Scars & Sex Appeal

He couldn’t remember anything from last night. Had he really gotten wasted and slept with someone else? He felt himself gag and ran to the toilet and wretched. Anything he had eaten or drunk the night before was gone. He sat on the floor, panting as he shakily reached up to flush the toilet. He felt disgusting and got to his feet to start the shower. Not even waiting for the water to warm, he stepped under the spray and burst into tears. All of his progress, his beautiful relationship, all gone. He shook as the water heated up. James scrubbed himself harshly, paying no mind to the pain of the bruises. He sobbed harder and harder until he was hyperventilating. At this point, he didn’t feel justified in stopping his panic attack. He let his heart hammer and his breathing stutter. He couldn’t calm himself down. I don’t deserve to, I don’t deserve to, I don’t deserve to, he thought.

After what felt like hours, James turned off the shower and got out. He wrapped himself in a towel and went back into the bedroom to watch the news. He scrolled through Twitter and saw all of the horrible things people were saying about him. Tumblr wasn’t any better. He nearly threw his phone across the room when his maid entered. 

“Dr. Caverly, I have prepared some scrambled eggs and toast. Coffee as well,” she greeted. 

“Thanks Mary… um… take the rest of the day off, will you? I’ll double your pay for the day,” he replied somberly.

“Sir, I don-”

“Please, Mary. I don’t want you around me today. Haven’t you heard? I might get drunk and have sex with you,” he interrupted. 

Mary scoffed. “Oh yes, because this is your fault? May I give you my opinion, Sir?”

“Go ahead.”

“I think that lady took advantage of you, Sir, and I don’t trust her.”

James teared up again. “Th-Thanks, Mary. I hate to disagree, but I do.”

“You’re just wallowing, Doctor. Please don’t stay here all day with your thoughts. It won’t do you any good.”

“I’m afraid of seeing Bry, Mary,” he sniffled.

“James. Get up.”

Oh, good. It was Bryan. He could probably help him. Without moving, he replied back with, “Shorty, darling my head hurts a lot. Can you bring me some ibuprofen or something?”

“You’re hungover. I’m not getting you anything, per our agreement,” he answered.

Hungover? He sat up, irritated that the sun and Bryan were on his right side and not the left. “Hungover? Wh-”

“Yes. You drank a lot last night. Evidently enough to completely black out. There was a gala last night.”

“Yes, and then I…..” he started.

“And then you what, James?”

“I don’t, uh, remember. I, uh… D-did people see me?” He started tearing up. Six months of sobriety all gone.

“You could say that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Drinking. I really didn’t mean to. I wouldn’t just do that. I honestly don’t remember.”

“Just drinking? That’s all?”

James stared blankly. Did he miss something? He can tell that he had been very drunk, judging by the queasiness in his stomach and the pounding in his head. Still, Bryan seemed really upset about something.

“W-what did I do?”

Bryan rolled his eyes and turned on the large TV in their bedroom. The noise hit James like a bullet, but he squinted at the screen. He could just make out his own photo and he could hear them talking, but nothing made sense. He heard things like infidelity and addiction. Alcoholism and professionalism. Infidelity… In… fidelity?

“What’s going on?”

As soon as he turned on the TV, he wished he hadn’t. James’ face was blown on every news channel. Pictures of him in varying states of intoxication. Pictures of him stumbling into a taxi. Pictures of him dancing with a blonde woman with red lipstick. Pictures of the two going upstairs together. And finally, an interview. The blonde woman sat with an anchor, discussing the events of the night before. It was barely, nine in the morning, do these people ever rest? The woman spoke with a soft German accent. Typical, he supposed. That was rude of him to think, but he really couldn’t care less.

“Oh yes, he was very intoxicated,” the woman reported.

“Really? What brought him to drink? As some of our audience may know, Dr. James Caverly was undergoing therapy and rehab to stop his drinking problem. Was there anything that could have spurred him to drink?” the anchor inquired.

“Oh, I’m fairly certain that it was to gain the courage to actually ask me to dance. He has a partner you know.”

“Yes, he does. Don’t drag me into this fucking mess,” Bryan grumbled. Of course, this was going to be a huge scandal. Infidelity amongst celebrities was very popular. Especially when the celebrity in question had a same-sex partner.

“Oh really?” the reported gasped. “Surely he couldn’t have planned this?”

“I don’t think it was his original intent, but it was definitely on his mind as I interviewed him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of me.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, was he a good dance partner?”

The blonde woman laughed. “He was very drunk when he asked. I also don’t think he has ever lead a dance in his life. However, he was very good in the other dance department, if you know what I mean.”

Bryan wanted to punch the dirty smirk off of her face. He couldn’t stand this woman. Everything she said was an utter lie. …Right? It had to be a lie. James would never just… well. Maybe he would. James had a lot of impulse issues. Just the slightest provocation would set him over. Maybe he had just fancied a drink and a quick tumble in the sheets. Bryan clenched his jaw tightly. It was seeming more and more probable that James had done this on his own accord. Is this why he never invited Bryan to these events? He always had said that he didn’t want him around these people, but maybe it was because he was sleeping with them. How could he have been so stupid?

“Your stockings are quite beautiful.”

“You’re so easy, Doctor.”

“Do you do this to anyone that grabs your cock?”

“Pathetic. I figured you could last longer.”

“Oh, still up for more are we?”

“The media is going to have a field day with all this.”

“You’re mouth is better suited for this than speaking.”

“All it took to get you like this was a sip of champagne.”

“I paid off that lovely woman to switch your drinks. She was desperate for money.”

“And what are you desperate for, James?”

“I’ve never seen someone as eager as you.”

“Good boy.”

“I might have to keep you around. You’re so obedient.”

“Your partner must really have a great time with you.”

“‘What partner?’ you say? I’m glad to hear it.”

“You really are a whore, Dr. Caverly.”

“Would you like another glass?”

He ordered another drink, a bourbon this time, and couldn’t really remember why he stopped drinking in the first place. Okay, so maybe he was drunk now. He tried to slowly drink this glass. However, it wasn’t as if he would be driving home. After “The Accident,” he no longer wished to drive, nor could he legally drive. He rubbed at his left eye absentmindedly. Blindness isn’t what bothered him. It was the nasty scars left behind; not just physical, but emotional scars, too. He took a gulp. No use in being sad-drunk. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He hoped it was Bryan. He turned.

“Olivia.”

“Doctor.”

Who was he just thinking about?

“Dance with me,” he concluded.

“It would be my pleasure,” she winked. Something mischievous hid behind the sparkle of her eyes. James was too drunk to either care or notice. He pulled her out to the dance floor. He placed one hand on her waist and his other in her hand. She grasped his shoulder with her other hand. Something felt off about the way they were dancing, but he couldn’t quite place it. Her dress was soft and completely open in the back. He tried his best to avoid her bare skin.

“You’re awfully good at dancing for a drunk guy.”

“‘M not drunk. Jus’ have had a couple drinks.”

“Of course, of course,” she giggled. James felt like something here was wrong but he didn’t really want to stop. Instead, he pulled her closer to him. Given by her sigh, it was the right thing to do.

“What made you want to be a journalist? Surely your charm coulda taken you further,” he asked, dazedly. She could be a model if she had wanted. She certainly had charmed her way into his hold and onto the dance floor.

“Oh, you know, meeting new people. Traveling the world. The usually stuff,” she replied. Something dark glittered in her eyes. They continued sway to the music, slowly getting closer and closer.

“I’m sure you’ve met quite your share of people.”

“None as interesting as you, Doctor.”

James felt something stirring in his lower gut. He felt his face grow red, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“My, my, Dr. Caverly. What do we have here?” She moved her hand from his shoulder and placed it directly over his crotch. “Why don’t we take care of that?”

James spluttered. This was wrong, so wrong. He felt her squeeze. Was it wrong? Yes, it was still wrong. He didn’t have the brains to say why, but it was. He should say something. I need to go home, he thought.

“I need another drink,” he stated.

“Of course. Waiter! Oh, dankeschӧn, dear. Here, appletini.” She handed him the glass. He stared at it for a moment.

“What are you waiting for?” she urges.

“Nothin’, I guess. Bottom’s up,” he chucked. He drank the contents in 2 gulps and the burn of it broke the rest of his inhibitions. He set his glass back on another waiter’s tray. “Uh, where were we?”

The hand was back. “Why don’t we take this somewhere private? I’m staying in this hotel.”

James turned toward the voice with a quirked eyebrow. It was a woman with long brown hair and piercing gray eyes. She was wearing a deep purple gown with small jewels decorating the hem. He replied with an “ah, yes.” Her bright smile seemed out of place, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. It seemed unnatural. Who was he to say? He didn’t know this woman. She seemed to pick up on his unfamiliarity.

“You don’t, ah, remember me, do you?” she asked. He thought long and hard for a moment before shaking his head.

“No, I don’t, uh, think so. Um, remind me where I have met you?”

She laughed. “Grad school. We had a chem lab together. I suppose it makes sense that you wouldn’t remember me. You always came in hungover.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well, um. I don’t, uh, do that anymore. I, um, run a company now and, uh, um…” Jesus, he knew how to speak better than this. Slow down, Caverly. Let yourself relax, he thought. His hand twitched nervously at his side. His other hand fiddled with the stem of his glass.

“I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable. I assume that’s not champagne then?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Well, good for you then. Oh! If you don’t mind, I’d like you to meet my friend, Olivia.”

The woman called Olivia strode up beside the brunette woman. This woman had blonde hair neatly wrapped in an updo and bright red lipstick. Her skin was pale and unblemished. He dark emerald eyes sparkled with something James couldn’t quite place. He didn’t expect her lipstick to look as great as it did on her with her eyes, but it did. Her black gown left little to the imagination.

“Ah, Dr. Caverly, what a pleasure,” said Olivia in a thick German accent. She held her perfectly manicured hand out in greeting.

Shaking her hand he replied, “Pleasure’s all mine, ma’am. How is it that you know Dr. Goldstein, here?” The brunette looked at him in shock. So maybe he had heard of her.

“Oh, Sharon is a good friend of mine! Yes, we met during an interview I did with her. I’m a journalist.”

James sipped his cider nervously. The press always found their way to him and always found some way to ruin him. He had to make sure to make the best impression. Even if he didn’t care about his own image, what the media said about him always affected Bryan’s reputation. How can a teacher be reliable when their partner is a horny alcoholic? He had learned the hard way that the slightest slip in his composure would receive a wave of backlash.

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but could I grab a quick quote from you? It would really be an honor,” Olivia pleaded.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, that would be fine.”

“Great! Sharon, would you mind…?”

“Oh, say no more! Great seeing you again, Chrome,” Sharon winked. He tried to hold back a grimace. It was odd hearing people at a gala call him by his nickname. He set his glass down on the bar table he was sitting by.

“Alright, shoot,” he sighed.

“So, Dr. Caverly, what made you decide to turn your research into a corporation? Why go from scientist to CEO?” she questioned.

He took a deep breath. “Well, I’m still in the lab more often than not. I figured that my work could be beneficial to more people than just the editors for scholarly journals. I didn’t want to work under anyone, fearing that they would take my work and charge people thousands of dollars to use it. A lot of people making strides in the genetics industry, especially when in accordance to cancer research, come up with new treatments and then turn them over to have the patients be charged thousands of dollars. I want the people I help to be able to afford the care. It can’t be free, but it shouldn’t be expensive.”

“Wow, Doc, I never would have expected that from a billionaire.”

“Well, the other work I do is profitable. Modifying crops to survive the hell conditions on this planet helps a lot of people.”

“A lot of people don’t want to consume GMOs.”

“Starving people don’t care if the food is completely natural or expired in the dumpster. It isn’t a bad thing. The crops have simply evolved. They aren’t toxic or bad for the environment. They aren’t invasive.”

“Bold statements for someone who actively avoids the press.”

He reaches back for his drink. “Well, I wouldn’t want anyone to paint a bad picture of me.” He took a sip of his cider. Only, he realized half a second to late that the smell was different, sharper, and by the time he noticed, it had already passed his lips. The crisp taste of champagne left him craving more. He looked at the bar table in a panic. Maybe he grabbed the wrong glass. No, there weren’t any other glasses. This was meant for him. His hands started to twitch as he resisted the urge to down the glass full of that delicious bubbly drink.

“Is something wrong, Dr. Caverly?”

“N-nope. Is this, uh, interview over?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you, sir.”

Without another word, she left. James looked at his glass. He shouldn’t. He should. It’s been six months. One drink couldn’t hurt him. He tipped the flute back and drained it in one gulp. Oh, how he missed it. Maybe he shouldn’t have drank it so fast. Sips would have been better. Water. Water will be good for me right now, he thought. He went up to the bar. The bartender smiled brightly at him.

“Another cider, sir?”

“Scotch, on the rocks.” No wait, that wasn’t right. “Water, I mean. Just water.”

“Just water, eh? Well you let me know if you want anything other than water.”

I have never once been technologically inept. Bite me. And don’t say that you can bite me because you don’t have dentures.