Erotimaniac

"Saying goodbye is always the hardest," Ethan whispered as he walked up

the stairs, dejected. He wiped the blood off of his hands and forearms using

a white towel. He muttered, "Cleaning the mess is harder than making it,

too."

The young man stopped at the top of the stairs. He found himself

standing in the doorway leading into the kitchen. He glanced over his

shoulder and gazed down the stairs leading into the basement. It was

melancholic down there – depressing and dark.

He stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. He turned

towards the mirror hanging on the wall beside the door. He checked his

hands – clean as a whistle – then he adjusted his clothing.

He wore a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He carefully

buttoned and adjusted his shirt. He also wore jeans and boots – nothing out

of the ordinary. He had a few curls in his messy hair, but it never bothered

him before. His stubble was fine, too. Women seemed to like it. He wasn't

worried about his appearance.

Still, his reflection was pitiful – a broken man roaming a broken world.

With a disappointed expression, a frown and a set of glum eyes, Ethan

said, "Look at yourself, Ethan. They like you out there, but they don't love

you. The succubi... They want to destroy you. They want to drag you along,

acting like they love you, but they don't care. You have to be more careful

about who you choose to love 'cause they won't love you back. You hear

me?"

As he continued to fasten his buttons, Ethan's reflection stopped moving.

His reflection grinned from ear-to-ear as he leaned closer – while Ethan

remained glum. The young author was well-aware of his reflection's ability

to move without him. He thought of his reflection as a doppelganger – and

it seemed normal to him.

The doppelganger sighed, then he said, "You failed again, pal. You had

yourself something special, but you let her slip through your grasp. It's

pathetic, isn't it? It's like you want to be alone for the rest of your life."

Ethan erratically blinked and stared down at himself, trying to stop

himself from crying. He was alone in his home, trapped with his cynical

thoughts, but he still did not want to be seen crying. He didn't want to

appear weak – even to himself.

He cracked a fake smile and said, "I don't care. I... I wanted it this way

anyway. I wanted to... to... to live a bachelor lifestyle for a little longer, you

know? I mean, at least I got laid last night, right?"

"Got laid?" his reflection repeated. The doppelganger chuckled and

shook his head, then he said, "You're not in college anymore, Ethan. It's not

about getting 'laid' or slaying as much pussy as possible. It's about finding

love. You're a grown man who has never experienced real love. You realize

that, don't you?"

"I'm only 24."

"So? Mom and dad were in love since they were in high school. They're

still together today, too. You're late. You understand me? Where is your

love, pal? Where is your princess?"

Ethan stopped fiddling with his buttons, flustered. He dropped his arms

to his side and glared at his reflection. His first thought: let him have it and

smash the mirror. He knew his doppelganger would simply find another

reflective surface to contact him, though. He didn't want to cut his hand or

elbow, either.

Ethan said, "My love, my true love, is out there. Okay? She's waiting for

me to find her. So... I just have to find her."

"I'm not trying to hurt you. That would be stupid. I mean, I'd just be

hurting myself if I did that, right? You have to understand something,

though: you're running out of time. Soon, all of the good girls will be gone

and you'll be left with nothing but succubi. You'll only have 'used-up'

women if you don't find the one soon."

Ethan absently stared down at his boots, stunned by the blunt truth. He

tried to keep his composure, but he couldn't keep his facade afloat. He

wasn't lying during the previous night: he was sensitive and he was

murderous. He held his hand to his face and grimaced. Tears gushed from

his eyes and mucus poured from his nostrils as he sniveled.

He slammed his fist on the wall. The mirror bounced and swayed with

the strike. He grunted as he struck the wall again, infuriated.

Saliva spurting from his mouth, Ethan hit the wall and barked, "I will

find her! No matter where she's hiding or who she's with, I will find her! Do you hear me? I don't care if it takes me forever. Even if I'm fifty and she's

fifteen, if she's meant to be mine, she will be mine. I will find my true love.

I... I can't die alone! I can't–"

A jingly, bubbly tone interrupted his rant. With downcast eyes, Ethan

glanced into the kitchen to his left. His telephone, which sat on the counter,

was silent and dark. He turned his attention to his right and stared into the

living room. The noise was coming from the laptop on his desk – a

ringtone. He chuckled as he wiped the tears and mucus from his face.

As he approached the desk, he smiled and said, "I... I have a call. I have

to take this..."

***

Ethan frowned as he stared at the screen. He wasn't receiving a call from

a secret admirer. His doppelganger wasn't messing with his head. The caller

ID read: Mom.

An image of his mother, Brooke Miller, was shown above prompts to

answer or reject the video call. In the image, the middle-aged woman had

curly black hair, dark brown eyes, and a few wrinkles on her face. From

afar, she resembled any other woman – nothing special. Her eyes, dark and

sharp, appeared malevolent, though.

Ethan sat and adjusted his shirt, preparing himself for an unpleasant

discussion. He muttered, "What do you want this time, mom?" He inhaled

deeply, then he accepted the call. He smiled and enthusiastically said,

"Mom! Hey, how are you doing?"

Brooke, who appeared to be calling from her patio, smirked and said,

"My little Ethan, it's so good to see you. We're doing fine over here. I don't

want you to worry about us." She took a sip of her wine – yes, wine in the

morning. She smacked her lips, then she said, "I know you get annoyed, but

I had to call about your date last night. I was awake all night thinking about

it, you know? It's exciting stuff, isn't it?"

Ethan blushed as he stared down at his lap and twiddled his thumbs. He

didn't know what to say. I decapitated my girlfriend because I thought she

was a demon – it was nonsense.

Brooke asked, "So, how did it go? Hmm?" She giggled, then she asked,

"When's the wedding, sweetie? Am I going to be a grandma any time soon?

Huh?"

Ethan sighed, then he said, "We broke up"

"What? Are you... Are you kidding me? Please tell me you're joking,

Ethan."

"It's not a joke. It wasn't working out between us so we broke it off. I

just... I wasn't feeling any magic with her, mom. I thought it was there at

first, but it disappeared last night. It wasn't there anymore. I don't know how

to explain it."

"Magic?" Brooke repeated in disbelief. She shook her head and rolled

her eyes, annoyed. She asked, "What is that even supposed to mean? Huh? I

didn't raise a little fairy. You hear me? I raised a man and a man is supposed

to have a family. He doesn't rely on 'magic' to make it happen, he just does

it. That's how life works."

Ethan stared down at himself, ashamed. When it came to his mother, he

was not the confrontational-type. He could only sulk and wait until she was

done.

Brooke leaned back in her seat and shook her head. She was blatantly

disappointed in her son's failure. She wanted to mold him into a family-man

so she could continue to spread her genes. Her family line could not end at

Ethan. She had other opportunities, like Ethan's younger brother, but, if he

ended up the same way, she would die off without a large family.

Eyes brimming with tears, she clenched her fist and looked away.

Disappointment opened the door to rage. She swallowed the rest of her

wine with one loud gulp.

Brooke glared at her son and sternly said, "I am tired of this, Ethan. This

is the... the fifth time you've failed to tie the knot – to seal the deal. You're

running around with these girls, some who are already older than you, but

you always mess it up. You just don't know how to please a woman, do

you? Your father knows how to pleasure women. Do you want him to teach

you? Hmm? What? Do you want him to... to cuckold you? Is that what you

want?"

With his head slumped down, Ethan ran his fingers through his hair and

sniffled. He tried to shrug off his mother's insults, but he was genuinely hurt

by her vile tirade. He survived the rampant bullying in school. The insults

were worse when they came from family, though. What kind of mother

could bully her own child?

Ethan grunted to clear his throat. In a cracking voice, he whispered, "I–I

messed up. I'm... I'm sorry. I was–"

Disregarding his apology, Brooke said, "I think I need to ask you a very

serious question before I can continue calling you my son. So, think

wisely... Are you gay, Ethan?" Ethan's bottom lip quivered and his eyes

welled with tears. Brooke said, "Answer me. Open your mouth and talk. I

swear, if you don't answer me, I'm going to assume the worst. I'm–"

"No," Ethan interrupted. He stared at his mother with an unwavering

glare – please, believe me. He said, "I like women. I've always liked

women, mom. You know that. I just messed up. You wouldn't have liked

her anyway. She was a whore. She wasn't pure."

Brooke puckered her lips and nodded as she examined her son's

demeanor – he wasn't lying. She was an old-fashioned woman who did not

agree with homosexual relationships. Her beliefs weren't exactly developed

through religion or hatred, though. She didn't actually care if other men or

women wanted to partake in homosexual relationships.

Brooke wanted biological grandchildren so she could spread her genes

and beliefs. Homosexuality would lead her to another dead-end and she

didn't want that. She was wicked and selfish – and it never bothered her.

Brooke said, "Good. You should only be concerned with getting married

and having kids. If you want to be 'gay' or whatever, you can do that after

the baby is born. Okay?"

Ethan said, "I have to go, mom. I'm very busy. Love you."

Before his mother could respond, he disconnected from the call. Stiff, he

stood from his seat and marched into the kitchen. He loudly exhaled, then

he panted as he trembled. He was unnerved and frustrated by the

conversation.

Veins bulging on his sweat brow, Ethan muttered, "Why does she care

about my sexuality? Huh? It's my life, isn't it? I'm doing it the way I want to

do it. She... She told me about the succubi anyway. She did this to me." He

approached the cupboard and grabbed a mug. He shouted, "Damn it, she did

this to me!"

With the furious roar, he hurled the cup at the wall. The mug shattered

into a dozen pieces. He ran his fingers through his hair and paced in the

kitchen, visibly upset. He couldn't control his anger. Unfortunately, that

meant he couldn't enjoy a nice breakfast at home – a microwaveable

breakfast sandwich.

He grabbed his keys from a rack and said, "I can't do this. I can't stay

here. A diner... Yeah, I'll go to a diner."