This is the last time, I thought spitefully. This is the last time I come home early. Next time, I'm staying at the damn library. I'll stay til midnight next time.

I thought the coast would be clear. Perhaps Tom would be watching a movie, and I could just cuddle up next to him for a few minutes before crawling under the sheets with a pile of flash cards. He'd kiss me on the forehead, ramble about his day, tell me he loved me with all his heart, then let me go to resume my study of antibiotics and viruses.

But no.

Jon was there. Jon, the idiot from the employment office that Tom frequented in looking for a job. Why was he there? His wife was there with him.

I don't know why Tom had ever linked up with Jon. Tom had an open heart and a face that just seemed to attract the weirdos. This was no different.

Jon was an imbecile. He was so stupid and ignorant. Loud and obnoxious. But he was Tom's only friend out here, and he had already done Tom several favors, including driving him around to job interviews and on errands while I sat at school. What was I to do but tolerate him?

The 250-pound married teenager sat across from me on our couch, his similarly heavy wife with one leg draped clumsily over his lap. I looked back and forth between them, wondering what the attraction was. The wife was pretty, despite her stomach peeking out in a heap from under the hem of a shirt too small for her. She was nice enough, except for her propensity for talking seemingly without ever taking a breath. Then I looked at Tom; he looked at me with his usual mix of love and pensiveness over what I was thinking. He knew how I felt about the oaf and his wife. I had a feeling Tom knew what I was thinking.

I didn't care. I was entitled to my opinion. Just as Jon was entitled to be an ignorant oaf if he so desired.

"Stop that," Jon said, inching his face away from his wife's puckered lips.

"What, you can suck my cheek whenever you want but I can't suck yours?" she pouted. His face was covered in healed acne scars; I knew acne spotted the rest of his body, particularly across his broad back. Being a medical student, my opinion had been sought on his back pain before.

Lose weight, I wanted to say. You're throwing your back out of whack. And while you're on the bike, why don't you pick up a damn book?

I shuddered inside. I looked away when he stood up and, turning to face away from me, displayed the top of his crack above his waistline. A pimple was apparent on his side and another one danced next to his spine.

Just breathe, I thought, closing my eyes. He's Tom's friend. Tom doesn't like all of your friends, but he puts up with them.

I returned my gaze in time to see the oaf's wife reach a hand around his massive hips and grope his buttock. A good healthy squeeze, followed by a playful spank.

I had to leave the room. I gulped huge pockets of air, willing my dinner to remain in digestion. I stood over the toilet, trying to regain my composure.

"He's Tom's friend. He's Tom's friend. He has done Tom a lot of favors that he didn't have to. He's Tom's friend..."

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