in the doorway. He looked down at the saggy latex sack that hung from his penis and let out and audible sigh.

“Are you upset?” she asked, clearly upset that he might be upset.

“What? No.”

“What’s with the sigh?” she turned her head to look at him, the blood now trailing across her cheek before dropping.

“I was just, I don’t know. Sometimes I sigh.” He said.

“Listen, I just got a bloody nose.” It’s not like I…Whatever. Can you grab my dress?”

“Are you leaving?” he asked standing rooted in place.

“It’s cold, just can you not be weird and grab my dress?” she asked, losing her patience.

He retrieved her dress from his floor, as bent down he became painfully aware of the saggy latex condom hanging from his flaccid manifestation of disappointment.

With one hand he held out her dress as she hovered over the sink bleeding. With his other hand he snapped off the condom, flipping up the seat with his bare foot and tossing the rubber into the water.

“Really?” She asked, not grabbing her dress.

“What?” He asked, flushing the toilet while still holding her dress at arms length.

“You are really acting like a child.” She said, snatching her dress.

She then held the wrinkly balled up dress high above her head while blowing her nose into the sink. Blood spattered everywhere, inside the bowl and out, a few drops making it  onto his mirror.

“Can you not do that?” he asked.

“Listen, I’m sorry I got a bloody nose, but that is no reason to pout about not getting laid. It could still happen if you stop being such an asshole.”

“Ok.” He replied.

“O.K.?” she asked. “Is that really all you have to say?”

He scratched a non-existent itch on his chest. His genitals hung low and sad and a little bit pathetic.

“Do you get like this every time shit doesn’t go your way?” she asked, finally tipping her head back. She was still holding her dress in one hand, her arm still raised high.

“What do you mean?” he asked earnestly.

“It’s like the end of the fucking world all of a sudden because you cant stick it in me right away. I mean, fuck, you look like I just ran over your dog.” She laughed.

“I’m just concerned.”

“For me or your dick?” she asked, ripping toilet paper from a roll.

“For you.”

“That wasn’t a real question.” She sighed, twisting up the toilet paper and shoving it into her nose. “Do you want to ask me anything?” she tested him.

“Do you have another condom?” he asked, smiling, thinking he was funny.

“Whelp, that concludes tonight.” She said, pulling her dress over her head. One of the twisted bloody nose tissues fell to the ground, but she pretended she didn’t notice and walked out of the bathroom. He looked at the tissues and considered mentioning it, but didn’t.

“I was just joking.” He pleaded, standing naked in the doorway. She was already sitting on the bed strapping on her shoes.

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake. I, I guess I am just not ready to fuck somebody new yet. It’s only been like a month. I figured, since you were just out of a relationship too, it would be this mutual awkwardness.” She explained.

“It is!”

“No, it’s not. I am used to my ex, he was strong, and a powerful and took control. He made me feel like I had no choice but to fuck his brains out.”

“What about me?” he asked, honestly wanting to know.

“You handed me a cum rag for my nose bleed and then got sad that the night wasn’t perfect. You gave up too easy.”

“Oh.” He said, wishing he hadn’t asked after all.

“Listen, I wont tell Heather that this happened, I will just tell her that you and I didn’t hit it off. I’m sure I’m not the only single friend she has.”

He couldn’t think of a single thing to say, but somehow, he got an erection.

“I’m sorry. Listen, if you wanna jack off onto my tits or something, that’s cool.” She said looking him dead in the eyes.

“No, I’m ok. Thank you?” he said awkwardly.

“Good luck.” She said.

“Thanks. “ he said, waving goodbye as he stood in the doorway naked. She walked out and forgot her underwear. She never asked for them back, and she told Heather that she liked him, but he was just not her kind of guy.

J. Hunter Richardson is an avid creator of bizarre stories, music and objects. He has had a story published on NPR called “The Red Lion”and more recently received funding for a comic book, Danger Wolf, about a gay vigilante trying to make a difference in a crumbling world. You can reach him via twitter @I_Am_DangerWolf.