Just a Scratch (Patreon)

“Oh, bother!” Sean said out loud as something sharp in the gym bag handle cut into his fingers. It had been a stupid request from the beginning when Mitch, Sean’s girlfriend's immature brother had called him late last evening and asked for a favor. A friend of his would drop off a bag outside the house during the night, and Sean should bring it to Mitch when he picks up her sister for the date. Why couldn’t his friends hand over their items in person? They meet almost every day anyway. And why him of everyone? Mitch didn’t even like him very much, and had even made some threats months ago. It didn’t occur to Sean until just after he had hung up that there might be something illegal going on. But that made even less sense to involve another person. Whatever the reason he would be happy to get rid of the small gym bag. It is only large enough to carry shoes and some training clothes, not that he cares what is in it.

He looks at his fingers, and sees a small scratch and a bead of blood. Carefully he runs a finger along the nylon rope handles, but can’t locate whatever sharpness had cut him. He looks closer at the injury to see any splinters or anything left in the skin, but finds nothing. He continues to his clunker of a car, places the black canvas bag on the passenger seat, and closes the door. He pauses a bit, looking at the bag. It’s been with him all day, and he hasn’t really been interested in whatever was in it until now. He ought to know what he has bled to deliver, not that it was much nor that he has actually done it yet. He grabs the bag, opens the zipper, and peers inside. The faint smell of beach body wafts from the bag, coconut oil and armpits. Just a bunch of shit. Some pink sweatpants shorts, stringer top, a pair of expensive sunglasses, and some other shit below. Nothing that warrants his delivery service. Even more annoyed than before he puts his foot to the gas and makes an uncharacteristically violent start.

It’s a shit car, already when it was new, but this one has had two prior owners, all of whom had made their own marks and dents. It has nowhere near the stated mpg any more, something rattles in the dashboard, and the paint was already scratched on one side when he bought it. Despite being careful one thing after the other stopped working properly, just on schedule according to its planned obsolescence he imagined. Two weeks ago the inside passenger door handle stopped connecting to the mechanism inside the door. This weak one of the radio speakers started to occasionally sound distorted. He’d rather spend all money on a new car, and nothing more on this one though. All of that has to wait until after he has defended his Ph.D.

“Piece of shit!” Sean says out loud in the car, hitting the steering wheel with frustration that even surprises him. A pulse of pain spreads from the hand. The damn finger cut is getting worse. No wonder he is irritable. He hits the wheel again, and another shot of dull pain spreads along his arm. He knows he really shouldn’t, but it’s the kind of pain that feels good in a way. He makes another hit.

Something is itching inside of him. Like something he has repressed for a long time. Perhaps the long hours doing experiment planning and result collation has finally caught up with him. He turns on the radio and hears people talking. Boring. He presses the channel presets one after the others, meticulously configured when he first took possession of the car. Boring. Boring. Country music. Boring. Trash. Crap. Finally he lands on some hip hop he has never heard before and dials up the volume. He starts hitting the wheel to the beat of the track. Pulse after pulse of dull pain washes over him. He doesn’t know why, but it’s somehow exactly what he is craving. He switches lane for the highway. Jenni can wait a bit. He starts feeling hot and unbuttons his shirt while steering with his knee.

More than 2 hours late Sean rolls to a halt outside the O’Hare family house. No sooner has he shut off the engine than Jenni bolts out through the main entrance, running towards the car with a concerned look. She slows down and her facial expression shifts to confusion once she gets close enough to see that she doesn’t recognize the driver. An at least half-naked, heavily tattooed man with bulging muscles and a smug grin is, despite wearing sunglasses, very obviously checking her out from the driver's seat. Hesitantly she opens the passenger door and is hit full on by the smell of coconut and man.

“Hey there, honey. Home delivery of seed refill, extra-large.” says the cartoon version of a jock that vaguely resembles Sean, one hand on the steering wheel and the other down his pink sweatpants shorts.
“Sean? Sean! What has... How?” his lewd hand movement inside his shorts is as distracting as they are repulsive to her.
“Look what I got!” he motions to his pierced nipple with his free hand. “A stud for a stud. Get it?”
She gets it all right. “Tell Sean that it was a very funny joke, but a bit in bad taste. If he still wants dinner he can call me. Bye.” and she walks away from the car, door open, and hurries back into the house.

“Fucking bitch” Sean says to himself and reaches over and out of the car to close the door, when someone steps out of the bushes. “Hey Mitch! Did someone stick a stick up your cunt’s cunt? Get it?”

Mitch doesn’t answer but jumps into the passenger seat and closes the door before anyone from the house can see him. “Hey bro!”
“Sup bro!” Sean replies and slowly starts to drive away. Mitch quickly adjusts to the unexpected departure “It’s chill. Yourself?”
“Fucktastic. Had to drive a bit to clear my head.”
”Isn’t that bad for the studies.”
”Fuck studies. Pump iron and pump bitches is all I need. If only I could find somewhere to also clear my balls. Get it?”
“I do... I do... I heard Jenni.”
“What a fucking bitch!” Sean cut off.
“Hey! She’s my sister you know. That’s why I couldn’t have her date such a loser, though you're a different kind of loser know I guess.” Mitch can’t see the flicker of anger and dying gasps of intelligence behind the shades as Sean slowly turns from the main road into a forest access road.
“You fucked my shit up so I’m gonna fuck your shit up. Get it?”
All color drained from Mitch’s face as he repeatedly pulled the broken handle on the passenger door.