Rabbit Blood

Chapter 49 - A Third Thing Fucking Explodes

On Friday morning, Leslie jogged as usual, taking a considerable detour to meet Angel Dust outside Porn Studios. Though he'd had a busy night, he seemed fresh enough, as if from a recent shower. Meanwhile, Leslie was damp from sweat, and sported a skinned knee after slipping on some ice. Winter came early in the Pride Ring.

"Shoulda changed shoes," Angel muttered as he minced around a frozen puddle. "Warnin' ya now, if I go flyin' in these heels, I'm takin' ya down with me."

She nodded. According to Angel, he never went barefoot due to insecurities about his 'weird spida feet'. He'd show everything else, he told her, just not those. Leslie knew it was true, because she'd scrubbed through some of his adult movies, out of morbid curiosity - cringing all the way - and sure enough, the shoes stayed on. Even now, she regretted searching those videos. Knowing Angel as well as she did, to see him so exposed felt like an invasion of privacy... and the hyperbolized moaning didn't exactly help.

Leslie returned her thoughts to here and now. Anecdotally, she said, "I looked this up on Voogle. In those heels, you're almost as tall as the tallest human who ever lived."

"Fuck, really?" Angel seemed to like this fact, picking up the pace as they walked on. "Guess I got used ta it. Hey, you're shootin' up. What, ya gotta be 5'4" now?"

She nodded. "National average for US women." When Leslie considered her growth of six inches in one year, she thought of Mr Hyde: hadn't he begun as small and underdeveloped too, representing Jekyll's unflexed evils?

"I thought ya was half-English," Angel said.

"Yeah, my mom's side. Never been, don't know the average," she responded. As they passed an office block with tinted windows, Leslie caught the reflection of an apparent zombie, lumping along with its head low. It was wearing the same grayish tracksuit as her, and had the same infernally stupid ears. God, how pathetic. Time was, a brisk jog would leave her revitalized, not complete the picture of total exhaustion. Leslie tried to keep her head raised, and focused on the clop-clop-clop of Angel's shoes on the sidewalk.

"I dunno any fun facts," he said. "Uh... lemme... wait, I got one!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah. So 'pparently, don't quote me on this, ya can bite off a guy's finga with the same force it takes ta bite a carrot."

A stab of dark surprise. "Really? Jesus," she said.

"Gruesome, ain't it?" Angel japed, giving her a playful push. "Someone like you can handle that pretty good, huh?"

Another stab. "Ummm..." Her chest tightened, and she took a far-too-shallow breath. What? Someone like her? There was a bench coming up; Leslie started speed-walking, and yet doubted she would make it.

"Les, wh... whazzamatta?" The clopping slowed and Angel's voice grew worried. "Uh, I'm sorry. Hey! It was a stupid joke, I take it back."

Again, she felt Alastor's beartrap teeth in her flesh. That hard shoulder-punch with irregular shards of pain. The trickle of blood down her neck. The pull and snap. Having reached the bench, she dropped into the crash position, and she skipped right over being embarrassed because she had to breathe first, she had to breathe or she'd die.

"Woah, woah, woah! What the fuck, Les? Ya OK?" Angel trotted over and placed a hand on her back; she flinched away. Angel removed the hand just as quickly. "Hey, hey," he said, "don't panic, it's a'right. You're doin' jus' fine, ya hear me?"

No, no no no. She wasn't fine. And she had to come up with a lie, quick. "Had a nightmare last night," she stammered.

"Nightmare?"