This story is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in it are 18+ of age.
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“HEY! WATCH IT!” Ernie yells.
“No, you watch it. Hold still unless you want me to make you a world-famous painter…” I reply, grabbing a fistful of his hair and holding him in place.
“What?” He tries to look back at me, but I keep my hand fixed in place, and he stops.
“Never mind, just hold still,” I sigh and proceed to cut some more of Ernie’s hair.
We’re in the middle of the living room, the furniture pushed aside to accommodate the black tarp haphazardly thrown on the floor with a chain on top of it. Ernie sits in that chair, grumbling in his usual fashion like a kid who can’t hold still, while the actual five-year-old is sitting silently on the couch to the side, mindlessly pressing buttons on a dusty Gameboy with a scowl on his face.
I fix the large trash bag we’re using as a makeshift hair-cutting cape, which came loose due to Ernie not giving it a rest. I pat it down before picking up Grandpa's old razor and brush again and continuing the haircut.
“Are you sure you know how to do this?” Ernie says, shifting again and almost causing me to make a mistake.
“What happened to ‘Whatever, shave it all off if you want’?” I question the statement he issued earlier that day.
“That was before you fuckin’ nicked me twice!” He yells, and I’m of half a mind to make it three times.
“Because you couldn’t go without those damn cigarettes for one hour. If you’ve listened to wh…”
“Joe could do it blindfolded without a scratch!”
“Well, then, you shouldn’t have picked a fight with him, should you?”
“HE WAS TRYING TO FUCK MY DAD!” Ernie jumps again, giving himself his third nick and yelling in pain.
“He was trying to set Frank up with his mom,” I shake my head and tilt his chin upwards with a knuckle, “you DUNCE!”
He grimaces as I swipe an alcohol soaked cotton ball across the barely visible cut.
“Which, again, what part of that are you still not getting?” I ask, genuinely confused.
Another round of grumbles, something about having to be there, then Ernie finally settles down for real while I try to fix his hair as best as I can. Grandpa used to cut his own hair, and taught me to do so cause he couldn’t be bothered to cut it for me. It was a lot of fun, and it also led to some embarrassing personal choices as a kid.
“What time does Martin and Mylene’s plane arrive again?” I ask, steering the conversation away from another blowout.
“He said six, but those fuckers usually take God-knows how long before they actually allow them to come out, so we can take our time.”
“No, we can’t. We need to pick up Celine from soccer practice, and she wants to get them a bouquet as well.”
“Who’s spending money on flowers for them?”
“She knew you’d say that, so she saved up a bit. You should still buy it for her, though.”
“Fuck, no. It’s her dad, not mine. And I don’t even spend money on Frank.”
“Sure, whatever,” I let him complain as I trace the line at the base of his neck with the razor, trying to get the hairline right.
Applying the final touches, I turn Ernie’s head sideways to check my work. The bangs are a bit off, so I set the razor down and pick up the comb to set them up right before cutting. I might be an amateur, but even I can tell that Grandpa’s tools are the premium stuff. His shaving machine is large and old, featuring a German logo that symbolizes its unique heritage. The brush he used is also there, its ivory handle another sign of wealth.
They lay strewn on the table, as if they weren’t expecting to be put to use a decade after the death of their owner. It’s sweet in a sense, and made even sweeter by the wholesome picture set next to them of Celine and Toby in front of a giant Oak tree that I took when we all went camping last year. I can't help but grin at it, feeling like it was just yesterday when Martin and his family moved in.
Martin is Ernie's cousin, but you could easily mistake them for brothers. The bald head and scraggly beard threw me off at first, but all it takes is one proper look for you to notice the rugged handsomeness of the Basile men in both of them. On the spectrum of Frank to Ernie, Martin ranks as a more laid-back version of Frank. He has a spontaneous nature and a loud presence like theirs, but with more patience, which gives way to a lethal combo.
His wife, Mylene, is a foreigner. An Italian model. Ernie tells me they started off as a very passionate affair before getting hitched, but Martin later told me she was just playing hard to get. I’d ask Mylene herself, but, as I’ve come to see, her head wasn’t all there. She was always off, spiritually or physically, travelling to some European country for some fashion show, sometimes on her dime, sometimes on Martin’s. Her world was too spacious, extending beyond our simple place.
And as if to prove they were cut from the same cloth, Martin was also travelling at any given time. He had a lot of loosely connected businesses, built on nothing but chance and his own character drive. So when he first talked to me about his business plan upon settling into the apartment, I thought he was an idiot. Turns out, I was. The guy was a business genius. I don’t know if it’s street smarts or intuition or magic, but Martin had a knack for making money. It was the reason why he owned “Ernie’s” apartment, which he was letting Ernie crash in for free while he was out of town.
Which brings us to our current living situation. When Martin and his family moved in, he insisted they were staying for a short while, after which the apartment would be ours again. Not sure what to expect of this whole thing, I was pleasantly surprised to find out Martin and Ernie were very close, basically brothers, because of Frank taking care of Martin a lot as a kid. He was also very happy to have me, telling me how much of a good addition I am to the family. Indirectly, he was saying I kept Ernie in line, but I didn’t comment on that.
Anyways, Martin and Mylene took the main bedroom, although they hardly used it on account of their travel, and Ernie and I started sleeping in the living room, leaving the spare bedroom for the kids.
As for the kids, Celine and Toby, they were something, to say the least. Celine, the oldest at nine, was a chatterbox who spoke simply for the sake of speaking. At one point, I learned to tune her out like the distant hum of an engine. Ernie was less patient, which caused a few dramatic tears here and there.
Toby was the polar opposite of Celine. At five years old, his face was constantly scowling, as if his muscles were hardwired that way. He wasn’t sad or anything, although he always looked the part. He also didn’t speak to anyone except his parents, his voice unusable unless they were around, and when they weren’t around, he bawled his eyes out asking for them. During a particularly bad breakdown when his parents were away, after Ernie and I exhausted every way to pacify him to no avail, I offered to take him to wait for his Dad at the airport. He agreed through tears and snot, and calmed down enough to get in the car with me. I drove him around town, got him some ice cream, and we drove to the airport eventually, staying there in the waiting area until he fell asleep. After that incident, I was graciously added to the list of people he spoke to.
“You're like a magnet for weirdos,” Ernie told me, leaning back on his bike while we were watching the sunset from a highway with a nice view on an impromptu date.
“What?”
“First me, then that kid,” he explained while lighting his cigarette, “you better watch out before you catch a real basket case.”
“Because you're Mr. Congeniality yourself.”
He pauses, seemingly thinking of a reply, only to give up and go back to his cigarette.
Having our lives crashed like that (even though we were the ones using their place) was a lot, but it wasn’t all compromises and babysitting. For starters, Martin offered me a job. The reason he came back in the first place was that business was booming, and he needed a place to centralize it, to make an HQ. He, in the spur of the moment, mind you, bought the shop at the base of our building, and decided to set up there. Seeing as I had just gotten my Accounting degree, he offered me the position of treasurer. At first, I refused, fearing this to be too much responsibility, while also being slightly afraid of Martin’s half-brilliant, half-shady deals. But Martin insisted, saying he could only work with people he trusts, and there are only three people he trusts in the world, Ernie being one of them, and if Ernie trusts me enough to live with him, then Martin trusts me too.
And so, I collected my third weirdo as I became Martin’s personal record keeper. What was supposed to be a simple number punching gig quickly evolved into me keeping tabs on Martin’s entire expenses, logging and trying to balance his numerous exploits. The whole ordeal made me realize how stupid and baffling his success was. He used Frank’s connections and Viskov’s network to get the shop running in no time, a place for mechanical parts and “more”, never veering too far off the straight lane, just enough to give him the edge. He also employed Ernie, in parallel with his work for Viskov, as a shipment driver for products that couldn’t be entrusted to just anyone.
Between the new work, running around to take care of the kids whenever Martin and Mylene left for God knows how long, and the new living arrangement, I was surprised Ernie didn’t blow a fuse from the first week. He was understandably frustrated about us not being able to sleep together whenever we can, like before, a sentiment I shared, but since neither of us wanted to go out searching for apartments, we decided to stomach it.
That resolve lasted a solid month or so before Ernie was ready to call it quits. The breaking point was when Celine woke us up at 1 a.m. to talk about a Ninja Turtles movie. Ernie almost broke the door leaving the house, and I had to explain to a confused Celine why it wasn’t okay to do what she did. Ernie loved Martin and, although he would never admit it, was fond of the kids. And they were fond of us, too, seeing as they stayed with us more than their parents. But things couldn’t go on this way forever.
The next day, I called Ernie, who never returned, and told him to come pick me up. He did, and we went out to a bar to talk over drinks. Working through our living conditions together, I suggested we rent out a storage unit, one of those that people use to live when there’s nowhere else for what’s basically chump change compared to real rent. He wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea, but agreed to check it out. In the end, he loved it more than I, finding the simplicity of it just what we needed. It was our personal space when we needed a break from the crowded house, given the bare necessities of a mattress and a table with two chairs. I convinced Ernie not to smoke inside, and we were golden.
In a sense, life started feeling a bit more fulfilling since things fell into place. It was fun having a family, no matter how disjointed it felt. The kids were a handful, but ultimately lovely, and we meshed really well with Martin and Mylene whenever they were in town. Even though Martin claimed this was a temporary arrangement at first, everyone involved got too comfortable before they knew it. Ernie himself smiled a lot more, especially when he thought no one was looking. He started yelling whenever I pointed it out, though.
That said, it wasn’t all daisies and roses. For starters, Ernie and I got married. Now, I’m not placing the marriage itself in the bad category, but the circumstances leading up to it were less than ideal, to say the least.
It was about a year after Martin came back. Ernie was driving a truck full of cargo on a pretty long trip down south, and he was also on his second attemptto quit smoking. Long story short, he got into an accident (he still insists it’s the other guy’s fault, but I’m not quite convinced) and ended up arguing with the other driver, which escalated into a fistfight. Ernie knocked the guy right out, and the guy in the passenger seat of the other car saw that and drew his gun, which prompted Ernie to draw his own. They exchanged a couple of shots, and while Ernie thankfully didn’t hit the guy, the bullet grazed his arm.
You can imagine my shock when he called me to the storage unit and I found him sitting on a blood-soaked mattress, pretty bloodied himself. A quick trip to a down-low ER later, we got him patched up while I called Martin to discuss what to do. Turns out, the two guys were drivers for a big-name company, and they were gonna sue. Luckily, the fact that Ernie was the injured party, the lack of evidence for the whole incident, and the safety measures put in by Viskov proved just enough to get us out of trouble. All the prosecution had left was trying to drag Ernie for other crimes and misdemeanors, of which he had more than enough. Again, Viskov’s methods proved effective in keeping his activities in that sweet grey zone.
But a loose end remained.
Me.
Seeing as I was his boyfriend, live-in partner, whatever you wanna call it, I was witness to many of his less-than-okay activities. Sure, I could fake my testimony if it came down to it, but that was another can of worms waiting to burst. It was Martin who suggested it, since spouses can’t testify against one another. After talking it out, Ernie and I were on the same page. It was much more of a hassle to work around my testimonies than to just sign a couple of papers. A big decision, but an easy procedure. Martin and Mylene were our witnesses. Ernie and Martin asked me if I wanted to ask someone, but I opted out of dragging people like Carla or Nate into the mess.
On the way back from the courthouse, I admit I started doubting my decision a bit. I wrote it off as normal nerves and decided that I don’t mind being married. Ernie, on the other hand, was restless. It was apparent something was weighing on his mind, but I didn’t say anything. He’ll talk to me eventually, I thought. He always does. It wasn’t like I was free of worry myself, but my gut was signaling me big time, and I decided to trust it.
A day passed, then another, and then another. Before I knew it, a week had gone by of what’s probably the most confusing marriage ever. Ernie still came home like usual, still watched over my shoulder whenever I scrolled my phone, still cussed out whatever came to mind. But the uneasiness remained. He stayed out a bit later than usual and made dumb excuses to get out of sex. I held my silence, knowing that was the way with Ernie since the start. Still, my dread grew, slightly but consistently, wondering if we did something wrong, or if I could do something to calm Ernie down.
On Saturday, Ernie told me to come with him. It was one of his ‘I need to talk to you’ drives. The whole time, I clung to him on the bike, waiting patiently for what he wanted to say. We drove for a while, and I think he took unnecessary turns, as if delaying our arrival. At one point, though, he couldn’t delay it anymore, and we arrived. It was our storage unit, our home away from home.
“Ernie…” I began, “Look, if you w-”
“No, shhhh…” he cut me off immediately, “Just. Just go in. It’ll all make sense. Promise.”
I sighed, resigning to accept whatever’s waiting for me inside.
Then he opened the door.
And I just… blinked.
The unit had been transformed. In place of the shoddy mattress now stood a neat, elegant bed. A simple closet stood in the corner, and the table and chairs we used were also upgraded to much better ones. The floor spanned a very soft-looking carpet, and on the wall hung a framed picture. It was a picture we took on that sunset date on the highway. I held the camera at a bad angle, but the sunset was blazing beautifully behind us. I had my polite smile on, while Ernie was leaning on his bike, his head turned to look at the camera at the last second, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth. He was wearing a calm expression for once, and his rough getup never looked more handsome.
“What is this?” I asked Ernie, trying to take in every little change as I turned around.
Ernie, with his hand twitching slightly, reached into his pocket and fished out two plain, solid rings. He didn’t kneel, but reached out for my hand, and I gave it to him. He held it tightly.
“You never ask me for much,” he began, “you let me be a fuckin’ ass all the time. You put up with my temper, and you’re always there when I need you.”
He paused, as if saying all that took the wind out of him, and I held my breath, waiting.
“But I swear to God. If you’ll stay, if you’ll let me keep you. I’ll make sure you never need anything again. Not ever.”
“Ernie…” I muttered, but he wasn’t done.
“I may not be the best boyfriend, or the best husband. But I want you to be mine, and mine alone.”
“Yes. Of course, I’ll stay, you dumbass. You didn’t have to do all this to tell me that!” I answered, finally breaking out in soft, emotional laughter.
He laughed out loud, smiling from ear to ear as he slipped the ring on my finger. It was cold at first, but quickly warmed up. I slipped on his ring and then grabbed his face, giving him a much-needed kiss.
“Auggie, I-”
“Don’t worry.” This time, I cut him off, “You’ll always have me.”
I pulled him into a tight hug. I felt his big hands, heavy on my back, warm and caring. Burying myself into his shoulder, trying to get as much of him close to me as possible, I utter some familiar words.
“I love you.”
“I love you more,” he replied, voice quiet but close.
Words we’ve said before, but not like this.
We held the hug for a long time, neither of us wanting to let go first. Eventually, I pulled away slightly to kiss him again, and he reciprocated with a scary drive. We fell back into bed, eager to consummate our marriage the best way we know how.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Coming back after the long drive down memory lane, Ernie checks his face in the car mirror as I drive us to the airport. It was Martin’s car, which was mine to use whenever he wasn’t in town.
“Are you sure I look fine?” He asks, swiping at his hair randomly.
“You do. Handsome, actually.” I tell him, never taking my eyes off the road.
“Easy for you to say. You never trim your own damn beard anymore,” He objects, and I roll my eyes.
Not so long ago, Ernie suggested I hit the gym and let my beard grow out to get rid of my young look. I wasn’t particularly hung up on how I look, but my body getting some definition and the messy beard style proved to be a good change, and I stuck with it.
“Well, what do you want me to say? Celine, what do you think of Uncle Ernie’s haircut?” I ask the back row.
“He looks AMAZING! You should always cut it for him! Hey, can you cut mine too? I want to dye it blue as well, like that one girl in school who-”
“Watch out. Don’t squish the bouquet,” I stop Celine by directing her attention elsewhere, the only way that proved to work with her.
“Oh, sorry. I’ll sit down and hold still. I won’t get it near the window, or else the wind will blow it away,” she runs down her train of thoughts quickly, carefully repositioning the bouquet Ernie bought her.
“Good,” I reply happily, then check on the last, silent passenger, “Toby, are you doing ok?” I ask him, hoping he wasn’t car sick.
“Yeah,” he answers with a barely audible voice, still playing on the Gameboy.
I suggested he didn’t play the game in the car, but he wouldn’t let go of the old piece I dug up along with Grandpa’s shaving tools.
I smile to myself, breathing out in relief at how smoothly everything is going.
“What’s got you so happy?” Ernie suddenly asks me with his usual frown.
It looked so familiar, so comforting. Especially since I knew what went on behind it.
“Nothing, just remembered something nice.”
“Care to share?” he smirks.
“Maybe later,” I smile and reach out, taking his hand in mine.
Our rings line up nicely, still warm since the day we exchanged them.
“YOU’RE FLIRTING! YOU’RE FLIRTING AGAIN! TOBY! THEY’RE FLIRTING!” Celine yells at the top of her lungs from the backseat.
“Jesus, Celine!” Ernie yells back, wincing from getting his eardrums shredded.
“YOU GUYS A-” Celine tries to resume before getting cut off.
“Shut up, Celine,” Toby says, putting his tiny hand on her mouth as she yells into it.
“Toby, that’s not nice. But also, yes. Please, stop yelling, Celine.” I try to mediate.
The car ride goes on, with the kids dozing off over each other, and Ernie slumping against the window, snoring peacefully. My smile hasn’t faded ever since Ernie pointed it out. The usual, lonely night roads I often ran through stretch ahead, except that they lost their melancholic edge. Even without a single noise in the car, my mundane, everyday life has never felt so alive.
Author's Note: Hello! And Whoops! What was a simple 5 min epilogue turned a proper final chapter into the future! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is truly all I had for these two morons, and from here their story is up to your imagination!
Admittedly , I'd love to hear your thoughts and expectations on Raw Deal.
Finally, thanks agains for reading till this point!
Luke
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