The whole nightmare began one afternoon in a dingy gym bathroom. If Stevie and I didn’t start using the shit, the whole thing never would’ve happened.  

Fuckin’ roid rage. 

I remember that ugly drizzly day like it was yesterday.  

We’re in the locker room of Iron Plate Gym, me and my best friend Stevie, all revved up cause we just got our first juice delivery from Big Bobby. He handed me a crumpled paper bag with a few boxes of Deca and a bottle of D-bol tabs and said, “You’re on your own,” and went to workout. He threw in a few darts so we’d be ready to start right away. 

We’re staring at all this gear in the bag and I’m thinking that this was it, that I’m gonna be in the big time now. I was primed to get huge like the other freaky gym monsters.  

Stevie fishes out a syringe and I pull out a box of Deca. I howl and say, “Look,” as I chomp off the top of the cardboard box and dump the vial into my hand, spitting the wet flap onto the floor. 

I pinch the glass up to the light and say, “Breakfast of champions,” and we both bust out and do a high five. We go into the small bathroom, barely big enough for both of us. 

I grab the dart from Stevie, peel open the wrapper and pop off the needle cap. I snatch a bottle of rubbing alcohol from my gym bag and splash some on toilet paper and wipe the top of the vial. I stick the needle in, turn it upside down and suck out the full 2 cc’s of oily stuff.   

I say, “Me first.”  

Stevie says, “Fine,” and then he says, “Dude, I ain’t shootin you.”  

I call him a pussy and say, “I’ll do it myself.” I face the sink and undo my sweat pants and let them down a bit to expose my glutes.  

I wipe my skin with alcohol, lean on the porcelain with one hand and say, “Bombs away,” then plunge the spike into my glute and push down hard, forcing the Deca into my ass muscle. It stings a little and I could swear the juice started to work right then and there, but I know it ain’t so.  

I felt as if my life had changed somehow, like I was in some new exclusive club. I guess I was. At the time I thought the change was for the better, but little did I know it was the beginning of the end. 

* * * 

One time me and Stevie meet this older guy at the gym, his name is Richard and he tells us if we want to really be cool we should get into Manhattan and forget about all this Long Island suburban crap. 

I think, whatever, but I have a feeling this guy is weird and one night we go into the city, a place downtown in the West Village.  I forget the name. It doesn’t matter and all I remember is people screwing around all over in these dark concrete chambers. 

It was some sex club and you had to be a member and this guy Rich just showed a card at the door and the bouncer said, “Go head boys.” 

There was this amazon woman in shiny leather pulling a guy around on a leash and he’s licking her black spiked boots and she’s kicking him and he just keeps apologizing. 

Me and Stevie look at each other and almost at the same time we say, “What the fuck,” and then we just start cracking up. Richard glares at us like we should chill out or something. 

Another naked lady has her hands tied to a wood beam above her head and this guy in a mask is whipping her. She moans in the dark and then he rams her with the handle of the whip. And that was just the first few minutes. 

After a while I gotta go to the can so I weave my way through the stone chambers and smoky haze, like I’m exploring some ancient tomb. In slashes of dim light, I see a skinny guy wearing only cowboy boots lounging inside one of those long urinals like he’s at the beach, one leg draped over the side.  

I stood in the shadows, eyes burning with the smell of a urine and smoke. I watched two guys finish spraying the cowboy with piss. He rubbed it in like lotion and groaned and said, “Next.”  

I really had to go so I ended up taking a whiz on his boots. 

* * * 

After a few months of juicing it up, I’m getting huge and Stevie slows down on his shit and tells me, “Maybe you should cool it for a while.” 

I tell him, “No way,” cause I’m getting jacked and I want to enter one of those bodybuilding shows.  

Stevie says, “What about college?” 

I say, “Screw that.”  I keep training and training and getting bigger and bigger. 

Stevie is getting ready to go to college, Mr. Frat boy. I got my eye on the Mr. Teenage USA contest the August after graduation in Venice Beach, California. 

Somebody tells me that Venice is the Mecca of all bodybuilding and that fires me up even more. 

* * * 

Another time a group of us cut school on a warm April day and hops in Stevie’s Chevelle and cruise over to Jones Beach. 

We packed a cooler full of Bud quickies. Sherrie and Michele were in the car with us, Michele with her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, smelling like goddamn spring flowers. I knew that Stevie liked Michele cause she was much hotter, but Michele liked me and it was obvious. She kept saying things to me like, “Wow you’re getting so big,” and, “I love your muscles,” as she scraped her spike-like fingernails across my forearm hair. 

I could see Stevie out the corner of my eye with that stupid look on his face. 

I don’t like to say it, but Stevie just didn’t have what I had, you know, even though he was my best friend and all, he just didn’t have good genetics I guess.  

And even though he juiced for a while it didn’t seem to do anything. Me, I just got bigger and people told me I could probably win a big show some day. 

When we get to the beach we spread out a towel and blast some Van Halen and kick back. That was when I told Stevie I was gonna go to California after graduation.   

He says, “That’s stupid, dude.”  

I say, “Really?” Right then I wanted to punch him, hard. 

He started telling me about all that college crap and says, “What’re you gonna do? Be a muscle man?” And how was I gonna make money and all that. 

Like all of a sudden he’s got some attitude like he’s better or something, like he’s gonna be some doctor or lawyer. 

So it was great cause right then Michele comes jogging up to the towel with her tits bouncing in her tube-top, nipples hard, and says to me, all flirty like, she says, “Come down to the water, hot stuff.”  

She has her hand out, so I take it and she pulls me up. 

As we saunter away hand in hand, I turn back to Stevie and he’s got that stupid smirk on his face again. 

* * * 

Things were going pretty much as planned with the California trip and all except me and Michele were getting kinda tight and she was getting a bit latchy. 

The whole thing was starting to get on my nerves cause I had big plans you know, to be Mr. Universe. I didn’t need some whiny chick getting in my face. 

She would say things like, “You know you’re taking this muscle stuff a little too serious,” and, “You still taking that shit cause I think your balls are getting like little grapes.” 

When she said that last thing I let the back of my hand sort of slide across her face, not really like a hard slap, but she took it that way, her face getting all red and splotchy. And all the crying. 

I said I didn’t mean it. It just happened, like a little switch in my head clicked or something. I knew the juice was fucking with my head. 

She just cried. 

And then she really pissed me off cause she said, “Why can’t you be more like Stevie.” 

I lost it. 

Lucky I didn’t hit her because my fist smashed right through the sheetrock wall in my basement. 

* * * 
 

The next time I go into the city with Richard it’s just me and him cause Stevie says he has to study and we end up back in Greenwich Village. 

We’re in this smoky bar and two guys are making out and I say to Richard, “The heck is that?” 

He says, “The city, just the way it is.” 

We leave that place cause he says I got all quiet, and I was. 

So he takes me to another place that’s more of a disco club and there are some chicks, but they’re making out too.  

Rich just smiles, shrugs. 

I say, “I’m outta here.” 

* * *  

After a while Stevie stops training all together cause he says he’s got some other stuff to focus on and why don’t I chill too. Take a break. 

I’m bigger than ever and my neck feels like it’s gonna explode out of every shirt I wear. My thighs rub together on the inside cause they’re like two tree trunks, and I got cuts and veins running all over my body like lightening bolts. 

I up the juice dosages cause I figure it’s three months to the show in California and I wanna peak out right on time. 

I start cutting some classes at school but it doesn’t matter cause it’s the end of the year and I got better things planned anyway. Like I’m ever gonna need the crap I’m learning. 

I’m gonna be Mr. fucking Universe someday. 

I’m right on target for success as I see it, but nobody sees it like I do. 

It’s going great until I get a phone call from Michele and she tells me she’s pregnant. 

* * * 
 

One time near the end I’m at Richard’s house and we smoke a joint and suck down some beers and we’re cranking Led Zeppelin. 

He takes out a sandwich baggie and it’s got a lot of different colored pills in it. He pulls out a red one and says, “Take this, it’ll really relax you.” 

I ask what it is and he says, “A downer.” 

I shrug and take it and not long after I’m feeling really groggy and weird but it’s kinda cool. 

Richard falls back on his bed, looking at the ceiling and says, “Man, I know a way a stud like you can make a lot of money.” 

I say, “Really.” 

He starts telling me about how muscle dudes can go into the city and pose for guys and get paid tons of cash. 

I say that sounds kinda fucked and he says, “No, it’s cool.” 

I’m really starting to feel funny and he says, “Try it, take off your clothes. I’ll show you.” 

I stand up, thinking I gotta get out of there and he says, “Where you going?” 

I step back. He hops up and walks toward me, smiling. 

The last thing I remember is his hand cupping my nuts before the switch clicked.  

When I can see straight again, dickhead is crumpled on the floor with a bloody face staring up at me and he’s breathing funny and trying to talk. 

I just say, “Fuck off.” 

I don’t remember driving home.  

* * * 
 

Michelle actually says, “What if we had it.” 

I say, “You gotta be kidding.” 

She says, “We’d be a family.” 

I start telling her about how there’s no way a guy like me can have a baby now, at this age, especially with all the plans I had. 

I ask her what is she gonna do when I go to California in a couple months and she says, “Yeah, right.” 

I tell her we gotta get this situation taken care of pronto and she cries and says, “No way,” and jumps right out of my car at a stoplight. 

I have to roll alongside her in the car for about a mile before she gets back in. With a face like stone, staring straight ahead, she says, “Fine.” 

* * * 

Not long after that, Mrs. Cartwright from the main office pokes her stupid head into my English class and says there’s a phone call for me. I figure it must be serious cause no one ever gets a phone call like that at school. 

When I pick it up it’s my mom. She says, “Come right home after school.” 

I ask her why and she says to just do it and her voice sounds funny. 

When I get home she leads me to her bedroom where she’s got all my roids scattered out on her bed. She’s got the pills and the vials and all the syringes spread out. She’s got tears in her eyes and she says, “What’s this stuff?” 

I smile cause I know what she’s thinking. Before I can answer she says, “Well what is it, uppers or downers or what?” 

I chime right in, grinning, “Yeah and sidewaysers too.”  

She doesn’t like that and bursts out crying. I tell her to calm down and then I tell her about the juice and how it’s really a good thing. That she should be lucky that I’m not doing hardcore shit. And how come she’s going through my stuff anyway. 

She tells me to just wait until my father gets home. 

When he walks through the door my mom tells him the story. He comes to me and as he throws his hard hat onto the chair, says, “Wipe the grin off your mug.”  

I say, “What grin,” and I can see he’s had a crappy day. 

He says, “You’re a fuckup,” and he starts to swing at me and I duck. 

The switch clicks. 

My head spins and things just happen. I clock him on the side of the head and he falls back into my mom and they both crash onto a desk and end up on the floor. 

I scoop up the roids and bolt. 

* * * 

I jump into my 76 Monte Carlo and tear down the street, tires screeching. 

I don’t even know where I’m going. 

I slide a Black Sabbath cassette into the player and Ozzy is yelling and I crank up the volume and the speakers are thumping and I can’t believe I just smacked my old man. 

I swerve onto the main strip near my house and some guy cuts me off. In a fuckin Pacer no less. He doesn’t even wave or anything and this pisses me off. I speed up, getting alongside this guy and he knows I’m right there and he doesn’t look at me, just stares straight ahead and we’re going faster and faster. 

I lean over and crank down the window, almost losing control and the wind is blowing. I yell, “Hey douche bag,” and he just ignores me.  

I pull closer to him and start running him to the curb and now he starts honking and he slows down cause he has no choice. Then I see him take a sideways glance at me.   

We finally come to a halt and I jump out of the car, running around the front toward him. Now he looks like a chicken-shit. He throws it in reverse and slams a parked car before he speeds away, smashing a couple of garbage cans in the process. 

I do a loud, “Yee haa,” and yell full out, “That’s right a-wipe.” 

I slide back in my car and decide to go over Stevie’s. 

* * * 

When I get to Stevie’s I see that Michele’s car is parked out front and I wonder what the fuck is going on. 

I make my way around to the side door that leads to the basement where Stevie’s room is and I let myself in. My head is really hot now and I feel like I got a wicked headache. My heart is racing like never before and my body feels like it’s tingling. 

When I get to the bottom of the stairs I see the two of them sitting on the bed and Stevie’s hugging Michele. They both see me and turn and jump and Michele starts right in saying, really fast, “We were just talking,” and, “I needed somebody to talk to.” 

Stevie saying, “Hey man, what’s up,” and, “It’s not how it looks,” and he’s got that stupid smirk on his face. 

It was the smirk that really did it for me. 

And the switch goes off. 

The switch has a loud bang and I swear, this time, I can actually hear the sound like a sonic boom and the rest is a blur. 

* * * 

Later, Michele tells people how she never saw a person pick someone up by the neck with one hand, only in cartoons. And she never, ever, saw a look like the one I had in my eyes. 

She flew out of the room screaming and got help and nobody saw what happened next, not even me, cause I don’t remember anything, just the click and then white. 

All they know is that when the police came in I was sobbing and had Stevie’s dead body draped across my lap.