“I’m tellin’ ya, man. It’s more than just a song about fist fucking.”
Spit rocked back and forth in the front seat of Jimmy’s truck as he spoke. The parking lot was empty, and a semi-burnt-out neon sign for the fast food place up ahead read Closed. When was the last time I ate? My stomach groaned as I slumped further down in the backseat.
“So, what’s it about then?” Jimmy asked, picking at a bloated scab on his cheek.
Spit rubbed his hands together. “Complete and total trust, man. Giving yourself as an object to someone. It’s about the beauty of sado-masochism.”
Jimmy side-eyed me in the rear-view. His cheek was a purple bubble of a bruise. How does someone like Jimmy even get mugged? “Nah,” he finally said, looking back at Spit. “It’s definitely just about fist fucking.”
My body tensed as I imagined Verona with her fist clenched deep inside me, plunging the bile from my stomach. I pushed the thought away and checked my phone. Still no response. Did she have any plans tonight? When was that art show again? Someone knocked against the car window.
“Finally,” Jimmy muttered. “Let him in.”
I pulled the lock open and some kid with a porcelain face climbed in the back seat with me. “Thanks for coming all the way down here,” he stammered. Not a crack on him. This kid had probably never seen a fight in his life.
“No problem, man,” Spit answered, pulling out a container of some off-brand deodorant with the words Eats Stink printed across the front. The kid reached over for it. His fingernails were trimmed into perfect crescent moons and brushed against Spit’s, which were caked with tar and dirt. “Just unscrew the bottom if you wanna check. It should all be there.”
“That’s ok, I trust you,” he said. The acid boiled in my stomach. This kid had probably never done anything hard in his life. His face was too round, not a single edge to it. I bit the scar on my lip as he passed Spit a bundle of cash with a metal clasp. “Thanks again.” The kid nodded at me as he opened the door and climbed back out of the car.
Jimmy went back to picking his cheek. “Nice guy,” he said, as the kid disappeared behind a corner. “Kinda looked like you. Didn’t he, Kurt?”
Clair’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Hopefully, that meant Amity was gone too. While Spit worked on unlocking the door, I fiddled with the nazar he had gotten for me. Ever since the incident with the birdwatcher, I had kept it on me. A car sped down the street behind us, and my stomach tightened. When was the last time I ate?
“Home sweet home,” Spit declared, letting the light from the porch spill inside the dark house.
Something lay crumpled on the carpet. A shadow. My gut shrunk against my spine as I gripped the eyeball necklace tighter. Long, thick strings jutted out from the body. Hair? Fur?
They rattled together, and I took a step back. These thick pieces of rope curled back like scorpion tails and struck their host—whatever it was laying on the floor. A body? Amity? Liquid hissed from the puncture wounds, as if a sprinkler were trying to sputter on. The nazar slipped between the sweat in my fingers.
“Amity?” Spit turned on the light, and the room returned to normal. No possessed shadow. No scorpions. Just Amity, passed out on the floor next to an empty bottle of wine.
“Jesus,” Jimmy sighed, brushing past me. “She’s got to get her shit together.”
We each took turns stepping over her body to get to the couch. I don’t think anyone had touched the TV since I was last here because it was still muted. A news anchor with golden eyes was giving some report but the subtitles didn’t match up with her mouth. Several residents have reported seeing Mr. Nathan Torres around campus, but police have not verified these accounts.
I sunk into the cushion springs, fishing through my pockets for Xanax.
“I feel bad, man.” Spit motioned towards Amity’s limp body. “She’s been more of a wreck than normal with Nathan gone. And Clair…well, you’ve seen how stressed she’s been.” Was he talking to me or Jimmy? “I just wish we could help, ya know?”
Jimmy peeled the crusted scab free from his cheek and flicked it off his finger. “You know he just dipped right?” The mass of dried blood flew over the coffee table and landed somewhere in Amity’s hair. “Nathan, I mean. The guy’s an asshole. He never gave a shit about any of us. He’s probably leaching off some other moon-child-tree-fucker in some other state right now.”
I found two pills in my shirt pocket but didn’t bother checking whether they were Xanax or Vicodin. I took them both. If you have any information on the whereabouts of Mr. Nathan Torres please reach out to Sego Valley PD. The front door handle jiggled, and a pair of brown paper bags emerged behind the door with Clair’s legs beneath them.
“Shit,” she muttered. A container fell from one of the bags, popping open. Strawberries rolled across the floor next to Amity’s head. And while there’s no cause for concern, we can always be more prepared. I squinted my eyes and pretended to be asleep while Jimmy and Spit got up to help.
Amity’s breath rattled from the floor. All I could think about were scorpions. Hissing. Clacking. Jimmy took the bag from Clair as Spit pocketed the loose strawberries. What was I doing here? The three of them moved into the kitchen leaving Amity and I with the silent newscaster. Be aware of your surroundings. Don’t go anywhere alone.
“Hey, it’s ok,” Jimmy whispered from the kitchen. Someone was whimpering. Clair? “If he really cares he’ll be back. If not, well, then we’re all better off right? Besides,” Jimmy continued, “who needs him when you’ve got us?”
Clair breathed in a gulp of air.
“I would never let you down,” Jimmy promised.
My stomach groaned, and Amity wouldn’t stop snoring. I rubbed my fingers into my temples. Maybe Clair would make some food soon. Most importantly, watch out for each other. My phone vibrated. Verona’s name was printed across the screen.
Can you come over?
I lifted myself from the couch and almost tripped over Amity as I crossed through the living room. Jimmy and Clair were still talking in the kitchen. But as I cracked open the front door, the conversation stopped. “Kurt?” Jimmy asked. “Goin’ somewhere?” I pretended not to hear him as I slipped outside.
Drops of liquid dotted the wood floor. Fluorescent red. Verona’s stereo system was playing some song that sounded like a dying owl, and the hallway smelled of bleach. My heart rate picked up the further I walked into the apartment. Each noise I made, stepping on the creaky floor, sounded thunderous. Lights were on, and everything looked warm and orange and empty. More dots spotted the floor by the kitchen, leading to Verona’s closed bedroom door. Adrenaline saturated my mouth. My knees wobbled. I approached the closed door, but once my hand touched the knob, my stomach flipped.
I flew back around the corner to get to the kitchen sink. The stainless steel reverberated the sound of my gagging and Verona’s high-pitched music as I forced my head inside. Foam and liquid spewed from my mouth and nose. Mostly foam. My eyes leaked wet and hot as the vomit subsided, and a long strand of drool dripped free from my trembling lips.
White stars danced in front of my eyes. There was nothing solid in the sink. No chunks of half-digested food. When did I last eat? Small bubbles popped along the edges of my toxic yellow stomach juices, and running across the backside was a long red streak. Fluorescent red. Did I vomit blood?
I pulled the sink’s nozzle free and turned on the water, pointing it at the mess of colors. My pale-yellow puke spiraled down the garbage disposal, revealing even more streaks of red beneath. They stayed stuck to the bottom of the sink. Stained. I shut off the water and tried rubbing my finger against them. It wouldn’t come off. I remembered that dead coyote, its blood caked under the hot sun. Brain matter looked a lot like ground pork.
I slid down the counter, to the floor, and my eyes bulged with pressure. A hot stream rolled from the corner of my eye, into the crease of my nose. What was behind that closed door? I rolled onto my hands and knees, digging my fingernails into the wood floor as if the world were trying to shake me off. I couldn’t hold on. The music from Verona’s stereo twisted into my brain. Howling. I couldn’t tell if it was me or the song. My fist slammed against the floor, and the music stopped playing. The door swung open.
“Jesus, Kurt. What the fuck?” Verona stood in the door frame, looming over me.
As she came over and bent down next to me, her hair slipped from her ear, dangling in front of my face. It was a different color. Red. Bright red. She tucked it back behind her ear as I choked on a large sob.