Will McIntosh - Soft Apocalypse

I chuckled.

“Why are you laughing?” Sophia asked.

“That same night I was dragged into an alley by Jumpy-Jumps and watched them murder a half-dozen people. They held a gas gun to my face, and as far as I can figure the only reason they didn’t kill me was because I was poor.” And then of course there was the part about them making me eat a cat fetus, but I figured I’d skip that.

Sophia looked stricken. “I’m so sorry.”

I shrugged. “It was a long time ago .I laughed because being kicked out of the bar doesn’t really register on the stress meter from that particular evening.” I took another big swallow from my glass.

Sophia stood. “I’d better get back inside.” She left out the obvious: before Jean Paul sees me out here with you. “I just wanted you to know that I never stopped loving you.” She hurried inside, giving me no chance to respond.

I swallowed the rest of my gin, those long-dormant feelings twirling in my stomach. With an effort that felt almost physical, I squashed them. I headed back inside. I got into bed feeling a perfect buzz—not enough to set the room spinning, but enough to kill the existential hum, enough to tuck me in and tell me everything would turn out just fine. Drinking always made me feel better, and made me think nice thoughts.

My door opened with a soft whine, then squeaked shut.

“Hi.” Ange said.

“Hi.”

“Is this okay?” She ran her fingers down my arm.

“Yes. Perfect.”

“I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Me neither.” I ran my hand over her hip, down her thigh, pushing away pangs of guilt that Sophia might hear us. The guilt was spectacularly stupid—I realized. I owed Sophia nothing. What had been between us was long over, and had been nothing but mist and daydreams to begin with.

“You sure you don’t want to crawl into Sophia’s bed instead? Or maybe Deirdre’s?” She laughed.

“I’m sure,” I said, wondering if she’d seen us on the patio. I kissed Ange’s neck, her jaw. She had an incredible flaring jawline. It was too dark to see the blaze of tattoos that covered her ribs, but I could feel them, making the skin there slicker.

Later, we lay tangled together, dozing. A dream-image of a leering Jumpy-Jump floated into my mind and I jolted, waking Ange. She rubbed my arm, reassuring. It was nice having someone there in the dark when nightmares came.

“It’s kind of amazing how long we’ve been fucking around without screwing up our friendship,” Ange whispered drowsily.

“It’s hard to believe,” I said. “People say it can’t be done, but we proved them wrong.” What would my life have been like without Ange? I didn’t even want to contemplate it. It’s much more bearable to be single and alone when you’re not really alone.

“I’ve always wanted to ask you about something,” I said. “You once said that if a guy didn’t have the nerve to ask you out point-blank, you knew there was no way it could work with him.”

“Mm. I don’t remember, but I can see myself saying that.”

“Hypothetically, if I’d had the confidence to ask you out back then, would you have tried the boyfriend-girlfriend thing with me?”

Ange rolled over, scooted up against the headboard. Outside, a dog was whimpering. “You really want the truth?”

“Yes.”

She folded her arms under her breasts. “You were sweet, and interesting, and fun, but you were too much of a boy. Those are all good traits in a friend, even a fuck friend. But not a boyfriend.”

“Fair enough. I can see that.” I think I’d even seen it then.

For a moment I considered asking Ange if she wanted to try the boyfriend-girlfriend thing now. If I wanted to pursue a relationship with Ange, now was the time to ask. But even as I thought it, I knew I was years too late. Regardless of the sex part, she played the part of the female friend who gave me advice on how to get the girl. She couldn’t also be the girl.

It was more than that, though. When times were good, it was worth the risk to fall in love, because the risk was low. People died of cancer, got hit by cars, but mostly they lived long lives. Now, falling in love was a sucker’s bet. The odds were long, and favored the house.

“You know, I think you’re tied for my best friend in the world,” I said.

“Me too, sweetie.” She took a deep breath, let it out, scooted down and rolled over.

I drifted off to sleep feeling hungry, but good.

I was out of bed and in the hallway before I was awake enough to register that someone was screaming. Deirdre was screaming. Her door flew open and Sebastian ran out, chased by Deirdre, who had a knife. She slashed at Sebastian, cutting his upper arm wide open before he got clear of her and down the stairs. She stopped, crazy with anger. Cortez and I, the first to reach her, kept our distance.

“What happened?” I asked.

“He stuck me with a needle while I was asleep.” Deirdre said, probing a spot on her neck with trembling fingers. “Oh god, I think he infected me with that fucking virus.” She looked past us; there was an awful fear in her eyes. She screamed and charged for the stairs; I ducked into a doorway to let her pass, but Cortez stood his ground. He grabbed Deirdre’s wrist as she went by, and twisted. Deirdre’s feet came out from under her as if by magic; the knife thumped to the floor. Cortez dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her from behind as she struggled. I grabbed the knife.

“Calm down, calm down,” Cortez said, but Deirdre went on screaming. Her screams were deafening—it brought back memories of her flash concerts in the squares.

I went downstairs, past the others, who were trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and shoved the kitchen door open. “Did you infect her?” I shouted at Sebastian. He was examining his wounded shoulder. Blood was dribbling off his elbow, splattering on the floor.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. He looked up at me, grinning like a loon. “How could I not? Every minute is excruciating for that poor girl. Can’t you see it? I alleviated the suffering with one pinprick.” He snapped his fingers.

“It’s not up to you!” I said. “You don’t get to decide that for her.”

He shrugged. “I did, though.” A few drops of blood dripped onto the tile floor. Sebastian tisked and shook his head, still smiling. “Don’t worry about it. She’ll thank me in a few hours.”

“You’d better take a walk until we can calm her down.” It was Ange. Sebastian nodded, grabbed a kitchen towel and headed out the back door.

“I’ll kill him,” Deirdre shouted from the next room. “I’ll fucking kill him. I don’t want to be like you!”

“Not good,” Ange said.

“No, not good.” We went into the living room. Cortez had Deirdre in a full nelson.

“Did he really infect her?” Colin asked.

Deirdre grew still and looked at me, eyes wide. When I nodded, she threw her head back and let out a squeal of such terror and anguish that I stumbled backward. Cortez slowly released his grip on her and let her sink to the floor.

I went outside.

The morning was surprisingly crisp for March. A light breeze rattled the bamboo. Jeannie and Ange were already out there, talking in low tones.

“Sebastian’s got to go,” I said, shaking my head.

“That’s what we were just saying,” Jeannie said. “As soon as he’s physically able, we need to send him packing.”

“What a nut case,” I said. “I think all of these Doctor Happy people are a little off-kilter.” I twirled my finger near my temple. “That virus might make you happy, but it also makes you a little crazy.”

Ange and Jeannie nodded agreement. Inside, Deirdre was sobbing.