The Dream of Genes

Chapter 8: Eugene

My head turned to Vincent when I heard him say the name "Jerome." It was my name but also his now. He was talking about me while using my birth name—the person my parents wanted me to be.

I silently listened to him as he talked to whoever decided to call him non-stop last night. I kind of felt bad for Vincent. He seemed to not take the alcohol that well, but I wished I was drunk. I wish I was the drunk one so I did not have to pitifully wheel myself to my room and drag myself into bed, instead, I could have been carried into bed: a more enjoyable experience.

Last night, I was unlucky and mostly got tricked into drinking many shots of water, yet it was fun watching Vincent gag on the vodka shots so much that I did not mind that he almost always spit them out immediately. It is a miracle he has not vomited already.

I was trying to eavesdrop on Vincent's conversation but my mind was like a wild animal and would not stay still.

I tried to think of who would call Vincent so many times last evening and this morning. The first thought that made sense was one of the Gattaca directors. But one of them was dead and the other was probably in jail or awaiting a court date. I didn't know how many directors there were but surely the absence of two next to a launch date would be bad.

I took out a lighter that I had in addition to a box of Camel cigarettes. I quickly slipped one stick out and lit it, pressing it to my mouth like a woman about to apply lipstick.

For some reason, I began to think about Vincent's lover of sorts. I remembered the day she entered with a police officer. It was morning, and I had to cover for Vincent. I don't know why my thoughts had brought me back to her, maybe it was because I had envied Vincent's relationship with her, something true yet not. Maybe I thought I deserved it, like a kid getting a gold star after doing something marvellous, or maybe I just wanted to see if she would show me the same love she presumably showed Vincent: a similar type of love that I wanted yet never got from the people I paid to enter my house.

I also remembered the day Vincent went out ___. He had said, "If I'm gonna get arrested tomorrow, I'm going to go out tonight." She had come to pick him up, and I saw her in her car. She looked up at me, and we made eye contact for a bit. I wondered if Vincent had truly found love in her eyes. He had a girlfriend now, and thus he would be okay if I was gone. He couldn't have a normal relationship with her if I was still around, so I would have to die. I would be content with that conclusion.

I took a deep breath and blew it away like the thousands of dollars I would spend to try and experience some kind of love again. But I haven't hired anybody in a few months. I wonder why...

My mind bounced back to Vincent's secret call. He was trying to hide something from me, I could tell. He was vague in his replies. I suspected that it was about me. How much did I mess up this time? Vincent was my second chance, but now I had ruined that too. How many lives would I ruin? Vincent should have left me to die. He should have stayed on that rocket and flown to Titan like he dreamed of.

Maybe I could kill myself right now.

I popped my cigarette in and breathed in the toxic fumes, trying to inhale all the deadly molecules it could possibly have.

Maybe as I smoked, this would be my last cigarette and I would have a stroke or a heart attack and die.

I breathed out slowly yet fully, my cheeks puffed out. I could hear the sound of my breath hissing as it escaped through my mouth. Initially, the exhalation carried strength and resonance, echoing robustly. However, as I gradually reduced my check volume, the force waned, and the air's volume diminished. With each passing moment, I sensed my abdomen tightening, and my body responded with involuntary tremors, an effort to expel more oxygen or whatever substance lingered in my exhale.