I Hate Birthdays

This is just a little one-shot I've been playing with. Eric is a character borrowed from another story, "Playing the Part." Please enjoy.

1. All characters are 18+

2. No characters represent real people

3. Enjoy the fiction

--

I HATE BIRTHDAYS

There's one day every year that I've grown to hate. Every year, on this same day, something terrible happens to me. February 27. My birthday.

On my second birthday, my parents had a fight and my dad left. I don't have any memories of him at all. Mom doesn't like to talk about him.

On my ninth birthday, I got a new bicycle, then on my first ride, promptly fell and broke my wrist. I couldn't ride it again for six weeks. I just kinda stared at its shiny glory as it sat in the garage, unused.

On my fifteenth birthday, I was going to have some friends over for all-night video gaming. The power went out and didn't come back until noon the next day.

On my nineteenth birthday, I got food poisoning. I'll spare you the details there. Needless to say, it was something different every year, so it was hard to expect what tragedy would befall me.

I started telling my friends not to celebrate my birthday. No parties, no gifts. They teased me about it, and they still wished me a happy day, but my closest friends had seen the pattern and understood my apprehension. A few also joked that they would avoid me on that day, wanting to stay out of the splash zone. To everyone else, who didn't know the history, I simply told them what I had learned from experience:

I hate birthdays.

--

Last April, I'd met Amy. We'd met at some university 'career fair' function that was supposed to help us find jobs after our upcoming graduation. It was funny that I'd never seen her before, with both of us being seniors, but it was a big campus and we did have different majors. Amy was going into business, while I was an IT major.

She was amazingly attractive. Long brown hair, and green eyes that were hypnotic to me. I asked her out, and we hit it off quickly. Very quickly. On the second date, we were making out in my car. On the third date, she said her roommate was gone for the night, and so we made good use of the empty dorm room.

After graduating, I got an apartment with Amy, my friend Will, and his girlfriend Nikki. Things were fine among the four of us until Nikki got a job across the country, and Will couldn't go. They broke up in November, and she moved out, making us split the rent three ways instead of three.

--

"It's your birthday? Go home."

"Are you sure? I can stay later..."

My boss, Eric, cut me off. "Don't make me tell you a second time. Happy Birthday, Evan," he said with a flamboyant hand motion that told me to move along. It was common knowledge in the office that Eric was gay. He was far from a stereotype, at least around us, but every once in a while he'd do something like that little wave, and it made us chuckle.

I was supposed to work until 5:00, but here it was 11:30 and I was cut loose. Normally, I'd rejoice at being off work early on a Friday. But today was not just any Friday. I was now 23 years old.

I had told Amy about all my bad birthday experiences. Will had also filled her in on the ones he'd witnessed. She was super-bummed that I didn't want to celebrate. It was as if she thought it was her 'girlfriend duty' to throw me a party, especially after I'd already thrown her a nice party two months earlier for hers.

"You never had a birthday party in college?" she had asked a few weeks ago. "When was the last time you had a birthday party?"

"When I was about 15. I got the hint that the universe was sending, and I told my mom to stop."

"That's probably the saddest thing I've ever heard."

"You weren't there last year," I pointed out. "Last year, I got falsely accused of plagiarism. I had to work my ass off that entire week to prove I wasn't cheating, or they were going to expel me." It was one of the worst birthdays I'd had. My birthday fell on a Thursday, and I spent that whole night in the library - half studying, half crying - before the judgement came down the following day. I'd been cleared of wrongdoing, of course, but that whole Thursday night, I was alone and miserable.

So now I was driving home early, not knowing what Amy had in store for me. I hoped she respected my wishes, but something told me she had something planned. My suspicions were confirmed when I peeked in the window of my own apartment and saw balloons and streamers on the walls. Amy's car was in the lot, but I didn't see her.

I opened the door to the apartment and viewed the decorations. She'd clearly taken the day off from work to set this up. But where was she?

Then I heard a noise coming from the back of the apartment. My bedroom with Amy was on one side of the hall, with Will's on the other side, and the shared bathroom was in between. Both bedroom doors were closed, which was normal. The noise happened again. Was that a moan?

I walked down the hall, thinking Will was home and had a girl in his room. But a third moan made me realize that it was coming from my room, not his.

I knew what was happening already, but I had to see it. I couldn't stop myself. I opened the door slowly, hoping I'd be wrong. Through an inch-wide crack in the door, I saw Will and Amy, both naked on my bed. Amy lay on her back, eyes closed, naked breasts jiggling, as Will thoroughly fucked her. Amy moaned loudly beneath him.

Happy birthday, Evan.

I decided I'd had enough of this. I took out my cellphone and snapped a couple of pictures of their sweaty affair. Then, out of cruel vengeful hate, I took about ten seconds of video. I couldn't have timed the video any better, as Amy, eyes still closed, groaned out, "Oh, Will, fuck me!"

Then I silently closed the door - as if they could hear me over their bedroom noises - and left the apartment.

--

I knew that Amy had planned a surprise birthday party for me. She didn't think I'd be home until after 5, giving her time to assemble guests and hide them in the apartment.

I sat in my car and wracked my brain. What the hell was I going to do? I admit I cried. A lot. But I had to get out of there. My stomach growled, agreeing with me.

I drove a few miles away, and found a family-style restaurant I'd never been to before, called Quirky's. You know the type, one of those places with the mozzerella sticks and the goofy shit on the walls. By this time, it was 1:30, after the lunch rush. A waitress slid down into the seat opposite mine in the booth. "Mind if I sit?" she said.

"You're already sitting, so I guess not."

"Great. What would you like."

I eyed her up and down. Her blonde wavy hair framed her face in a pretty cute way. Though I judged her to be about my age, she was kind of short, her pert breasts kind of sat just above the table level.

"A cheeseburger. Big one, with bacon. Onion rings, and a Coke."

"Nice. Easy and to the point. Not like some of my customers." She nudged her head towards the wall of the booth. Over that direction, I saw a table of six middle-aged women who all looked like they'd be difficult.

I smiled, despite my melancholy mood. I'd waited tables myself a few years back. "What are the odds that at least one of them is named Karen?"

The waitress laughed and snorted a little. "Pretty high, I'd bet." She got up to put my order in. "I'm Sammi, by the way," she said, pointing to her name tag. "I'll be right back."

I'd been in a relationship with Amy for almost a year, and I'd started to get out the habit of checking out other women. But now that was over, I decided, and as Sammi left, I checked out her cute little rear end.

As my food was being prepared, I watched Sammi deftly deal with the mob of moms. From a distance, it seemed like all of them had some kind of particular special request. Sauce on the side. Fries extra crispy. No onions, anywhere, at all. Those kind of ladies.

Sammi slid my plate to me a few minutes later, as the ladies were finally leaving. "Rough shift?" I asked.

"Rough lunch shift," she replied, "And I have to work dinner tonight too." She looked around, making sure her boss wasn't around, then slid back into the other booth seat. "So what's your story?"

"My story?"

"You came in here looking kinda sad. Something on your mind?"

I sighed. "I won't bore you with the details."

Sammi grinned. "Please do. I'm a psych major, I live for other people's details."

I laughed. "Okay, you asked for it. Today's my birthday."

She was waiting for me to continue, but I didn't. "That's it? Happy Birthday! Please don't ask me to sing for you."

"Please don't. I hate my birthday. Every year, something bad happens to me."

"Really? Is it like a naturally-occuring thing, or like a self-fulfilling prophecy thing?"

"Maybe a little self-fulfilling, but mostly random."

"Has something bad already happened today? Or is it still coming?" Sammi looked around again. "Should I be even close to you right now?"

"I think you're safe. I just caught my best friend nailing my girlfriend, I doubt it could get much worse." Dropping that kind of bomb left Sammi shocked, and I started to cry again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to share that much," I started to explain.

"Oh my God," she replied. "What did you do when you caught them?"

"Nothing, I saw it then I left."

"You didn't blow up on them!? I would have kicked him in the nads and slapped her into next week!" She said, a little too loudly, and her manager finally spotted her and motioned her to stand up. "Oops, busted. Well, I'm really sorry to hear about that."

"Thanks for your sympathy, I guess. I just don't know what to do next. They're throwing me a party later."

Sammi didn't even need to think about it. "Blow them up. Walk into the party, expose them, and walk out. It'll be fucking amazing. They'll look terrible and you'll be a mother-fucking legend."

As she walked away, I realized she was right. I'd need to figure out what to do about living arrangements, since I still shared a place with them, but I couldn't take this situation lying down. I finished my burger, left Sammi a nice tip, and left the restaurant feeling feeling both physically and emotionally refreshed.

--

That afternoon, I sat in the parking lot and waited, watching the apartment, and fortunately spotted Amy and Will both leaving around 3:00, getting into their separate cars. I was hoping they would, so I could get in and grab my stuff. I'd already called my mom and said I was going to crash at her house that night.

As she got into her car, Amy pulled out her phone and dialed it. Mine rang. I answered it, trying to sound as normal as possible. "Hi, what's up?"

"Hey, are you still at work?"

"Yeah," I lied. "I tried to get out early, but they're making me stay until 5."

"That's okay, baby. Are we still on for dinner tonight? Just you and me, I promise."

"Absolutely, I'll be home around 5:30 and we'll go out."

"Sounds good. See you in a little while."

"Yup, I gotta go."

"Okay bye."

Once they were both gone, I went back to the apartment. My room smelled like air freshener. They obviously knew how bad the bedroom smelled of sex and needed to cover it up. I looked down on the bed - my bed, the one I bought - and recalled them shamelessly defiling it, no thought of me.

I grabbed all of my electronics, and as much of my clothes and sentimental items as I could, and stuffed it all into the trunk of my car. I tried to cover it up as best I could, so that Amy wouldn't notice my drawers and closet were empty.

--

Around 5:30, I drove back into the apartment's parking lot. I had dropped off most of my belongings at my mother's house. I had explained what I saw and that I was breaking up with Amy. Mom said I could stay as long as I needed.

The parking lot was full, but they'd left one spot conspicuously empty near the door. I assumed it was for me and pulled right in. How thoughtful. Then I walked right up to the door, and took a deep breath. This was it.

I walked in to the sound of about 20 people yelling "Happy Birthday!" Amy charged at me and kissed me, drawing more cheers from our friends. It was a weird feeling, knowing that would be our last kiss. I couldn't help but imagine her lips wrapped around Will's dick and it made my stomach turn.

A cake with my name on it had been laid out on a nearby table, with plates and forks, waiting for me to cut it. Several of my friends greeted me warmly. Will handed me a beer and shook my hand. "I told her you didn't want a party, but she wouldn't have it," he told me, motioning to Amy. I took in his smile. How dare he smile at me after betraying me. How dare he talk to me after fucking my girlfriend in my bed.

I couldn't hold my composure any longer. I grabbed a fork from a nearby table and tapped it against my beer bottle. The clinking silenced the chatter of the group. "Thanks for coming everyone," I started, once I had everyone's attention. "I guess I'm grateful that I still have some friends who are willing to risk being at a birthday party with me." Those who knew about my past bad experiences laughed at my small joke.

I turned to Amy and she smiled back at me. "I had told Amy," I said for everyone, "that I didn't want a party. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that she'd do things behind my back." Her smile wavered ever-so-slightly. So slightly that no one else but me would see it.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised at that, should I?" I asked her. "Doing things behind my back?" There was a small, awkward silence. "Should I also be grateful that I have such a loyal, devoted, best friend who gets along with my girlfriend so well?"

Amy saw the look in my face, and she knew that I knew. "Baby..." she tried to whisper, to calm me down.

"Don't," I commanded. "Don't call me that anymore. You and Will have been fucking around behind my back."

The entire room was pin-drop quiet. All my other friends stood there stiffly, eyes wide. They were probably trying to think of how to get out of here.

"Evan..." said Will. That's as far as he got before my fist connected with his nose. Blood spurted out from his face, and he fell backwards. "Fuck!" he yelled out. "What was that for?"

"You fucking my girlfriend." I turned back to Amy. "EX girlfriend. We're done."

"Baby, no, it's not..."

I cut her off. "I guess I should thank you for keeping the streak alive. You fucked him, on MY BED, on MY BIRTHDAY. Don't say you didn't."

I pulled out my phone and played the video, with the volume turned all the way up. The whole party got to hear the traitors moaning, complete with Amy's voice wailing, "Oh Will, fuck me!"

Amy burst into tears and ran down the hall, shutting herself in what was our bedroom. I turned and addressed the rest of my friends, who were still stuck witnessing the awkward confrontation. "Sorry," I muttered, and then I left.

--

I drove around the city a little, trying to clear my head. I had hoped the big blow-up would make me feel better, and it worked a little, but not enough. I did get a few calls and texts as I drove, but I ignored them all. If it was my other friends, my non-traitorous friends, I didn't know what to say to them. If it was Amy or Will, I had nothing to say to them.

I needed somewhere to go, and someone to talk to. Someone who didn't know my friends. Not my mother - that seemed like a terrible idea at the moment.

I found myself pulling back into the parking lot for Quirky's. I'd been aimlessly driving for over an hour, so it was now past 7:00, and I was hungry.

When I walked in, it was busier than it had been a few hours ago. The hostess looked about sixteen as she grabbed a menu for me. "Just one? Want a table, or do you want to sit at the bar?"

"A table, please. Actually, is Sammi working tonight?"

"Sure, want to sit in her section?"

"Yes please."

A few minutes later, Sammi spotted me sitting in the same table I had been in a few hours ago. "That bacon cheeseburger must have been terrific if you're back for another one," she said with a smirk.

"It was, but I'll have something different this time."

"How was your party?"

"I blew it up."

She patted me on the shoulder. "Good for you. Coke?" I nodded, and she took off.

I had a salad and soup combo this time. I ate and watched Sammi quickly walk up and down the floor, juggling several tables' needs at once. I'd done restaurant work before, and I wasn't nearly as good at it as she was. She was quick, efficient, and friendly.

When she'd cashed out most of her other tables, she finally got caught up enough to slide back into the booth seat across from me. "So what's your name, bacon cheeseburger?"

"Evan."

"You really blew up your own party?"

I nodded. "In front of everyone." I told her the story of what happened, and she happily listened. "I thought it would make me feel better, but I'm still not happy about it."

Sammi scratched her temple. "You want the opinion of a fourth-year Psych student?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

"What's the best way to get back at people?"

"Umm. I don't know."

"Live a good life despite them." She stood up, seeing another table waving for her. "Think about it: you find your happiness again, and if they'll see it, they'll be jealous. That's how you come out on top." Them she scampered off to refill more drinks.

She didn't return for several minutes, and when she did, she was accompanied by the hostess girl and three other servers. I realized what was happening just before they started singing. "Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Evan, happy birthday to you!" Then Sammi slid a piece of chocolate cake in front of me while the others clapped, then they left.

"Sorry about that," Sammi said sheepishly. "You looked like you needed cake. And at Quirky's, you only get free cake if you can endure our singing."

I just smiled. "I enjoyed it. Thank you for the cake, and the song. And thanks for letting me vent."

"Of course. That's what psych student waitresses are for. Bring you cake and make you feel better."

--

I slept at my mother's house, and I didn't look at any phone messages until the next morning. 67 text messages and 9 voicemails.

About half of the texts were from assorted friends. They'd either been at the party or heard what happened. They were all sympathetic, and hoping I was okay. I sent quick responses to a few of them to let them know I was fine. I didn't want anyone thinking I'd go hurt myself.

The other half of the texts were from Amy. All the voicemails too. I listened to them once each, and deleted them. They were all consisting of her crying, begging me to come back, that it's not what it looked like. I didn't respond to any of it. The text messages read like a play-by-play. First it was just a 'please come back I'm sorry', then she realized I'd taken almost all of my belongings and it just got worse from there.

None of the messages were from Will. I think he got the message when I broke his nose last night.

I thought more about what Sammi had to say. Live a good life despite them. I doubted I'd ever talk to either of them again. I did have a bit of unfinished business left before I was completely done with them. I needed to get the rest of my stuff from the apartment, and take my name off the lease. Then I'd need to find a new place. Living with my mother was free, and a good temporary solution, but it was a rather long commute to my office.

Monday morning, Eric called me into his office when he saw I wasn't my usual self, and I told my boss about what happened. Eric surprised me by telling me I could take some time off if I needed it, to get my affairs in order.

"My best friend Patrick got cheated on by his wife a few years back," he told me. "But it all worked out for him. He met another girl and married her, and now they've got two beautiful kids." He pointed across the way to a small photo of a smiling family. "I'll never have kids of my own," he chuckled, "so I visit them and they call me Uncle Eric. But the point is, you'll bounce back from it."