Shane McKenzie - Pus Junkies

The pus oozed out like a pale worm. Little by little, curling like a pig’s tail as it spiraled out. Kip used both thumbnails to squeeze the irritated, bloated zit that had made itself at home on the spot right between his eyes. Tiny hairs stuck out of it, making it look like an oily red hedgehog on his face.

Once the pus had run out, the blood followed right behind it, painted the edge of his nails red. Kip ripped another sheet of Kleenex from the box beside him, wiped the pus string onto it, then used it to sop up the blood. He already had four torn pieces pasted to various spots on his face.

The pills weren’t working. Before those, he had tried every cream and medicated ointment the dermatologist offered, every face wash and wipe he could get over the counter. The acne won the battle every time. In fact, it only seemed to be getting worse. Covering his face, the back of his neck, his chest, his ass, and his entire back. The pimples pulsated on the surface of his skin, tickled his flesh as if each one was filled with baby spiders thrashing around inside.

So when none of the washes or medicated wipes worked, the doctor had given him some pills. The man had talked about how powerful they were, how they used the pills as a last resort, had some pretty serious side effects. Said Kip should see results in as little as a week or so. It had been a month. Acne still covered him like red, oily sand dunes in an endless white desert. His skin had dried out, just like the doctor said it would, but it did nothing to stop the pimples from rising. Flakes of skin like fish scales inhabited the spots between the acne, and his lips were chapped so bad they resembled twin snakes shedding their hides. He licked his finger and rubbed the dry spots on his face to moisten the skin some.

I look like a leper. How am I ever going to get laid?

He’d like to think that if his torso wasn’t covered in pus-filled bumps that he’d have more confidence. That he would actually speak to a female—one in particular—let alone try and get one to sleep with him. That’s what he told himself anyway.

With his shirt off, he lifted his arms and spun in place, keeping his eyes on the mirror. The pimples on his chest and back were inflamed, a bright neon pink, but he didn’t bother popping any of them—he’d save those for later… looked forward to it. It was the ones on his face he wanted to get rid of. Not that they looked any better emptied of their white custard filling. They were now open wounds, spewing blood, the skin a darker red, almost maroon. It always took hours before the bleeding would fully stop, and then they would just become scabs attached to his skin like flattened ticks.

He got a strange kick out of popping them. There was no pain at all, but a euphoric sensation when he squeezed them. Sometimes when they got to pulsating real bad, it was almost like having an orgasm, and he’d just close his eyes and enjoy it before it passed, before the zits calmed and remained still. He was pretty sure that wasn’t normal, that he probably should have said something about it to the doctor, but he never got around to it. He didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or because he didn’t want the doctor to make that feeling go away.

There was a new zit on his bottom lip. Even though it looked like it, the bump wasn’t herpes, he knew that for sure. Had to kiss a girl to get herpes. The zit made his lip look swollen, like he’d been punched in the mouth, and no matter how hard he squeezed it, he couldn’t get it to pop. It tingled, made his left eye water as it throbbed.

It’s not ready yet.

He tried again anyway, rolling his eyes as the pleasure erupted across his lips. His thumbnails had carved crescent-shaped divots into the oiled flesh, and small dribbles of blood oozed out, but no pus. The zit had about doubled in size from irritation, and Kip finally decided to leave it alone.

I’ll take care of it tomorrow.

By then it would be filled with cream, begging to be emptied out by his thumbs.

He had been trying to ignore the raised voices coming from downstairs. A few years ago, he had turned the attic into his bedroom, always thought of it as his own little hideout. Like a treehouse. His mom was totally fine with it, said he deserved it for being such a great student and an even better son.

Kip dropped to his knees, pushed down on the door just enough so he could make out what was being said.

“…trying. What the hell do you want me to do?” The voice of Kip’s cousin, Zak. He’d only been living with them for about a week now.

“Get your act together, that’s what. I’m doing my best here, Zak. I really am.” Kip’s mother. Kip could tell by the pitch of her voice that she was really upset, sounded on the verge of tears.

“I told you, I’m trying. I’m going to class and doing my best. You’re tripping out this bad over a cigarette? Lady, you’ve got to lighten up… at least a little bit. I can’t just—”

“Lady? Lady? You call me Aunt Jenny. You understand me? Or better yet, you call me ma’am. I will not be disrespected in my home by some punk ass kid. I’m doing you a favor here. Do you know how hard your mother begged me to bring you here? I hadn’t heard my little sister cry like that since we were kids. You really did a number on her, you know that? You and that son of a bitch she’s with.”

“Yes. I know. And I hate that prick too. It’s because of him… Look, I fucked… sorry… I messed up bad. I know that. I’m trying to make things right. I’m not drinking anymore. Not doing any drugs. I swear. And I’m trying hard in my classes.”

Kip eased the door down a few more inches, hoping to get a glance. He could see their feet now, but didn’t dare open it any further.

There was a moment of silence, and he knew his mother was covering her face with both hands and shaking her head. She always did that when she was upset.

“I don’t want to catch you smoking cigarettes again. Okay? You might not think it’s a big deal, but I don’t want my son seeing that kind of behavior. Deal?”

Zak sighed. “Deal. It’s not like Kip’d ever actually smoke one. But I won’t smoke them here.”

I would too! I would if I wanted to!

“I don’t like you smoking those damn things at all. But you don’t do it here at my home, and we won’t have a problem.”

“Cool.”

“And have you ever thought about asking Kip to help you with your studies? I’m sure he’d be glad to tutor you.”

Kip closed the door then. He wasn’t in a hurry to hear Zak’s answer to that question, though he hoped his cousin would ask him for help. Zak was the closest thing Kip had to a friend, and since Zak had arrived, he hadn’t said five words to Kip. When they were kids, they used to be best friends. Inseparable. When Kip found out Zak was coming to live with them for a while, was going to go to the same high school, he had been so excited, he even cleared out a space in his room for Zak to sleep.

But Zak wasn’t that kid anymore. He’d changed into a completely different person. Kip hadn’t seen his cousin in a long time, not since Kip was in fifth grade and Zak was in eighth. Kip remembered how impressed he was that Zak was already in middle school, on the verge of high school.

But Zak had been held back a couple of grades. Now, they were both seniors.

They used to play video games together, used to pretend to be super heroes and super villains and have epic battles. Any time there was a family get together, Kip and Zak would immediately run to Kip’s room, would always groan when the night was over and Zak had to leave.