Page 38 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

Avery introduces himself, and Jamal sways a little as he looks between me and Avery. He looks way too drunk to even try piecing

together why we might possibly be hanging out. He’d probably tip over if you tapped his shoulder at this point.

Avery and Sasha make small talk for a bit while I try not to stare at Jamal and pretend not to notice him staring too. He’s

probably too drunk to realize how awkward this is, but I’m not.

He’s never been one to look away when I catch him looking, but I guess things are different now. Now, he practically flinches

when I look at him and immediately looks the other way. He’s not exactly slick with the staring, but I don’t know if it’s

because he’s too drunk to pretend, or if he’s just not used to pretending with me at all.

Eventually Sasha seems to catch on that Jamal doesn’t want to be talking to us, so they go somewhere else.

Hunter comes back just as Sasha and Jamal are walking away, precariously balancing three red cups in his hands. “Got us some

drinks!”

“Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t,” Avery says. “I may not have that bootleg Rolex anymore, but I’m still on probation.”

“Bootleg Rolex!” Hunter lets out the biggest belly laugh I’ve heard from him at Avery’s not-even-that-funny joke. “All right,

I’ll get you something else.”

And he turns around and leaves us alone once again. He could have at least given me my drink before walking off. That way I’d have something to distract myself from being stuck at a party with only Avery.

“So, I didn’t know you were coming... ,” Avery says without looking at me.

“Do you have a problem?” I snap back, not even trying to hide my irritation.

“I’m trying to say, you probably didn’t know I was coming either. So... I guess, sorry if I caught you off guard.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re sorry about?” I roll my eyes.

“Well, yeah. And... the other stuff.”

I narrow my eyes on him. What the hell is his angle here? Does he think I’ll lower my guard from some fuck-ass non-apology?

“Could you, uh... not tell Nick you saw me here?” Avery sounds a little on edge.

I want to ask why he’d think I would have any desire to talk to Nick in the first place, but Hunter’s back before I have to

answer.

He hands one cup to Avery and the other to me, and I eagerly start chugging mine. Anything to make tonight less awkward. But

the disappointment just keeps coming.

“Is this just... regular Coke?” I ask.

“Yeah!” Hunter smiles like this is somehow a good thing. “I thought Avery might feel pressured if we drink in front of him, you know?”

I almost spit out my regular Coke. Why the fuck would I care how Avery feels about me drinking? I. Do. Not. Care. About. Avery.

“Oh, um, that’s really nice, but y’all can drink if you want,” Avery says.

“I’m gonna get a real drink.” I walk off at that and head to the kitchen.

The counter is littered with red cups, even though whoever threw this party clearly put out a bunch of trash bins to keep people from doing just that.

I scan the room while I pour my drink, looking for something to distract myself with. Jamal and Sasha are the opposite of

a distraction, so I quickly look back down and decide it’s better to focus on my drink.

Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn to see Zo. It looks like Aaron stayed behind to say hi to Avery and Hunter first.

“Everything okay?” Zo asks.

“Everything’s great why wouldn’t it be I’m obviously fine,” I say in one cramped stream of words.

“Right,” Zo says with an awkward laugh. “So, wanna pour an extra shot for me?”

I nod and pour one more, but when I look up to hand it to Zo, I catch a glimpse of the back of Jamal’s head from across the

room, and my stomach twists. He and Sasha are grinding on each other like they’re the only ones here.

Zo glances in the direction I’m looking and turns back to me. “Friend of yours?” they ask.

“Yeah, we’re friends,” I say, hating how sad the word sounds out loud. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

I slip out of the kitchen and make my way across the living room without giving them a chance to ask questions. I weave my

way through a sea of drunk college students until I make it to the bathroom. Once again, it seems like no one here has heard

of a trash can. A few red cups line the sink, some precariously stacked on top of each other. I sigh and start pushing them

into the trash, which is right fucking there . One of the cups unstacks and misses the bin, rolling onto the floor, a condom falling right on my shoe.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my irritation tempered. But when I go to bite the bullet and throw the condom

away, I realize it’s... off. Whatever’s inside it isn’t any kind of liquid. It’s almost like there’s a crumpled-up piece

of paper in there. I pick it up, doing my best to convince myself it’s not gross if it’s not actually used.

I turn it inside out, and fifty bucks pops out.

Maybe I get to have one thing Sasha can’t tonight. Looks like I found the money shot.

I shove the cash in my pocket and make my way back to the party. My satisfaction is almost immediately interrupted when I

find Jamal and Sasha full-on making out. I’m not even upset that he’s making out with someone, but at how not him he seems. Jamal doesn’t party. He doesn’t do PDA. He barely drinks. I know I’ve been pushing him away for a while now, but

has he really changed that much?

How many open mics have I missed by now? How many accomplishments or failures has he had without me? How many drunken kisses?

All this time, someone else has been there through all those things with him, and I’ve been nowhere to be found.

I want to slap myself in the face for feeling jealous. I have no right to feel any kind of way about who Jamal kisses. He

has every right to kiss other boys. He should kiss other boys. I want him to. Want him to be happy. To find someone who can love him back out in the open. To be loved by

someone who feels no shame.

But I still want to throw up.

I can still see Jamal from across the room as I get closer to the hallway, even though I’m trying not to look. He pulls away

from Sasha, and right when I feel like I could throw up, puke shoots out of Jamal’s mouth instead. Right onto Sasha’s shirt.

From the distance I’m at, I can’t hear what Sasha says, but he looks disgusted, and he runs away to the bathroom.

Without thinking, I quickly grab one of the trash bins near the wall and rush over to Jamal.

He doesn’t see that it’s me holding the trash can in front of his face as he vomits into it. Doesn’t see that it’s me who’s

rubbing his back and telling him to let it out.

I’ve never seen Jamal actually get drunk before. He was always the one who took care of me while I blacked out. But if it’s

going to be the other way around tonight, at least it’s good that he won’t remember this in the morning.

“Did you drive here?” I ask, and Jamal wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

“Cesar?” he asks instead of answering my question, like he somehow already forgot I was here. “What are you...” Then he

throws up again into the bin a few more times.

“Let’s get you some fresh air,” I say when he finally seems to be done. Not only because fresh air would do him good right

now, but because he’ll be less embarrassed if he’s throwing up outside with no one to watch.

“M’kay... ,” he slurs as I pull one of his arms over my shoulder and lead him out to the front yard so we can be alone

without judging eyes.

We sit on the grass in front of the curb. Well, I sit. Jamal flops down in my lap. He must be too drunk to remember he hates me right now.

“I’m so drunk...” He states the obvious, and I chuckle to myself.

“Did you drive here?” I ask again. He should probably get home, but there’s no way he can drive in his condition.

“Mmhm...”

Then Hunter comes out looking for us. “Jamal, you okay, bro?” he asks.

“He’s shit-faced,” I say. “I think I’m gonna take him home.”

“Damn,” Hunter says, disappointed. “Do you want me to drive so I can take you back here after?” he asks.

“Thanks, but nah, I’ll take Jamal’s car. Otherwise, he’ll have to figure out how to get here tomorrow to pick it up.” And

I’m not really in a partying mood after seeing Jamal puke his guts out just now. Besides, my house is walking distance from

Jamal’s, so I won’t need to drive home. I feel a little bad since Hunter invited everyone from group here just for me, but

I’m sure they’ll have a better time without my sulking anyways.

“All right, I’m glad you still have his back. He’s lucky.” Hunter smiles a little for some reason. “Next time we’ll show up

before anyone has a chance to get shit-faced, promise.” He laughs, then goes back inside.

Do I have Jamal’s back? I fucked him over so many times. It’s more un lucky than anything that he had to meet me. I look back down at Jamal, whose eyes are half open as he stares off into the

distance. He groans, eyes still closed.

“Let’s get you home, all right?”

“I’m fine, I swearrrr.... ,” he says slowly. “Party’s not over till I sayyy soooo....”

“You just emptied your guts on a hot college guy. The party is over.” I laugh and try to help him up, but he doesn’t budge.

“Come on, we need to get you home.”

Jamal looks up at me with a pouty lip. “But I’m hungry.”

I laugh again. “Okay, we’ll get you some food, then get you home.”

At that, he lights up with a huge grin and finally lets me help him to his feet. I try putting his arm around my shoulder

again, but he just stumble runs toward his truck. I race after him, surprised by how fast his drunken steps are. We make it

to his truck at the same time, and he hands me his keys. I open the passenger door for him and help him climb inside before

going around to the driver’s side and taking the wheel. Jamal leans the seat all the way back so he’s practically lying down

in the car.

“Does Sasha make you happy?” I ask. Not out of jealousy this time, but because if Jamal tells me he’s happy, it’ll all be

worth it.

“What?” is all he says in response.

“Sasha, the guy you were making out with? Are you guys together now?”

“Oh...” Jamal frowns. “No, we’ve been hooking up. He probably blocked my number now, though. Too much baggage, and also

puke.”

I can’t help but feel like I’m responsible for at least a good chunk of said baggage. Instead of delving deeper into the issue,

though, I change the subject.

“Taco Bell or Jack in the Box?” I ask, since those are the two main late-night drunk eateries I know of.

“Jack in my crack,” Jamal mumbles, smiling to himself like he’s never said anything funnier. I spit out an unexpected laugh.

He must really not realize who he’s talking to if he’s making that kind of joke.

“All right, what do you want?” I ask as we pull up to the drive-through.

“A hundred tacos,” he says, dead serious.

“You are not eating a hundred tacos.” I laugh again.

“You’re no fun. Fifty tacos.”

“I’ll get twenty,” I compromise, knowing if I suggest anything less, he’ll never let us leave the drive-through. Besides,

with tax, my newly acquired condom treasure is barely enough to cover twenty.

“Fine.”

Jamal hums his eagerness when I pass him the giant bag of tacos. He eats them without unreclining his seat on the drive to

his house.

“Question,” he says thoughtfully.

“Yeah?” I ask, trying to ignore the aching in my heart at how normal this feels. He takes awhile to ask his question, so I

figure it must be extra ridiculous. I turn to look at him after another few moments of silence, only to see him fully asleep

with a half-eaten taco on his chest.

I don’t know why, but it makes me want to cry. What if that was the last chance I had at hearing one of his random questions?

I pull up to his cousin’s driveway and look at the sleeping boy next to me, letting a small smile tug at my lips despite everything.

The truck rumbles to a stop, and I quietly get out and go around to Jamal’s side and unbuckle him.

I pull out the keys, then scoop one hand under his knees and the other under his back.

I’ve carried Jamal before, but he’s a little taller now than when we were dating, so he’s a bit heavier than he was then.

Still, I manage to get him out of the car and slowly stalk over to his house, where I somehow manage to get the door unlocked

and open without letting him fall. I carry him into his room as quietly as possible before laying him gently down on the bed,

pulling the blanket over him.

“Mmmmlove you,” he mumbles, eyes still closed.

My heart breaks.

“I love you too,” I whisper only after he starts snoring again.

The only comfort I have is that he’ll forget all of this in the morning. I wish he could just forget that he loved me altogether.