Lauren Beukes - Broken Monsters

‘Mom, this stuff’s a con. It dehydrates your skin so you have to keep applying it.’

But the thought of the soft, sweet slick of the gloss is suddenly very appealing. She presses her lips together to see how dry they are. Pretty dry. She runs her tongue along the edge of her incisors which makes her super-aware of how her teeth are part of her skull. She feels a little queasy at the thought of the exposed bone, right there in the open. The inside-out. She drags her mind back to the last thing her mom said through the warm blur of the weed. Lipgloss. Right. ‘What flavor is it?’

‘Cherry. Don’t you want to know what I used it for?’

‘Putting on your lips?’ Layla says. Drop-down menu: maximum sarcasm.

‘To cover the smell of a body.’

‘That doesn’t work. I saw it on the crime channel. Anyway, gross. I don’t want to hear about some dead person.’

>Lay: Disgusting cop stories #Yay #notyay

>Cas: U like it

>Lay: Little bit

‘You sure? Not even the part where I punked the rookie? Who, unlike you, does not watch the crime channel.’

‘If you’re so desperate to talk about it, go ahead.’

‘I shouldn’t tell you. It was messed-up.’

‘Or don’t. Whatever. I’m not your therapist.’

‘I’ll give him this. He turned green, but he didn’t spew.’

‘That’s pretty cold, Mom.’

>Lay: OMG. She’s SO immature

‘Poor guy. Guess he should watch more TV.’ She turns thoughtful. Enough for Layla to lower the phone. ‘Poor kid, too.’

‘It was a kid?’

‘Like I said, it was messed-up.’ Her mother glides away from the conversation like Dorian on his skateboard.

>Lay: Shit. Dead kid

>Cas: What! What!?!?!?!? All the deets. I wantz them

>Lay: Later

‘Someone I know?’

‘I don’t think so, baby. And you know we don’t talk shop.’

‘I thought we just were.’

‘Yeah, I know. That was indiscreet of me.’

‘So be indiscreet. Who am I gonna tell?’

‘Layla, we haven’t even notified the family yet.’

‘Fine. Whatever. You started it.’

‘It’s been a rough day. Sorry.’

‘Me too.’ She throws herself back in the seat and picks up her phone again. A force-shield against parental stupidity.

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