The Citrus Syndrome

26 ; cheat

Cheat

Isaiah

Bo is making out with a woman when I find him, so naturally, looking out for my bro, I duck behind a bookshelf and wait for them to be done.

I wonder how long Bo has been up here lip-wrestling with this lady while his girlfriend is slowly wasting away in the basement. I mean, I don't blame him. It's the end of the world for god's sake. You may as well live it up.

They're both sick, obviously. They share the same ashen gray color, the same achy cracks of joints when the move like they have already entered rigor mortis. Honestly, it's a little gory to watch. It's like seeing two skeletons dancing.

They aren't skeletons yet, though. The woman looks soft, softer than Natalie with her bony shoulders and stomach. She has a little cushioning on her, which is never a bad thing in my book. Nor in Bo's, apparently.

She is the one facing me, so I can see her face but not his. She's nothing like Violet, that's for sure. She's white, for one thing, and looks like she could be really mean if she wanted to be. Her face has gone soft right now, though, like she's in a trance.

I've seen Bo do this to women before. He likes the tough ones, the hard to break type. Which is why I was so confused when he decided to hunker down with Violet.

I guess he had to. He's a good guy, Bo; he wasn't about to leave a girl on her own and pregnant with his child.

But this woman seems to be a throwback to his usual taste. I remember this one girl Bo dated in college, a punk rocker slash feminist hybrid. Bo told me that she always kept her eyes open when they made out. He said that it was kind of like a game, the objective being to get her eyes to close. I thought that was strange of him. I prefer women who don't try to stare me down while we're kissing.

They're really going at it, though. Tucked away in this corner of the library, they probably didn't think anyone would be watching. The woman is naked, wrapped in a blanket that Bo keeps trying to pull away. She giggles a little, pulling it back up to her neck every time he reaches for it.

"Oh, c'mon," he murmurs into her neck. "No one's ever going to know." He nibbles on her ear, drawing another giggle from her. She has a quiet, melodic laugh that doesn't at all match the harshness of her face.

"I can't," she sighs.

"Yes you can."

The smitten expression is slowly sliding from her face. She pulls away from Bo, holding him at an arm's length. For a strange second, I feel a glow of pride in this lady. It's so rare to see girls strong enough to resist Bo's charms. "I don't want Taya to walk in and find us here, alright?"

Bo slips his way back into her arms, flicking his tongue over her collarbone. "We're all gonna die anyway," he says.

She moans, shivering with pleasure. For the first time since walking in on this exchange, I feel like a pervert. I shouldn't be watching this. These are, after all, a couple's last moments together. What I am watching is genuine love, not some kind of sick, twisted porn. I can see it in her eyes; she loves him.

"Just because we're sick doesn't mean we can cheat," the woman tells him.

Bo, of course, doesn't care. "Think of it as saying goodbye," he says. She lets out a whimper as Bo brushes his thumb over her breast.

I know that if I'm going to interrupt them, I need to do it soon. She's about to break.

"But Violet," she says weakly. Bo cuts her off with a kiss. I listen to the wet sound of their tongues intertwining, feeling a little sick. It never ceases to amaze me how easily Bo can cheat. It never felt right to me, even after I moved to Houston. I slept with a couple girls there, but I didn't enjoy it. The entire time, I was thinking about Natalie and how upset she would be if she found out.

The thing is, Nattie probably knows I wasn't faithful. She's paranoid to excess; she always bets on the worst case scenario. She worries about things, then she blames them on herself. I frown, thinking of how she must have tortured herself while I was away, thinking of reasons why I would cheat on her, reasons why I would leave her.

Bo doesn't follow the same thought process. His philosophy is that as long as she never finds out, it's okay. And now that Violet is trapped in the dirty hell downstairs, she will never find out.

To my surprise, the woman doesn't give in quite yet. "Stop," she says. "We need to talk about this, Bo."

"We always talk," Bo sighs. "I'm tired of talking."

"I don't feel good about this."

"You smell like vanilla."

The woman sighs in frustration as Bo nuzzles her neck, stroking the underside of her chin with his tongue. I want to look away but I still can't. I can't stop thinking of Violet, how frail and sad she looked lying there in by herself. My chest seizes in panic as I think of Natalie, how pale she was when I left. What if she's dead?

"My God," the woman whispers. She puts her hand on the back of Bo's head, cradling him against her. "What am I going to do with you."

"Let me fuck you," Bo answers her. With a single movement, he locks their lips together and pushes her to the ground.

"Okay," she sighs.

"I love you," Bo says.

"I love you, too."

I shrink away, twisting through the maze of bookshelves to get away from them. The sound of their infidelity seems to follow me even when I escape the library, even when I slip back down the stairs to the basement. It follows me until I find my girlfriend in the labyrinth of sick, filthy bodies and let the sight of her wash away the impurity I just witnessed. Only, I can hardly see her. She is buried, buried with her best friend beside her and strangers surrounding her.

I sink to the ground. Why does everything have to be so awful, so cruel, so ruinous? Why can't the world leave us alone?