That's what people do.
They make themselves the star
in somebody else's story.
— Flair
My morning with Doug didn't go as planned.
That's an understatement.
Ugh.
When we were at The Bitter End, He watched me slam my whiskey, and he smiled as he did the same. I smiled too, because I knew what was coming next.
I said, "Let's get out of here," and I talked him into letting me drive his truck, which was crazy on his part. Bro thought he drugged me, yet he let me drive his truck?!? Holy hell and what the fuck.
Off we went.
I told him we were headed to a motel, but once the roofies kicked in, it was sleepy time for him. Roofies are worse than evil, but he drugged himself, so I felt no guilt.
After a quick stop at my place for supplies, I drove Doug to the abandoned warehouse, and I paid a junkie to help drag him inside.
The junkie asked, "Is that guy dead?"
"Here's fifty bucks. Does it matter?"
It did not.
And, obviously, the cash came from Doug's wallet.
The hard part was waiting for Doug to wake up and be conscious enough for a conversation. That took a while.
My plan was to scare the holy hell out of him. Then I'd call the cops and tell 'em Doug tried to rape me, which was the goddamn truth. I did the Good & Plenty bit for the cops. In Wanatah, I had a reputation for being a smartass. In Gary, I had to start from scratch to earn it, not that I cared about that sort of thing.
I figured Doug would tell the cops I poisoned him. Then I'd hand them the box of Good N' Plenty while I popped a few in my mouth. It would have been hilarious! It would have made me a legend in this town. People would have told that story for years, and the story would get better every time as they'd add their own flair.
That's what people do. They make themselves the star in somebody else's story. And with flair, fact becomes fiction as myth becomes legend.
It should have been amazing.
And it would have been amazing, but Doug did something I hadn't anticipated.
He started to cry.
I told him, "Lose the tears, bro. You're too old for that shit. You know what you did, and there's no undoing it. This is the part where I get even. Then you fuck off, knowing the story of your humiliation will be told again and again and again."
But Doug was bawling.
"Stop crying!" I screamed. "My God! Do you have any idea how much of a downer you are? You're ruining my moment, Doug!!!"
This wasn't fun anymore, so I came clean.
"Listen, asshole, I didn't poison you. Those 'pills' are candy," I said, as I munched on a few. "GNP? They're Good & Plenty. They're licorice. Want one? I'm bettin' you don't."
He turned the crying up a notch. Goddamn. This was no fun at all.
"Come on, Doug! Don't you dare ruin this for me!!!"
On TV, when the girl gets even, they make it seem empowering. The girl looks so strong and wise as she shows a guy the error of his ways, and he becomes remorseful. It's always like that on TV and in the movies. But that Hollywood shit isn't real. They never show the girl getting stuck with a blubbering Doug. There's no power in kicking a guy when he's already been brought down.
"You're supposed to be remorseful, Doug!!! You did a terrible thing! Now I'm getting even!"
"I'm... sorry."
"No, no no!!! You don't get to say you're sorry! You're only sorry because you got caught. You drugged yourself."
It was at this point that I realized I was holding his gun. I'd been swinging it around every time I gestured with my hands.
"Oh, stop crying!!! I'm not gonna shoot you. I made sure it's not loaded," I lied. I didn't actually know if it was loaded, and quite frankly, I didn't care. "I hate guns. And I hate you."
I needed to put the gun down, because the power of having his life in my hands started to scare me.
"I'm supposed to win, Doug. Don't you get it? Don't you see what we're doing here??? That's what this moment's supposed to be about. This is the part where I win and you lose, and you're ruining it. YOU'RE RUINING MY TRIUMPH!!! FUCK."
I've never been good with tears, especially if I cause them. But this wasn't my fault.
"You caused this, Doug! Fuck this. And fuck you. I was gonna use your phone to call the cops, and turn you in for the roofies, but you're not even worth it. So, now what?"
He yelped, "Oh god, don't shoot me!!!"
"I already said I'm not gonna shoot you," as I finally put down the gun, laying it on one of the filthy milk crates. I was sick of wasting time in a cold, dark, abandoned warehouse. I was ready for this to be over.
"Y'know what, Doug? We're done here. I'm gonna untie you, and when I do, I want you to run. Run like your life depends on it. Your truck is outside. RUN."
And that's what I did.
But he didn't.
"I SAID RUN!!!"
But he wouldn't.
"Get the hell out of here Doug!!! RUUUUUNNNNNNUN!!!!!"
But he couldn't.
Instead, he slowly trudged his way across the room, one defeated footstep after another. And the more he cried, the slower he walked, and the more infuriated I became.
"I!!! TOLD!!! YOU!!! TO!!! RUN!!!!!!!!!!"
And he should have, but he just sat down, on the dirt and crushed glass, on the concrete floor. And he sobbed.
"I'm sorry," he lied. "I'm not a bad person. I'm really not. I just... I just... I don't know. I'm sorry." And he buried his head in his hands as he continued to wail.
I ran over and dragged him by the collar, pulling him to his feet, from behind, and I pushed him out the door, shoving him every fucking step of the way to his truck, which I then shoved him into.
"GET IN!!! GET IN!!! GET OUT OF HERE DOUG!!!! GO!!!!!!!"
He did. But he drove away almost as slowly as he'd walked.
I'd never seen a vehicle look defeated before.
I won.
So, why was it not enough?
In the distance, I heard the junkie say, "Heyo! He ain't dead!"
But I wished he was.