“El Jefe”

It wasn’t that Rat didn’t appreciate Jeff’s help. If anything, he was the primary person enabling them to recover without taking a major hit to their finances. Jeff blundered his way into Rat’s room, encumbered by a number of bags containing everything from first aid supplies to a variety of soups and nonperishable items to stock the pantry. Stuffed into one bag was a now smushed bouquet of tulips. He presented them to Rat with a flourish.

“I remembered you said something about liking them.” He said, pressing his lower lip up in a flattened smile.

Rat had mentioned tulips, but in the context of visiting their mother’s grave site. They had been happy to see someone left tulips on her grave. It had very little to do with the tulips at all, but more the gesture of care that it had signaled.

“That’s very sweet of you.” They replied, attempting to smile in return.

They weren’t sure what they would do with the flowers. It wasn’t as if they could get up and arrange them into a vase, watering them until their gradual death. Or were they already dead once cut? Rat picked up the arrangement of pink and yellow tulips and pretended to inspect them. Yes, they were in fact flowers. Jeff was one of Rat’s longtime clients. He was temperamental and sensitive, prone to moments of intense romantic whimsy where he took pen to paper, composing elaborate poems of brooding desire only to churn that desire into resentment when Rat failed to respond in alignment with his fluctuating expectations. He intermittently disappeared, finding a new dancer to fawn over without any explanation of why, or to what end.

“You don’t like them, do you.” Jeff stated rhetorically, frowning.

“I do! I just got worried about being able to water them since I can’t really move.”

Rat looked at the crestfallen Jeff, who gruffly plucked the flowers from Rat’s hands.

“Let me know what flowers you like next time.”

What was his damage?

***

Rat’s urgent care bill came out to be about $4,000 ($3780.95 to be exact). And what had they gotten out of it? A few x-rays, blood work, a week’s worth of narcotics, and the prognosis that nothing serious was wrong? It felt like robbery. Rat adjusted on their donut shaped pillow. There was nothing much one could do about a broken coccyx aside from keeping pressure off of it, and maybe some physical therapy. But was that even necessary? PT was going to cost $210 per session without insurance. Rat wasn’t about to pay over $800 per month just to do stretcher band exercises a few times a week. At least their ankles weren’t broken. The swelling had gone down for the most part, but the tenderness had not. Rat had gotten overly confident and attempted to put a bit of weight on their feet, only to immediately crumple like one of those push puppet dolls, held up by tight strings only to topple when their platform is pressed in. Rat had yelped as they fell directly onto their wounded coccyx, cursing their hubris. They were not Wolverine. It was going to take time for them to heal.

Rat had been hesitant to text Jeff. They’d been in the middle of another of their lovers’ spats prior to the accident, and Jeff had blocked them. Rat had searched for his email address only to find that their correspondences no longer existed. Rat searched for his social media username to no avail. Eventually, they decided the only way to get his attention was to be desperate. He may have hidden himself, but Rat knew he was watching from the shadows. Rat went live with the title Sprained Ankles, Broken Tailbone, SOS. There was nothing like a bird with clipped wings to engage Jeff’s attention. Rat did their best to look pathetic, making sure their eyes were visibly dewy with tears, then sat back in their bed, waiting for people to enter the room.

“Hey guys--” Rat paused to whimper, “I had an accident and I’m pretty fucked up right now. I don’t know when I’ll be able to dance again. I’m stuck at home, and I honestly don’t know how I’m going to care for myself while I recover.” Rat looked down, blinking forward tears. “I just got my medical bills, and--” Their voice quavered as they retrieved the bill from an envelope on their side table. “$3,780.95… that’s almost $4,000 y’all! What is wrong with this country?”

In the comments, people reacted with angry face emojis, tearful emojis, and prayer hands.

What’s your Venmo, sis?

“It’s @6RatKing9. I appreciate you. Guys, I haven’t been in pain like this before. I need help. DM me if you have resources or advice. If you can’t help, please share. I appreciate you being here and listening to me.”

Rat allowed one final tear to roll down their cheek, then ended the broadcast, immediately uploading it to their grid. Then they waited, watching people like and comment on the video. They checked their DM replies, occasionally taking down information from people with useful suggestions.

Damn, them hands look raggedy af. Get a mani, sis.

Rat deleted the comment. Bitches will spit on your grave. It didn’t take long before Jeff appeared. Rat opened their message requests and scrolled until they spotted one from “El Jefe”.

Lilith, you should have just reached out to me directly. You know I’d do anything for you.

Rat’s eyebrow quivered with irritation. They were grateful Jeff was back, but the man had a way of skewing reality.

I tried, but you never respond to my messages. And I don’t know what your email address is. You left our photo album folder.

(...)

Rat watched the ellipses appear and disappear as Jeff created and erased his thoughts. Rat never knew what was going on in his head. On the one hand, he was much less one-dimensional than many of their other clients. He had depth and on a good day could be a source of thoughtful conversation. One the other, he had a tendency to lean into catastrophizing. If Rat got annoyed with him, it was a sign they were never meant to be because he was irreparably broken and unlovable, it’s why his children hardly spoke to him and why his wife slept in the guest bedroom.

I felt like you were better without me. I didn’t want to get in your way.

Rat rolled their eyes. They didn’t know why Jeff had fixated on them, when it seemed apparent whatever Rat provided only threw him into a self-loathing tizzy.

You weren’t in my way.

Rat felt as if they were beating their head against a wall talking to him, fighting the fantasy he had concocted. Jeff made a lot of presumptions without fully realizing what a whale he was. He was the kind of customer who would show up and blow $5,000 without batting an eye. If you were the source of his affection, he would devote every last penny to you. If you texted him, he would arrive within the hour and stay all night, buying hour after hour without even requesting so much as a hand job. Customers like him were worth their way in gold. But Jeff didn’t know what he was. He kept himself caged in an internal game of one-upmanship, competing against imagined men with “real money,” whom he could never measure up to. He didn’t realize he was the man with the real money, and perhaps that was a gift. He paid Rat money as if it were an offering to a deity, that he might one day be worthy to be in their presence.

What do you need, Lil?

I need help with everything. I can’t move.

You need food? Who’s changing your dressings? Do you need help with the bill?

I’m in this alone, Jeff. I need it all.

Send me your address. I’m coming over.