Maniacs! Ch. 01

"You're... a chemist," I stated. I just needed him to know I knew by this point and that it didn't bother me as much as it should. Though I'm capable of caring about people, I don't care about most of them (and none at all, compared to how I feel about Holly), so if someone wanted to self-destruct with his product, well, they chose to flirt with the devil.

"More of an artist, really," he quipped. The dark glimmer in his eyes had spoken volumes. Making meth was just the beginning of his "artworks."

His neon irises had by then dilated into thin bands of midnight blue as if he'd shapeshifted from a husky to a crow.

"What would you like to eat?" I asked.

"Whatever ya feel like feedin' me," he replied, holding up his large useless hands. He meant literally feeding to him. Perhaps it was the amount of alcohol and pills he'd consumed, but his frustration seemed to be giving way to a weird enjoyment of the situation. He was going to toy with me. I wondered what form that would take if he weren't injured and exhausted. It wasn't lust that motivated me to get his strength up. No, it wasn't.

I looked in the fridge and felt a little embarrassed at my clean eating habits my new friend would no doubt find bourgeois. Not tofu. There was a package of chicken thighs. I didn't do anything elaborate. I'd never spent much time around tweakers, but I had a feeling that he'd lose interest in food if I kept him waiting too long.

About 40 minutes later, I had chicken with crispy skin and savory pan juices, spicy cornbread to soak it up, roasted carrots and sweet potatoes. I don't know why, I just had the idea the only way he'd go near a vegetable was if it was sweetened with maple syrup. It was a good guess.

My guest regarded the large dinner plates with suspicion. My metabolism runs high.

"I know it's late to be having dinner, but we do have to eat. I have to eat," I clarified.

"Is it Thanksgivin' or some shit?" he asked as if maybe he'd been more concussed than he thought.

"Funny. If you don't like it, I won't force-feed you."

"Looks good. I'll eat it."

"Good."

My first attempts with a fork failed due to his unsettling gaze and seraphic mouth, which I'd already decided would be sweet to kiss, meth teeth and all. My hand shook noticeably. Strangely, on one level I felt relaxed that we'd both tacitly accepted that I was afraid of him. It would have been nerve-wracking to try to pretend otherwise.

Then he stopped me after a minute or two. "Just use your fingers," he said. I nodded, pulled a morsel of meat off the bone, and lifted it to his mouth. It was subtle, but he made contact with my fingertips when he took it. It happened again. I smiled awkwardly. He was doing it on purpose. The evil, sexy bastard was now sucking on my fingertips with each bite. When he made a legitimate "mmm" of pleasure, my heart nearly stopped. And a short while ago I'd been worried about him overdosing! Those eyes, that clever tongue, his pretty, pretty face were all conspiring to stop my heart. Even his hair had air-dried attractively and was a nice shade of dirty blond, more dirty than blond.

If he were to shave, scrub away that Pig-Pen grime, and leave the tweaker scabs alone long enough to fade, Holly could model. This is a confession. I've never told him this. It sounds less like a compliment and more like, 'If you were different, you could be really attractive.' I've heard too many variations on that theme myself to do that to him. He knows he's the most beautiful thing in my life, just as he is. And I've seen him in all kinds of scenarios most people would categorize as extremely ugly. I've seen him bathed in the blood of a victim, gore painted all over him and unself-conscious bloodlust all over his face. He'd looked right through me like he was gone in a moment of private ecstasy. Yes, even then, Hollis was beautiful.

By the time he'd swallowed the last bite, some of the pain had smoothed from his brow. It was likely the opioids, not my cooking, which I half expected to see again as vodka and bile soup on the floor. The vodka was mostly gone. He asked for water. When I brought him the fresh glass of ice water, he drank with his eyes softly closed as if he'd just noticed he was seriously dehydrated.

"Thanks," he said. The word came out like a croak. I realized he might never have said it before without sarcasm because that's what life his had been like: Thanks for nothin'. He didn't know how to make it sound sincere and that was the only moment he ever lost the upper hand with me. Even that only lasted a millisecond, too.

"You're very welcome, Hollis." That was not hard for me to say with sincerity. "You can watch TV if you want to. I'll just clean up."

It was freaky the way he chose not to move from his seat at the counter. We weren't getting to know each other or talking about anything at all. He wasn't watching me, either, as I washed the dishes and pans and wiped down the surfaces. He seemed to be deep in thought, perhaps gaming out what would happen next for him or having a conversation in his mind.

Midnight approached and it had been a long day for both of us. It was time to face the fact that this criminal would be in the apartment with me while I slept. Fuck it. A bit of fatalism has gotten me through hard situations before. 'This might as well happen to me, too,' was almost a mantra for me.

I wouldn't have minded if his drunk ass followed me into my bedroom and passed out beside me. I had already decided that it wouldn't be possible for him to rape me. Not that he couldn't do it physically in the shape he was in, just that by definition it wouldn't be rape, as in sex I didn't want. I'd probably decided he could have me sometime before he'd lapped briny fat from my fingertips.

My couch in the living room hadn't been chosen with guests in mind. I'm a short person, so the couch was shallow and narrow from end to end, too. I felt stupid to say so, but it made sense for me to sleep there and give him my bed. 'Christ, why don't you just open a vein for him while you're at it!' I admonished myself.

His eyebrows raised. He wasn't used to consideration, I could see that. Hell, he probably took it as total weakness on my part to give up my room like that on top of everything else. 'He probably thinks you're pathetic,' I recall thinking sadly.

"Gotta take a piss," he said and walked down the hall.

When he returned he asked, "How big is your bed?"

I found it odd he hadn't taken a peek in my room, but he sounded genuine.

"It's a queen size. It's a nice mattress, too. You'll be comfortable."

"Why don't we share it? It ain't like you're any safer puttin' me on the couch. If I wanted to... ya know?"

"Yes, I do know. I'm sure that's the last thing on your mind," I said.

He laughed, low and wicked. "I'm a man, girl. It's always on my mind. But I am fuckin' tired, so you're safe tonight."

I turned away to hide that the word "tonight" made me smile. Did that mean he could want me some other time?

We went to bed. He lost the robe and was naked beside me. I wore light cotton shorts and a tank top. I don't wear a bra, but I don't need one. My build is a bit boyish, which I don't mind, though I know it's not what most men find sexy. That first night, I had no idea what his type was. I assumed it was my interpretation of a woman as stunning as he is: Biker Marilyn Monroe or some such creature.

I switched off the light. My heart was pounding. I'd probably end up on the couch anyway after he passed out. A thought occurred.

"Hollis?"

He grunted as if to say, 'Great. Now she wants to chat.' I could practically hear his eyes roll. "Yeah?"

"I have tomorrow off. I can drive you where you need to go to get treatment for your burns. You should have a prescription for some pain meds and some antibiotics, too. You could get an infection. I'm sure they would have given you some if you'd been able to wait. How far would you have to go before they aren't looking for you?"

"Mexico?"

"Oh, um, well, I guess I could call in on Monday..."

"Just drive me home. I can lie low and no one will be lookin' for your car."

"And the meds you need?" I asked.

"No shortage of shit for pain where I'm from. And I know plenty of whores--they always got antibiotics. Don't need no doctor for that."

"Oh." I racked my brain for something to cover the disappointed bitch-tone in my stupid "oh."

"Why ya doin' this, anyway? You a Christian or just batshit?"

"I know you'll do the same for me," I replied coolly. "You know how even a stopped clock is right twice a day? Maybe I'm good once in a blue moon or something. I dunno. So where is home?"

"Meggido. Ya know it?" he asked.

I knew of it. It sounded scary. From what I'd heard I'd rather drive him however many hours it would be to Tijuana than go there.

But I knew we were going there tomorrow.