“All for me?”
“Every last one, and if you want more there’s a convenience store not far that sells the three packs. We can go grab more.”
I pause, eyes wide.
“Okay,Ican go grab more.”
I start laughing yet again, having so much fun. This is the twenty-first birthday I was after, the one I ridiculously thought I was going to find at the bottom of a glass of alcohol in a cool hipster bar. Nope. But somebody’s looking out for me because I’m currently finding it inside a small, worn, windowless studio apartment.
Who cares where you find happiness, as long as you find it?
“Thank you, Sam.”
“You’re welcome, but for what?”
“Everything.”
I extend my arms out wide on his bed and then do the same with my legs before making snow angels on the comforter, a box of my favorite candy by my side.
And then I pass out.
3
Sam
She enjoyed it. She actually enjoyed my company.
For the first time in forever she’s not just someone who wants to use me for drugs or whatever other nefarious activity I offer the debaucherous people of L.A. to get them back to my place before I rid them of their seedy existence, overruling it with one far darker. My own.
She came on her own, to escape being with the people who call themselves her friend but don’t join her on her birthday. She came to escape being alone. I was that beacon of light for her, not a merchant of darkness.
Still sitting on the bed next to her my eyes go soft and I can feel the thin layer of water coating them, my vision damn near glowing as I see her in a sort of kaleidoscope.
Placing a hand on my heart, I thank whoever brought her into my life. I tap a loose fist against my chest and then tip my head back for a moment, eyes closed as I point to the heavens.
With that same hand I gently clasp her forearm, gently so as to not wake her. “Thank you,” I say softly, those two words laced with emotion as I nod continuously at her.
My gratitude for her existence, for her being here with me is unmatched in human history. Just a kind word, a smile…that’s all she’s offered, and maybe that was all I ever needed to be the man I could have become, instead of the man I am.
For years I’ve listened toMan in the Boxby Alice in Chains, swearing it was written specifically for me and my lonely existence.
My eyes stay glued to her with a longing gaze. Taking inventory of myself I realize I have a disinterest in my own appearance, wearing bland clothing combined with lackluster hair. Could my shoulders slouch anymore? If my posture was any limper I’d be a noodle.
When was the last time I smiled, my face always expressionless until the moment I have control over another human being.
She’s taken that theory, that mold, and snapped it, broke it clean in two because she has this sort of power, control, over me. The last thing I ever wanted…to feel powerless again, which explains why I basically spy on people, eavesdropping on others to make myself feel a part of something, only to tear it all apart when I find the personality flaw I’m looking for.
A heavy sigh escapes me as I mumble some incoherent things to myself.
I’m good at creating fake connections, my calculated and cold ways allow me to use this skill to get what I want. But this isn’t that. This is real, so strong that even the stench of the bodies I placed between the walls in the unrented apartments in this building couldn’t deter her.
Why between the walls and not the crawl space? I want to smell that smell, to be constantly reminded of who the boss of this fucking place is. That’s one of the benefits of living in a building run by a slum lord who not only fails to fix anything but also won’t come stateside because he’s too busy backpacking around SouthEast Asia doing who knows what to whom. He can’t be bothered to come back here and actually put any effort into this place. Good. More space for me.
Plus crawl spaces are for the literal and figurative clowns like John Wayne Gacy, and used for purposes like the equally named ‘Crawl Space’ episode ofBreaking Bad, their 44thby the way. The irony of the double fours, four being a number to be avoided at all costs in many Asian countries due to its association with bad luck, is not lost on me.
I watch her sleep, admiring how peaceful she is, the beauty of everything about her.
A smile that reaches my eyes covers my face as I continue my prolonged eye contact. My eyebrows flash up and hold as I tilt my head slightly to the side, lean forward and nod while grinning. “Beautiful,” I say softly, even though she can’t hear it.