Struggle On Home

Chapter Seven

There was a grotty little yard reserved for the cars of the residents of Spring Heights, where Abel lived. It was twilight when he pulled in. The gnats had gone to ground, and in their place were beautiful little moths that fluttered around the streetlamps. Abel batted one away from his face as he got out of the car.

K.C. was still asleep, which posed a logistical problem. Abel decided against waking him up to walk to the floor he lived on. He'd had a rough time of it lately, in any case. It wouldn't be fair to expect him to trudge up three flights of stairs.

So Abel scooped up K.C. from the passenger seat and carried him into the building. He got some funny looks from his neighbours in the lobby, and he had to stop and explain to them that his buddy had had a long day and was sick, that he wouldn't be able to climb the stairs on his own steam. Everyone nodded understandingly and let him be. It went without saying that the elevator wasn't an option-it had been out of order for the last two years.

K.C. woke up on the second flight. "What....who are you?" he mumbled.

Abel snorted with laughter. "It's me. You fell asleep, so I carried you up."

"That was sweet of you, but I'm a twenty-three-year-old man, Abel. I can walk the rest of the way." He struggled onto his feet, and clutched at the bannister as he swayed like a Jenga tower.

"Are you okay?" Abel asked him.

K.C. didn't answer for a moment, only stood there grunting with the effort. But then he shook his head, said "I'm fine," and made to drag himself up the rest of the stairs.

"Wait, wait, wait." Abel grabbed his shoulder. "Wanna lean on me?"

That got him a glare and a muttered curse, but eventually his friend caved in with a half-hearted "oh, fuck it." Abel gave him his arm, and together they made their way up to his flat.

"I'm sorta cold," K.C. griped, rubbing his arms as Abel fumbled with the lock. "Do you have the heating on in there?"

"Obviously not. I was away for four hours, man, and I left in the middle of a heatwave. Sorry, but you're gonna have to stand it. I'll find you a blanket or something."

The apartment was as dark as an abandoned hospital in a horror movie. Abel hit the lights, and the gloomy cavern was transformed into his living room. K.C. staggered over to his sofa and curled up on it, a wounded animal in a dirty coat.

"Oh, K.C.," Abel fretted, sitting down beside him and feeling his forehead. "Do you feel sick, or just tired?"

K.C. growled, swatted his hand away. "Leave off! I'm fine, I told you!"

Abel leapt back as though the guy on his couch had turned into a cottonmouth snake. A sick, oily, angry fountain sputtered in his stomach.

"Well, now," he muttered, turning away to untie his shoes. "So that's how I'm thanked." He slipped his right trainer off and got to work on the left one. "Y'know, I didn't want to have to drive out to Des Moines to pick up a fluey tramp. Could be I had a shitload of stuff planned for today. Like visiting my dad, for one thing. Or maybe I wanted to catch a band playing at the Big Smoke Grill. I don't have to deal with your-"