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she’d already lost control of the situation. “i know it sounds crazy, nibs, i know. please don’t freak out,” hand held out defensively, erika inched closer to the door, a just-in-case precaution. “but it’s all speculative. the media is just groping around for a story, they do this every time.”
it wasn’t the headline, but it was certainly near the top. FIVE CASUALTIES: NEW DETAILS ON CHILEAN MASSACRE and OPRAH! boldly took the claim. “doesn’t make it feel any better.”
“you shouldn’t read it,” she swooped back in, trying to gently rip the paper from his hands. nibs held steadfast, flipping through the pages. “it’s just assumptions and slander. you’ve seen it before! late night TV.”
“erika…”
“look, you’re just the first to get attacked because you’re the closest thing to a boyfriend. the boyfriend always does it in these tabloid opinion pieces.”
wincing, nibs shook his head. “it’s more complicated than that.”
“i’m sorry,” grip relinquished, erika watched halfheartedly as he thumbed to the story, clearly honest in his intent to read it. “i know. i’m just warning you.”
it began with a quick recount of the situation; the time (four weeks ago) and the person (jane marie). the cold disconnect almost felt comforting, a reminder that these people didn’t actually know anything. still, it made nibs falter, frown lines deep. he couldn’t help but think of pozzie, made out to be clinically petunia postmortem.
the article restated facts, clearly plagiarizing every other source on the murder in clumsy paraphrasing. erika, reading over his shoulder, flinched. right. he was just getting to the good part. in run on sentence after run on sentence, it quickly morphed to a tale of blame. finger jabbed at his chest, they’d done a good job cherry-picking, carefully considering each action before pruning off the surrounding context. nathan (as the writer had cheerfully dubbed him) was the first at the scene, the one who discovered the body. but what if he wasn’t just that, but something much more sinister? jane is survived by her father, anthony, and her mother, mary. they are yet to release any statement.
nibs shut the newspaper. gnawing on her lip, erika leaned back. in an i told you so type quiet, she laid her hand on his shoulder reassuringly.
“i feel sick.” he hoped saying it out loud would merit the reaction he wanted from his body, the physicality of disgust. how dare they write this about me? how ridiculous. of course they would. what was there really to disagree with? obviously he hadn’t killed jamie, but fundamentally he had played a part. the one who set her on course, the one who disrespected her time and time again after her death. maybe he deserved this criticism.
he couldn’t stop thinking about the funeral, how repulsive he still felt about it. a part of him wanted to tell erika, confide in her, plead his case, seek some kind of repentance. sticky fingers on his chest, sweaty forehead pasted with hair. did it make it better or worse that he’d done it because he was drunk? did it make it better or worse that he’d done it because he was scared? did it make it better or worse that he’d done it because there was something in the way collum spoke that had reminded him so chillingly of jamie?
worse, probably. and he wasn’t going to tell erika that.
“they do this every time,” speaking dryly, a purposeful lack of emotions, erika cleared her throat. “after i, um, kind of stupidly went on a show to talk about my son, mediocre reporters got a kick out of accusing me for his disappearance,” at nibs look of twisted confusion and horror she laughed. “life insurance, or whatever. it died down, y’know, once they got bored. i kept some of the articles. feels really hard not to blame yourself.”
but you didn’t do anything wrong, really. you didn’t go out and fuck a guy that hated your son. staring down at the grainy black and white picture stamped on the front page - jamie holding nibs, nibs holding jamie - his vision feathered. she beamed at the camera, illuminated by candles just out of frame, smile drunk and lopsided. her 30th birthday. everything hurt, yet he couldn’t look away. earrings he’d bought her, half unbuttoned dress shirt, dim, olive garden lighting. the photo practically oozed grease. a stranger had offered to take it for them, pleased by their overflowing laughter. if he tried hard enough he was sure he could crawl back into the memory, feel the thrum of blood in her veins, press his buttery cheek to hers.
nibs tossed the newspaper on the couch, trying to put as much distance between him and the story as possible. “yeah, well, what’re you gonna do? fuck that.”
erika nodded reluctantly. “i’m sorry.”
you shouldn’t be apologizing to me. in some way i know i deserve this. “it’s fine, really. i’m fine.”
“no, it’s not. none of this is fine, nibs, stop acting that way.”
“you don’t get it,” he grimaced as she recoiled, face ashy. “i haven’t done a single thing right. i wasn’t there for her and now she’s dead and burying her was supposed to make some of this go away but it didn’t help at all. i feel so fucking stupid for it, but i just want to go back. i miss her. everything’s so messed up.”
erika was struggling to keep in together, lips twitching into a frown. “that’s not the whole story,” she posed, a hesitant upswing in her words.
“you don’t understand.”
baring her throat, erika jerked back fully now, hardened scowl taking over her expression. “then can you… fuck, nibs, i’m not a mind reader. can you tell me then? enlighten me as to what i’m so clearly missing about this whole situation?”
he buried his head in his hands and said nothing. it was apology enough for erika, winding back down with a shaky exhale.
“sorry,” they both echoed simultaneously, exhaustion prying at their overlapping tone. how casually draining had life become, what with juggling work and grief and all the complexities of human relationships.
sigh just barely revealing the sob-like tremble in her throat, erika attempted an easy smile, eyes revealing nothing of the sort. shaking his head, nibs laughed. all this buildup for nothing. where was the payoff? somehow he was luckier still than erika, forever stuck with the lost son. there was no closure there. talked about like he’d died, an empty figured mystery. what do you do? bury an empty coffin and call it a day? grind the axe forever?
“when did you stop putting up missing posters?”
startled, erika fumbled with her expression. she fell back onto the couch, arms slumped over the back. relaxed, dirtbag pose. “that’s a question to ask.”
with a sad shrug, nibs gave up on nonchalant apathy. “sorry, just wondering.”
“no, it’s fair. i stopped a week or two before i started working at the park.” like even she was surprised that some part of her memory had held onto it, erika blinked.
“if it means anything to you,” paused breath held the words captive. “you’re probably one of the strongest people i’ve ever met.”
she laughed, snorting at the supposed irony. “you’ve got it all wrong. there’s nothing noble or courageous about this. i just can’t accept that he’s dead,” hands brushing the newspaper beside her, erika flicked her gaze away, sorrowful. “it’s gross, really. pitiful.”
the sentiment felt familiar yet unplaceable, recognizable emotion dug under his skin. “no,” nibs whispered with a gasping frown. “it’s not that,” wormed close to his heart lay the echo of her words. “he was eight.”
head tilted (i know my own son’s age, thank you), erika traced the headline. heavy, black letters spelled out his name and accusation in a sensationalist pop. “yeah. he was smart, a really good kid too. i guess everyone says that about their children, though. i can decorate his absence however i want, but at the end of the day… well, you know.”
“i do,” i’m sorry for separating us like that, even just verbally. you might be the only person left that is capable of understanding me. his stomach twisted. he wanted to tell her the truth, push this warm stone of honesty into her palm, a fair trade. “erika.”
“what?” finally she looked up at him again, dark curls spiraling across her freckled cheeks. in the soft light of the autumn evening, erika looked like a memory, a silhouette cut from a grainy photograph, pasted haphazardly into his peripheral.
god, no, he couldn’t. “thank you.” jamie would’ve called him a pussy. of course he was, though, so what point was there to argue it?
collum leaned against him, hands clutching at his side, mumbling bitter words under his breath. fucking crazy bitch had to go and stab me like a lunatic, irrational hormonal teenagers are fucking insane, god when i get my hands on her, doesn’t even know what she’s fucking doing, that bitch. nibs tried desperately to pry his fingers away from the blossoming wound.
“what happened?” he pleaded, once again losing grip amidst the bloody mess. panted breaths punctuated his actions, lungs those of a straggling chain smoker, hyperventilating towards his last gasp. “collum, oh god, are you okay?”
“shut-” wincing, collum gasped in pain. “shut up. that crazy bitch-“
“who?”
gritting his teeth, he lolled his head back, cheek pressed to his shoulder as he whimpered. all nibs could see was jamie, rag dolled on the very same floor they crouched on now. “willow, that…” he wheezed, full body shiver wracking him, rendering him mute. “the blonde kid! always running around with bryce. she stabbed me!”
“god, okay, shit. can you please let me see?” fussing, nibs managed to claw back collum’s hand, get a good look at the gnarled injury. jaw clenched, collum flinched away, but was held steady. it was a stab alright, ugly red flanking just below his ribs. he could vomit looking at it.
pale faced, collum whined, doglike and pathetic. it was hard to see him in pain like this, wet eyes and white cheeks. “well?” he sniveled, voice upped in pitch as he tried to conceal his discomfort. “can you do anything?”
nibs pulled him to his feet, looping an arm over his shoulder. “let’s just call the police, collum. this is fucked, you need real medical help.”
“wait,” he warbled, swaying in his stance and nearly doubling over in pain.
“nibs!” a desperate voice cried, quickly followed up by a repeat. long hair tangled in sleepy knots, fingers wrapped tight around a kitchen knife, willow was rushing towards them, shoving the door open, bryce biting at her heels. “nibs, do not fucking touch him!”
tense, he froze, almost abiding her command without a second thought. “idiot!” hissed collum, slumped against him. “don’t listen to her!”
distraught expression painting her face, bryce stumbled to a stop, grabbing willow by the arm. they were ten feet away, panting, staring. “wait,” she murmured, barely audible over the hum of the office’s somewhat functional AC unit. “you should tell him.”
shaking her head, willow couldn’t break her focus. like daggers, her eyes bore into collum, wide and frantic. “we can’t do a whole song and dance for everyone.”
“it’s not that complicated,” she said. and, as if to prove her point, “he killed jamie.”
the tone was flat and clear, still somehow overflowing with emotion and raw, sharp anger. anger that hadn’t yet been cleaned up, pulled fresh from the earth, not polished or honed or shaped into anything of use. just anger.
it made the statement feel real. it made a part of nibs almost immediately believe it.
the other parts, supposedly the ones that fell apart when he looked at him, when he said his name, when he touched him, they weren’t so sure. “what?” nibs practically gagged on his own tongue.
“it’s not funny,” collum snapped, soft god muttered under his breath as he moved closer to nibs. “you can’t just make up shit and stab people over it.”
“i’m not making anything up!” willow pushed forward, a wolf advancing on its prey, eyes glittering as collum (and subsequently nibs) jolted back. “you think you’re smart but you’re really just messy. stupid, messy, and weak.”
seething, collum struggled to stand tall. “nibs,” he shook as he gripped his shoulder, words pressed into his ear. “we need to leave. right now.”
there was no way collum could’ve killed anyone. he’d stood there, helped him, held him, comforted him through the whole process. sure, he and jamie had been at each other’s throats near constantly, but not literally, never to this lethal extent. nibs just couldn’t picture it, collum standing over her, holding her down like an animal, crawling the knife across her neck. he wouldn’t. he would never.
“nibs, let go of him”
“shut up!” cried a distressed collum, pushing himself against nibs, his shield. he was struggling to look big and small at the same time, intimidate while subsequently working his way into nonexistentance.
they had argued before she died. he’d never forget that. though at the time the context of her anger seemed random and unknown, now it was vivid and obvious; it was about collum. gaze darting wildly around the room, nibs let it rest on the bleach outline of where she had bled to death. jamie, brilliant and spiteful jamie, hopped up on booze and rage. some warped version of fear had betrayed her, the adrenaline junkie that she was. rush confused with love, with immortality, with self preservation. it probably felt so good coming from weeks of being off the stuff.
this was, maybe, the worst possible outcome. crumpling to his knees, nibs did all he could to fight back the wave of vomit within him. please don’t let this be true, on rug burnt hands and knees he threw up, sobbing. selfish, selfish. i don’t know how i will live with myself if this is true.
“nibs,” desperate hands met his back, clutching his shirt. “nibs, no, look at me. you don’t seriously believe them, right? not over me, right?”
wail shattering whatever remained of his composure, nibs shook his head wildly. he wanted to find comfort in that simple pleasure, he wanted the easiest answer to be true. “did you… did you kill her?”
“no! no, i wouldn’t hurt her. nibs, please, i would never hurt her. nibs,” willow scoffed, significantly closer. i want to believe you, trust me. collum yelped as he was pulled away, fist releasing the back of his shirt. “nibs!” frantic.
maybe if he just closed his eyes, let all of this fade to background noise, maybe then it would go away. he’d fight his eyelids open to find himself awake in bed, set back months in time. “shit, willow,” pleaded bryce, soon followed up by the subdued sounds of a struggle. “don’t kill him.”
scraping himself up into a sitting position, nibs panted, watching helplessly and crying pointlessly as the knife was dropped to the ground. bleeding so much more severely now, collum dove for it, eyeing the fully defenseless willow. perfect target. he stuck the blade into her stomach.
willow made an awful sound, something of a bark of pure anguish. useless and voyeuristic, nibs stared, gawking as she fell backwards, barely caught by the trembling arms of bryce. “what did you do?” she howled, holding her writhing friend close. in a horrifying moment of pure theatrics, collum broke out in a broad faced grin.
nibs met his eyes. in the distance, police sirens. the smile was quickly slipping, an oily mask covering up the flickers of enthusiasm. you weren’t meant to see that.
before anything could be said, bryce crashed into collum, tearing the knife away and slicing his face. desperate, repetitive movements painted them both in a blur of red, any hint of a carefully conceived plan throw away.
and now the cops were here, pulling everyone away, trying to tend to the spitting fire that was bryce, attempting to discern whose blood was whose. someone draped a blanket over nibs’ shoulders, ushered him out. he glared, vision too fuzzy to make out the face of whoever was guiding him. don’t touch me, he tried repeating in his head, replaying the memory. don’t touch me. push back, lurch away.
“don’t touch me,” he managed, jerking from from the officer, trying to shoulder past. everything was clicking, the reality of the scene boiling in his mind. he needed to go back, grab collum, shake him by the shoulders, beg him to say it wasn’t true, that it was all a dream, spoon feed him comforting lies, force a narrative down his throat. annoyed, the man leading him towards the parking lot gave him a slight shove. keep walking.
it was august again, all over and repeating, the pawns just moved around. asphalt now cool, the police escorted nibs to the back of an ambulance, passing him off to the paramedics with a side eye and a few brief, hasty words. “do you mind if we ask you some questions?” one implored, kneeling beside him. she had short, brown hair and deep, black eyes, though most unsettling, nibs found, was the cool blade of her finger, urging him to look at her. he had never hated someone more.
shaking his head, a motion that was supposed to say no but in this case meant yes, nibs refused her demands. “i don’t want to talk right now.”
“i know, sir, but you need to understand-“
another woman, adorned in the bright neon of the ambulance crew t-shirts, placed her thick, leathery hands on nibs’ shoulders. “detective, it’s fine. he’s sick, you leave him be.”
bitter acknowledgment given, detective loretta kramer (as her badge proclaimed) stood and slipped away. already she’d jotted down a full page of notes, soon to be turned over to some higher up.
“where’s everybody else?”
smiling, the EMT shushed him gently. “can you tell me your name, sweetheart?”
“nathaniel, um, brooks,” he flinched as she pressed an ice pack to his head. “the others, are they okay?”
“the year?”
“1986. those- those two kids, they’re being treated, right?”
“mhm. can you look at me, nathaniel? who is the current president?”
he batted her hand away. “i’m not hurt,” at her frown, nibs soured. “fully lucid and sober. i think you can see that.”
“i understand you’re worried, mr. brooks, but it’s important we make sure you’re stable,” carefully, she lowered his hand, placing it calmly in his lap. the movement, though not his own, felt natural and tired. “now, how old are you?”
he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.
flipping through thick, eggshell papers, the woman at the front desk smiled pointedly at nibs, his figure hunched over the counter. he was trying to make himself look smaller, less intimidating. “you’re admittedly not related to the patient, yes?”
“well, um, i’m kind of like a temporary guardian, right? she’s… he is a kid and stuff. i was his cousin’s friend, and now she’s dead, so, like, it’s my responsibility.”
lips pursed, the woman glanced over to bryce, head hung. around her wrists were tight bandages taped in place; ugly, thick bracelets of gauze. “i see. the forms look good to me. bryce, you have everything, right?”
she nodded. nibs forced a smile, gave her a little wave. embarrassed, bryce looked away.
fidgeting with the plastic wrap of the bouquet, bryce seemed cast into muteness, following silently to the car with nothing more than a few quiet hums and the inanimate crinkle of cellophane. “did willow’s parents give you those?”
“um,” nibs tried to ignore the growing heat on the back of his neck, the pressure building. “yeah.”
“sorry they couldn’t take you, they’re just caught up in a lot of other stuff right now.”
“i know.”
“are you feeling better?”
more and more disconnected within each response, she shrugged. “i guess.”
i’m sorry. i know i let you down. i’m sorry. i know you’re scared and would rather be with willow. i’m sorry. i know you don’t want to see me right now. “jamie, she,” he did his best to ignore the flinch. “wrote down some of your favorite food. i bought a bunch, cleaned things up. my place isn’t as messy anymore, promise.” i’m sorry.
bryce blinked emptily, blank stare like she hadn’t processed a word. the tension had reached a high, his signal to give up for now. stopped for a red light, alone at the intersection, nibs counted his heart beats. 167 before green lit up his windshield. nearly two minutes. pressing the gas, the car lurched forward again, straining against the formidable darkness.
high beams clicked on, nibs did everything in his power not to continuously glance at bryce, now fast asleep in the passenger seat. poor kid. tangled, oily hair falling unevenly across her face, he pushed strands behind her ear. it was only slightly more unbearable than everything else.
this time they’d let him go. watching EMTs, hunched over, caressing bryce’s face, nibs had ghosted in the corner of the ambulance. collum had managed to - somehow, amidst his injuries - twist the knife into her wrists. here was something fresh and painful; it wasn’t a surprise that he’d managed to overpower her. the new normal. dangerous, threatening, malicious; all the words erasing this preconceived person, a man he’d been consistently wrong about, over and over and over again. it would’ve been more palatable if it didn’t feel like he was behind on everything around him, stupid and trustworthy.
for a good five minutes, nibs sat, car parked in front of his apartment. engine cut, he took shaky breath after shaky breath. head slumped against the window, cool in the september night, bryce looked almost peaceful. patchy, sure, but calm. safe.
he blinked. was she safe? were any of them safe? maybe he ought to change the locks. wouldn’t that be accepting it, though? giving up? had collum given up on him? (yes and no) did he really believe all of this so quickly? (yes and no) was he right for being so reluctant to accept this? (yes and no)
poking her shoulder, nibs watched the steady rise and fall of bryce’s chest, a relaxed rhythm only achieved in unconsciousness. “hey,” he whispered, quiet so not to scare her. “we’re here.”
when she did not respond, nibs sighed. after another gentle prod garnered the same results, he resigned to the far less desirable backup plan.
stepping out, he took a second to breathe in the fresh air, crisp breeze brushing his hair as stray gravel crunched underfoot. there was an almost tranquil air about the parking lot, silent and occupied, neighbors who he didn’t talk to long resigned to their rooms. opening the back door, nibs fished bryce’s hospital bag from the car floor where it had fallen. with a simple huff of air he swung it over his shoulder, careful to not make too much noise as he nudged the door back closed.
arms bracing her neck and legs, nibs used his hips to swing the passenger side shut. out cold. god, he thought, readjusting his hold on the only kind of drooling bryce. she must not have slept at all at the hospital.
stairs ascended with hushed ease, he for once felt a sense of relief at seeing his apartment door, threshold ringed by pale yellow light. he’d truly done his best to redo it, make it a suitable place for a teenager to be, pushed furniture around and swept for the first time since jamie died. it felt good, in the moment, to clean. turn on a tape kacey had gifted him ages ago and get lost in the mindless activity of tidying up his home.
a part of him was disappointed bryce was asleep, just because he’d wanted to impress her with how far he’d gone to make her feel welcome. an air mattress now took up an entire corner of his living room, affixed with brand new sheets (erika had enlightened him to the idea of having multiple sets) and a weathered stuffed dog, something he’d fought tooth and nail for at a garage sale. i’m trying! he wanted to shout, laying the still dormant bryce on her new bed. i hope you can see how hard i’m trying!
in a lethargic, rusty movement, bryce rose her arm over her head, stretching upwards. bandages caught on blankets as she groped mindlessly for something her hand just could not find, a somewhat disturbing display for nibs to watch. concluding she probably wouldn’t want him to stare at her while she slept, he slung her bag by the foot of the bed before returning to his door, doublechecking both the lock and the deadbolt. he jiggled the handle, just to be sure.
he knew he should sleep, but something kept him awake, pacing around his kitchen and pressing his knuckles to his teeth. the phone rang before he could even begin to get lost in his mind, barking his head back into order as he scrambled to pick it up before the next ring
breathlessly, without any prompting, the voice on the other line gasped, “did he call you?”
“erika?” nibs said, a bit too loud. quickly, he corrected his volume. “erika? are you okay? what’s happening?”
he’d never heard her so distraught, audibly in shambles as she tried to get her point across. “he called me. he apologized,” she fought for air, tear-burdened breathing hanging heavy over her words. “begged me to think things through, to come visit him, to hear him out about his side. when- well, when i asked him what the hell he was talking about he just went real quiet. nibs, fuck, he did it.”
“slow down,” don’t say that. his hands trembled as he cradled the receiver, drawing in tight breaths that he could only pray weren’t being picked up. “who are you talking about? what’s going on?”
“oh, fuck you!” startlingly, erika laughed, choppy and mechanical. “you know, you know so don’t play dumb.”
everything was suddenly very cold. “we don’t know anything for certain, yet, erika.”
“holy shit, do you think after four years i’d just randomly accuse someone? do you think i want this to be the case?”
“i mean,” nibs swallowed his fear. “you did have a kind of messy break up.”
total radio silence. for a second he thought she had hung up. “my son would’ve turned twelve this year.”
“erika, i’m sorry.”
“clearly you aren’t, not in anyway that matters.”
“i’m just confused and overwhelmed.”
“fine, then. get back to me when you’re capable of rational thought.”
the plastic of the phone was pressed so closely to his cheek it had started to feel like an extension of his being. “tuesday, though-“
“i’m visiting for bryce.”
“i’m sorry, erika, really, i didn’t mean to come off like that.” what would jamie think? watching him minimize the feelings of a grieving parent, deny allegations for purely selfish reasons, he could practically feel her leaning over his shoulder, a little angel of morality. that was so shitty of you! she chirped, spinning her halo around a finger. do you realize how insane you sound defending the man that stabbed two teenagers? who slit my throat? who beat a fourth grader to death?
he knew erika was thinking that, just that, holding back some atomic bomb of a snippy comment that would render him incapable of anything but guilt. it was always so much worse coming from somebody else. “goodnight, nibs. for god’s sake, get some rest.”
it was safe to say that he did not sleep at all that night.
nibs, an outsider in his own house, watched from the kitchen as erika combed back bryce’s uneven cut into a ponytail. he was trying to look busy, just in case either one of them turned their attention away from the muted conversation they held. for some reason that he could just not comprehend, erika had briskly ignored their argument, giving him a we’ll talk later head nod.
okay! he bumped the back of a chair, wincing at the mild pain. it’s later, now. tell me what’s up!
bobbing back and forth ever so slightly, bryce leaned back into the touch as erika cradled her head in her palms, careful not to pull any hair. you would’ve thought the kid had been sentenced to a maximum security isolation room, what with the way she remained almost totally silent and demure. nibs felt a pang of guilt at this judgement; it wasn’t her fault she was so shaken from her experiences.
finally, erika barked a biding, “nibs?” like a loyal dog, he trotted to her side, dish towel tossed over his shoulder to give the illusion that he had just been hard at work.
“what can i do for you?” bryce touched her hair, now clean and detangled, with quivering fingertips. her apparent happiness left a warm feeling in his chest; he wasn’t doing everything wrong, at least.
with a deep purr of a laugh (perplexing, how something so casual became alien in the right circumstance), erika tossed her head, hair bouncing from her face with a youthful springiness. “do you have any nail polish?“
“that i do,” he clasped his hands together, a happy-to-help grin plastered on his face. very customer-service-y. “any color preference?”
“hmm,” looking to bryce, erika echoed her shrug. “i guess not, though i think a blue would look really nice,” she lifted bryce’s arm, floppy at the wrist, for nibs to imagine. he nodded; it would look nice. “what do you think?”
head cocked, he pretended to be lost in thought, conjuring the image in his mind. “that’s pretty good. goes with the hair. blue?”
bryce dipped her chin to her chest, clearly embarrassed by all the attention. “you can just get us your whole collection, if you don’t mind,” erika said, voice playful. “then bryce can pick out her favorites. we can always do more than one color too, you know.”
“okay,” murmured bryce, face flushed.
“okay!” eyes squinted and everything, nibs managed to beam in a somewhat genuine manner. “coming right up.”
the box of nail polish had been pushed to the back of the under-the-sink cabinet, hidden behind a jungle of paper towels and a full rainbow of chemicals. with a good tug and an avalanche of spray bottles, nibs managed to dislodge the box, exhaling gratefully.
picking up window cleaner after window cleaner, he paused. hand hovering over a toothbrush, nibs frowned, the dredges of a memory clawing at his mind. jamie’s emergency toothbrush, just in case she ever somehow forgot the one always packed in her overnight bag which she would never neglect to leave behind. when he’d pointed this out she’d snorted, telling him he could just hide it from his girlfriend if he was so worried she’d find out. you’re good at keeping secrets, i’m sure you can hide a mistress.
in any other circumstances, the ghost of recollection such as that, even with dead actors, rarely felt so painful. shoving the remainder of the cleaning products back into the cabinet, nibs closed the door before they could fall back out, ignoring the trap set for his future self.
“here’s everything i’ve got,” he dropped the box on the couch beside erika, dusting his hands on his shorts in an over dramatic show. “take it away.”
surprisingly (or not, he never really knew what to expect anymore), the mood had shifted. sliding the box to bryce, erika stood, eyeing nibs. “thank you. can we talk?”
ah, so now was later. “sure,” he replied, deliberate in his tone. nerves were firing, reminding him how frightening this was. prey animal response. cowardly. gesturing towards the hallway, the most private place he could think of, nibs gave a quick wave to bryce, watching them peculiarly. be right back! she nodded in acknowledgment.
“i’m sorry for what i said,” as soon as the door was closed behind them, erika had already dove in. “we both need time to process, it’s not… cool of me to snap at you like that.”
“it’s fine, you were stressed out, i don’t blame you.” collum leered behind him, poking the soft flesh behind his ears with a cartoonish pitchfork. you can’t possibly be over it that quickly! don’t you remember what she accused you of? he swatted him away. no, you idiot. erika hasn’t accused me of a single thing. you, on the other hand…
ugly, guttural sob escaping her throat, erika folded in on herself, suddenly looking so much smaller, so much younger, so much weaker. shocked - he’d grown so used to her composition, the most she’d ever let slip being a voice crack and some misty eyes - nibs advanced cautiously.
“i don’t know what to do anymore,” she hugged herself, arms wrapped tight around her body. “like, seriously, what do i do at this point? something in me wants this all to… god, i don’t know.” her expression twisted to one of disgust, watered down hatred with no place to go. nibs recognized it; like looking in a mirror.
unthinking, he grabbed her, tight embrace almost violent. i get it, i understand everything you’re saying. we’re in the same boat and it’s sinking fast and we’re all we’ve got. “you’re fine.”
stepping back, erika fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, dabbing at her eyes. “i don’t want to leave bryce alone for that long,” she admitted sheepishly.
“okay,” surprisingly, despite losing the anchor that erika was emotionally, nibs felt alright. “you stay here, calm down. come back when you’re ready.”
snorting, she sighed. “this situation never stops being weird. never thought i’d be here like this.”
he shrugged in response, trepidation neutering his smile. “yeah, well,” the wall crumbled. immediate, crushing anger clouded his vision, the suddenness making it hit all that much harder. “curveballs, or whatever.” gritting his teeth, nibs darted back inside before their conversation could continue.
fine, fine, he did not feel alright. disgust tossed his stomach, oily sickness and rage pointed anywhere it could make a mark. passing bryce by with not a hint of acknowledgment (though, trusting, he was very aware of her and the gouges in her arms) nibs shoved the door to the bathroom open, locking it behind him with shuddering gasps of air.
after a panicked sweep of the room he collapsed in the corner, grappling with his head, pulling at his own hair. he kept waiting, waiting for this reality to collapse, for the curtain to drop. at least there had been something noble in these thoughts, back when he just wanted jamie back. now they were tainted, fueled by a different desperation. he didn’t want it to be collum. he didn’t want to think about what that would mean.
throat burning with the acidic contents of his breakfast, nibs began to fail his one goal; don’t think about it. jamie would’ve teased him, she was the catholic, endowed with guilt of the highest degree. that icon, staring down from the wall of the lonely, areligious chapel, burning the back of his neck like a heretic’s sunburn. had he stopped him because he didn’t want it, or because of the moral failing he was committing? was one better than the other?
scrambling to the side of the bathtub, he vomited.
collum looked up at him, hands folded in his lap. nibs felt his heart skip a beat.
“hi,” collum said, watching closely as he pulled his chair up beside the hospital bed. nibs looked away, head reeling. “it’s good to see you.”
again he tried to imagine it, kicking her while she was down, jamie bleeding from the teeth, knee on her chest, pleas for her life. he didn’t look like a murderer, he looked like he normally did, albeit with the addition of an IV and hospital gown. collum smiled. his teeth were smooth and sharp.
pathetically, nibs watched his defenses fall. “how are you feeling?”
touching his face absentmindedly, collum brushed the medical tape that covered his cheek. oh, you know. he shrugged, a coy sliver of a smirk ghosting his expression. “fine.”
a low buzz had begun in his ears, the thrum of flies gathered at a corpse. sticky sweet death, bloated skin. his stomach churned; for a second the vision was real and he was kneeling beside jamie’s rotting body, left festering in the late august heat, something working under her flesh. he snapped back, blinking dry eyes, finding his feet on the cold hospital floor.
collum quirked a brow, eyes squinted; this, nibs had learned, was his expression of concern. face hot, he waved his hand dismissively. still, collum remained focused, intent on looking at him if nothing else. it wasn’t scrutinizing, there was no judgement, just observance. unable to stop himself, nibs blurted, “you don’t look evil.”
thankfully this only evoked a laugh and a reassuring grin. oh, right. this was what comfort felt like. leaning forward, nibs let this be easy, devoid of complicated thought. he could, for now, ignore how irregardless of his involvement in jamie’s death, collum had most definitely found some joy in stabbing two teenagers. he could ignore how one of said teenagers was a floor or so above them. he could ignore how the other was waiting back in his apartment, 17 and being babysat by erika.
“thanks,” collum managed, boxy smile and fluttering eyes making his head hurt. “it’s good to know you don’t think i’m a psycho killer.”
before his mind could catch up to him, nibs placed his hand over collum’s. he’d caught him off guard, his gaze shooting to their hands. shakily and with much hesitation, collum locked their fingers together.
i am doing the wrong thing. nibs leaned closer, hovering over the bed. by now his head was pounding too hard to form coherent thoughts, too hard to really think through what he was doing. slow and cautious, collum cupped his face. he tasted like saline.