The Grove by John Rector

in the morning sun.
    Her abdomen was swollen, and several fingers were missing. I leaned in and looked closer. There were tiny teeth marks on the skin.
    They’d been chewed to the bone.
    I thought of the rats in the field, and this time I did scream. I couldn’t hold it back.
    I stumbled away, then turned and ran naked through the grove toward the house. When I got inside I ran to the bathroom and turned the shower to hot, then leaned against the sink and stared into the mirror.
    I was crying. The tears ran down my face, leaving clean lines through the dirt.
    I saw movement in my hair and leaned over the sink, slapping at my scalp. Several ants dropped into the white bowl, but I knew there were more. I could feel them.
    I stepped back and slammed my head against the mirror. A long crack split the glass in two. My legs dipped, and white light flashed behind my eyes, but I didn’t fall.
    I held onto the edge of the sink and stared at the ants moving around in the bowl. I felt my stomach clench and my body heaved, again and again.
    Nothing came up but acid.
    When it finally stopped, I eased down to the floor, crying. I wanted to pray, but I didn’t know the words.
    I tried anyway.
    A moment later I felt something scurry across the bridge of my nose and bury itself in my hair. I moaned and climbed over the edge of the bathtub and into the shower.
    The water scalded my skin, but I forced myself to stay under it.
    I wanted to burn.
     
     
    When I got out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and went into the kitchen. I took one of the Johnny Walker bottles from the cabinet above the refrigerator, opened it, and drank until my throat and sinuses screamed.
    My body shook. I leaned against the counter, waiting for it to pass. For a moment, I thought I was going to be sick again. I could still taste the dirt and stomach acid in my mouth, despite the whiskey. Part of me doubted it would ever go away.
    I crossed to the window and reached for my pill bottle above the sink. I popped the cap off and tapped one of the tiny red pills into my palm.
    “Dexter?”
    I closed my eyes, didn’t answer.
    “Please don’t be mad at me.”
    I stared at the pill, wanting to raise my hand to my mouth and swallow it, but I couldn’t. I heard a lifetime of doctors telling me it would help, and I believed them, just like I always had.
    If I took the pills, things would get better. The world would dim, the colors would blend, and I’d drop back and fade to gray.
    At that moment, it was exactly what I wanted.
    “Dex, look at me.”
    I turned around, slow. Jessica stood in the doorway. She’d been crying, and her eyes were swollen.
    “What about last night?” There were tears on her cheeks.
    “The way we felt together?”
    “That wasn’t right,” I said, motioning to the field, then to her. “And this isn’t right, either.”
    “Dexter—”
    “You’re not real.”
    Jessica stepped closer, and I moved back against the counter.
    She stopped, smiled through the tears.
    “You know that’s not true.”
    I didn’t know what was true anymore, and I told her so. All I knew was that everything had changed and I needed to get control. “Please, go away.”
    “I can’t do that,” she said. “Not anymore.”
    “Why not?”
    Jessica smiled. “What do you mean, why not? Do you think you can tell me to go away and I will?” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that?”
    I looked down at the pill in my hand.
    “Those won’t help you.”
    “They’ve always helped before.”
    Jessica took another step closer. This time there was nowhere for me to go, and I closed my eyes. I felt her come close and her hands touch my face. When she spoke, her breath slid smooth and soft against my skin.
    “You saw what’s out there.” Her voice was calm. “Do you think it’ll go away just because you want it to, or because you take a few pills?”
    I couldn’t speak.
    “It won’t,” she said. “It will still be there tonight and