“GET THE TWEEZERS!”
Because if no one else is gonna help me save my dick from worm doom, I’m doing it myself. I shove off the floor, stumble around the island. Dizzy and half-blind, I hunt for tweezers. We’ve got to have them. A junk drawer. A party favor bag. Maybe that weird glass bowl full of mystery shit on the counter. I tear through drawer after drawer, knocking stuff onto the floor.
Napkins, bottle openers, and more rubbers, but nothing else.
I drop to my knees. Throw open a cabinet under the sink. Nothing but a tub of protein powder. A stash of empty liquor bottles. A Solo cup, half-buried behind a stack of mismatched plastic plates and plastic forks. A bendy straw, a wine stopper shaped like a penis, and another Excalibur. But 2.0 this time!
A crusty-ass cocktail fork.
Dried blue frosting caked near the base. Probably from one of our ragers, where a chick brought cupcakes. I grab it. Drop to the floor. Yank my waistband down like I’m about to perform a ritual.
I spread my knees wide to save my balls. My eyes are wide too. The worm is getting closer. I can feel it. But Massi doesn’t care, still talking to Holli like we’re not mid-kitchen surgery. Useless bastard.
I brace myself and then stab my pretty bald balls.
“MAS, I’M BLEEDING! THE WORM . . . IT’S EATING MY INSIDES!”
I pull the fork toward my face. The wiggly worm is not on it. But blood is. Rolling down the spears. Slow, thick, and very real. Way too fucking real. I blink down.
Where did that little bastard go?
My dick lies to the side. A useless blob of skin and veins. My balls are throbbing when I grab them. Rolling them around to see a bloody mess. No eyes melting into lines this time. Maybe I did get that little bastard. Maybe that’s his blood all over my balls and hands.
“I got the little fucker. See.”
I hold up the cocktail fork. Blood drips onto my finger.
Massimo exhales above me and hangs up and tosses his phone on the counter.
“You’re gonna be the death of me.”
He doesn’t look at my balls when I yank them up. He rips the fork from my hand and throws it in the sink.
“Mas, look.” I press my feet into the floor. Make a bridge of my body to show him my balls. “Look, I got him. Killed the worm. Got his blood and guts all over my junk.”
“C’mon, dumbass.” His voice drops, not annoyed, but tired.
“Do you have a worm too? Did you get yours out? I wanna see. Did it attack your junk like mine?”
He pulls me up from under the armpits. Blood smears across my thigh. My hands are sticky from my surgery.
“Fuck, you smell like shit.”
“I feel like shit.”
I groan. Head slumps toward his shoulder. He smells good. Fruity or flowers. Like a chick. Maybe there’s a chick here. Bro got laid and didn’t include me. That sucks.
“Sleep it off. 7 am is too fucking early.”
He drags me toward the bedroom, mumbling under his breath about needing a new fucking family. Each room spins faster than the next. I lean my head on his shoulder, whisper something about leaving my balls in his will. He grunts like he’s not listening, but he tucks me in anyway.
“Love you, bro,” I mumble as he’s about to walk out.
I flash him a peace sign with my two fingers. My face smashes into sheets that smell like that same cheap perfume, tequila, and bad fucking breath.
“I know, Em. I know.”
I smile. Mas always has me. And the worm, that little bitch is gone. Until it fucking jump scares back into my body, twitching and wiggling through my guts again.
