back. His leg twitches and he’s able to mutter simple phrases. Mostly he says, I’m so thirsty.
KK kisses his eyes. His nose. She even kisses his come-crusted mouth and I know right then, it’s serious, them, their love. I remind myself that this was all I had wanted. Simply for her to be safe. I’d told myself and God and my father and Typewriter this and I’d gotten my wish.
I tap KK on the side, tell her I’ll slide up front. It’s awkward and I might have a chub and I’m only a little careful that it doesn’t brush against her hand.
It doesn’t take long for Jared to become more coherent. He asks questions about what happened and if it was real, the death, the reanimated. KK fills him in. Then he sees me and I tell him what’s up. I feel like Einstein. I’ve figured out our limiting variable. Nobel Prizes should be coming my way. I’m Mother Teresa and Gandhi. So fucking selfless, saving the guy who fucks the love of my life. I hear KK tell Jared that his heart is racing.
That’s because he’s spun, I say.
Typewriter laughs.
Jesus, can you just stop with that. Like I know I fucked up, KK says.
I figure I have to share my knowledge. It’s life or death. I say, No, I’m serious, your boy’s spun.
Feel like it, Jared says.
KK asks what he means. She touches his forehead.
I gave him a booster.
You stupid fuck, KK says. She hits the back of my head. Typewriter continues laughing, tapping the steering wheel.
I turn toward Jared and KK. I say, Listen, it was a gamble, but I realized that all of us have been using. I mean like every one of us still alive is on shit.
So fucking selfish, KK says.
So I gave him a hit, and he’s fine now. How the fuck does that make me selfish?
Because you could have killed him.
He was about to die anyway.
Can’t believe—
And it worked, right? I fucking saved him. He’s talking, sitting upright. Am I right, Jared?
Jared puts his arm around KK. He whispers something. Then he looks at me and I hate his long stupid face. He says, Thank you.
Are you serious? KK says.
He saved my life. What the hell more do you want from him?
Bro, Typewriter says, you realize what this means?
I do, but I don’t say anything.
He says, We’re in this shit for life.
8:46 PM
The Albino sits Indian-style on the one couch in his cabin. He’s only wearing underwear. He looks like one of the Chucks. He’s let us in, and now just stares at us like we’re the stupidest motherfuckers he’s ever seen. I’m telling him that it’s better, having more people, safety in numbers, that we can fortify his compound, that everyone can be of use, that we need to pull together.
He clears his throat. He points to KK. He says, That a boy or girl?
It’s kind of funny so I laugh. He’s taking it better than I would have guessed. His skin is Christmas morning snow.
This is KK, I say.
She steps forward.
The Albino makes no move to shake her hand.
And this is Jared, I say.
Jared says hello.
The Albino sits like a sage, some gatekeeper, some protector of this shitty life we’re trying to build. He finally says, The blond thing can stay, but fuck horse face.
I’m liking where this is headed.
KK sniffles.
I toss the duffle bag of Sudafed and other pills on the floor. I say, We all stay.
What we got here?
The Albino gets up. His dick swings a little in his underwear. He rifles through the bag, his face going from solemn to ecstatic as he pulls out box after box of ingredients.
You’s done good, Crooked Cock. Done real good.
So they can stay? All of us?
Not promising shit.
For now, though?
For now, need to get cookin’. I’m not stopping for shit.
Fuck yeah, Type says.
Okay, so, what about us? What do you need us to do?
Fiddle yourselves, kill yourselves, don’t make shit difference to me, the Albino says.
But we’re good to stay in here?
For now, yeah. Just don’t make a fucking sound. They’re out there, believe you me, out there waiting.
The Albino grabs the
KK kisses his eyes. His nose. She even kisses his come-crusted mouth and I know right then, it’s serious, them, their love. I remind myself that this was all I had wanted. Simply for her to be safe. I’d told myself and God and my father and Typewriter this and I’d gotten my wish.
I tap KK on the side, tell her I’ll slide up front. It’s awkward and I might have a chub and I’m only a little careful that it doesn’t brush against her hand.
It doesn’t take long for Jared to become more coherent. He asks questions about what happened and if it was real, the death, the reanimated. KK fills him in. Then he sees me and I tell him what’s up. I feel like Einstein. I’ve figured out our limiting variable. Nobel Prizes should be coming my way. I’m Mother Teresa and Gandhi. So fucking selfless, saving the guy who fucks the love of my life. I hear KK tell Jared that his heart is racing.
That’s because he’s spun, I say.
Typewriter laughs.
Jesus, can you just stop with that. Like I know I fucked up, KK says.
I figure I have to share my knowledge. It’s life or death. I say, No, I’m serious, your boy’s spun.
Feel like it, Jared says.
KK asks what he means. She touches his forehead.
I gave him a booster.
You stupid fuck, KK says. She hits the back of my head. Typewriter continues laughing, tapping the steering wheel.
I turn toward Jared and KK. I say, Listen, it was a gamble, but I realized that all of us have been using. I mean like every one of us still alive is on shit.
So fucking selfish, KK says.
So I gave him a hit, and he’s fine now. How the fuck does that make me selfish?
Because you could have killed him.
He was about to die anyway.
Can’t believe—
And it worked, right? I fucking saved him. He’s talking, sitting upright. Am I right, Jared?
Jared puts his arm around KK. He whispers something. Then he looks at me and I hate his long stupid face. He says, Thank you.
Are you serious? KK says.
He saved my life. What the hell more do you want from him?
Bro, Typewriter says, you realize what this means?
I do, but I don’t say anything.
He says, We’re in this shit for life.
8:46 PM
The Albino sits Indian-style on the one couch in his cabin. He’s only wearing underwear. He looks like one of the Chucks. He’s let us in, and now just stares at us like we’re the stupidest motherfuckers he’s ever seen. I’m telling him that it’s better, having more people, safety in numbers, that we can fortify his compound, that everyone can be of use, that we need to pull together.
He clears his throat. He points to KK. He says, That a boy or girl?
It’s kind of funny so I laugh. He’s taking it better than I would have guessed. His skin is Christmas morning snow.
This is KK, I say.
She steps forward.
The Albino makes no move to shake her hand.
And this is Jared, I say.
Jared says hello.
The Albino sits like a sage, some gatekeeper, some protector of this shitty life we’re trying to build. He finally says, The blond thing can stay, but fuck horse face.
I’m liking where this is headed.
KK sniffles.
I toss the duffle bag of Sudafed and other pills on the floor. I say, We all stay.
What we got here?
The Albino gets up. His dick swings a little in his underwear. He rifles through the bag, his face going from solemn to ecstatic as he pulls out box after box of ingredients.
You’s done good, Crooked Cock. Done real good.
So they can stay? All of us?
Not promising shit.
For now, though?
For now, need to get cookin’. I’m not stopping for shit.
Fuck yeah, Type says.
Okay, so, what about us? What do you need us to do?
Fiddle yourselves, kill yourselves, don’t make shit difference to me, the Albino says.
But we’re good to stay in here?
For now, yeah. Just don’t make a fucking sound. They’re out there, believe you me, out there waiting.
The Albino grabs the
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