Herpes (fiction)

Iris wasn’t entirely sure what herpes were, but she knew the idea of them was distasteful and that one ought to strive to avoid contracting them. She knew also that the subject of herpes did not necessarily lend itself to the office environment, which was why she put such a solid emphasis on the word itself when she visited the workplace of her ex-boyfriend Thompson.
“Thompson, you bastard!” she raged, hands clenched at her sides as peoples’ heads popped up from cubicles like disoriented gophers. “You gave me herpes!”
She stayed long enough to see the change in Thompson’s face go from a healthy pink perplexed state to beet red and then to a strange ashen pallor. Her job done, she turned on her heel and left knowing that he would not be far behind her. That was why she had a taxi waiting outside.
Iris was normally quite frugal and hiring a cab was an extravagance she rarely allowed herself. The last time she had taken a taxi it was to her company’s Christmas party: it had been raining torrentially outside and she did not relish the idea of standing on a street corner in her finery waiting for the bus to take her downtown. She hoped that the next time she took a taxi it would be for something somewhat more worthwhile than to have a quick getaway after screaming to her ex-boyfriend’s coworkers that he had given her a venereal disease.
As if on cue Iris heard Thompson’s heavy footsteps bounding down the stairs behind her, so she quickened her pace and climbed into the taxi that was idling outside, asking that he take her home. She had also decided that Thompson might leave work and come to her apartment to discuss the situation that had just unfolded, but it would take him a while to get there as she had punctured two of the tires on his Lexus and cut the valve stems off for good measure.
Her taxi driver appeared mildly concerned as he exited the parking lot, no doubt seeing Thompson, enraged, running after him and motioning for him to stop. Iris shook her head slightly to indicate that no; she did not wish to impede their departure in any way.
When she arrived home she turned on her cell phone to see that she had three voice messages waiting for her. She opted not to listen to them, knowing that they would be raving diatribes in increasing volume from Thompson.
In addition to being frugal, Iris was also quite forgiving and slow to anger. Unfortunately Thompson had done much to anger her and so her temper had flared more quickly than she normally accustomed to. She was somewhat dismayed by her actions, knowing they were very malicious and derogatory, while at the same time she was mildly amazed at her cool and methodical execution of them.
The reason that Iris had embarrassed her ex-boyfriend in front of his colleagues was because he had profoundly embarrassed her. The reason that she had attended this year’s Christmas party solo was because of Thompson. She shouldn’t have had to drop thirty bucks on a cab: he was to have picked her up. Granted, it was Iris that had uninvited Thompson from the party, but she had really felt that her hand had been forced when she had noticed, as they showered together, a series of strange markings on Thompson’s back. Upon closer inspection she noted that there were exactly eight of these small crescent moons halfway down his back and, since she fastidiously kept her nails short, she arrived at the conclusion that he was fucking someone else. She tried to convince herself that this wasn’t the case, that surely there might be another explanation, but the best that she could come up with that he had been attacked, from behind, while shirtless, by an animal with nicely manicured nails.
Later that same night she did something quite rare: she purported to have an unbearable need for ice cream. This need had to be assuaged tonight and, since it was late and she was but a waif of a girl, it was safer for him to run to the corner store to get it. It was a bit of a gamble: he might take his cell phone with him to call his lover, or he might just grab his jacket, dash to the store and return in fifteen minutes. Either way she won, really, in that she got ice cream (she had specifically requested Haagen Daaz, because the time to start making him pay was most decidedly now).
He left his phone and in his brief absence she discovered that Thompson had a new friend whose name was Cara. It seemed to Iris that Cara was worth mentioning, as they seemed to call each other a lot, and as per her text message to him she could hardly wait to feel him deep inside her again. Likewise, Thompson loved her “luscious tits”. This made Iris feel somewhat dejected since she was not gratuitously endowed, though Thompson had always told her that he loved her body. And her.
Iris was not a confrontational person unless pushed. When she had falling outs with friends she would simply stop returning their calls until they got the hint and disappeared from her life. So when Thompson came back with the ice cream she thanked him cheerily, and snuck furtive glances at him while they watched CSI together (his choice: she had wanted to watch a retrospective on Arthur Erickson) and marveled at his ability to sit so calmly on the couch next to her.
He had taken to staying over at her apartment on Thursday nights and so since this was supposedly a night like any other, he slept over. When he reached for her she pleaded exhaustion and was thankful that he kept his hands off of her less-than-luscious tits.
Beginning the next day she stopped returning his emails and phone calls. The following week he showed up at her office, but she told the receptionist to tell him that she was in an off-site meeting. He showed up at her apartment twice and buzzed so incessantly that she had to take the ringer off the hook. She was starting to get annoyed. He sent her flowers. He was waiting for her at her apartment when she came home one day and, unnoticed, she used a different entrance.
Out of a sheer sense of morbid curiosity she did a reverse look up of Cara’s home number and got her address. The day that Thompson had flowers delivered to her work she went home, went for a run, had dinner, showered and drove to Cara’s apartment complex and within the first loop around the block she saw Thompson’s car.
In the meantime she had to explain to her friends why, given that she and Thompson had been together for three years and had been discussing marriage, was he no longer around. Iris could have lied, but she told her friends that she had discovered that Thompson had been having an affair. Though her friends and family were nothing but supportive, she felt as though she was in some way being judged: what was it that she had done that would’ve driven Thompson into the arms of another woman. Possibly, if he had loved her more he would have been faithful to her. Her mother, however, advised sagely that men would “fuck anything”, a comment which she was unsure if said to make her feel better. She told no one that Thompson was still calling and attempting to woo her.
So, having attended her Christmas party alone beneath the pitying glances of her coworkers, and having her friends and family privy to the dissolution of her three year relationship which had held so much promise, she was somewhat disturbed that Thompson was still attempting to contact her, while carrying on a relationship with Cara.
The voicemail that he left on her cell the day that she went to his office went like this: “Iris. It’s Thompson, again. I know you’re getting my calls. I-I just miss you so much. I don’t know what’s happened or why you’re not talking to me anymore, but please, please Iris… please just call me. My life is shit without you. Iris, I am so madly in love with you. Please call me.”
This was sufficient fodder to propel Iris into a full blown rage: she wanted to hit below the belt. She wanted him to be as embarrassed, hurt and mortified as she had been. And so she announced to everyone at his work that he had given her herpes.
That evening her buzzer rang. Iris had been half expecting this. She did not ring Thompson up, but rather went downstairs to speak with him outside. As far as she could tell he had two options: he could put an end to this ridiculous charade and own up to what he had done; or he could continue to perpetuate the ridiculous myth that he still loved her. She prayed that he would end it.
Sadly he did not. He continued to profess his undying love for her without any mention of the earlier herpes outburst (which to her was an admission of guilt if there ever was one). To his credit he did look dejected and haggard, but it was hard to tell if this was a result of true emotion, imaginary herpes, or of being shagged out from too much fucking with Sugar Tits. Inwardly Iris sighed. She could take the higher road and tell him that she knew about Cara, but she didn’t feel that he was deserved of it. As long as he continued to perpetuate this ridiculous cover story, so would she continue to mete out punishment as she felt he deserved. She told him that she would like to continue this conversation further, but in a neutral location. She was impressed by the way the lies flowed trippingly off her tongue as she asked him to go to a nearby coffee shop, order her a decaf cappuccino while she freshened up, and that she would meet him there shortly. She felt a twinge of regret as she saw the hope flare in his eyes, but she succinctly quelled it.
Once he left she went back to her apartment and grabbed the spare set of his car keys and her purse, double checking that her bus pass was there. She’d have to take public transit back from the downtown Eastside once she left his car there, unlocked and with the keys in the ignition.
As she drove down Arbutus Street she resolved not to attend anymore Christmas parties alone.
Ten minutes later her cell phone started to ring.