It's Not A Side Effect Of The Cocaine, I Am Thinking It Must Be Love

chapter seven- snap out of it

Sometimes Bad Twin would just disappear for a few days. I didn't know where he went, he never talked about it, but I would just notice he was gone and a few days later he would come back wearing a suit and new sunglasses. He didn't tell me what he did, and I didn't ask. When he did this, I was usually alone in the house, but this time around, I was stuck with just Pancho for company.

I was sitting on the couch with Pancho, and he was watching one of his stupid infomercials with wide eyes and an unfocused smile. We had cleaned the couch while we could, and it was nice to not have to brush Dorito crumbs off my ass every time I stood up. Every time I looked at Pancho, I remembered that I needed to talk to him. It wouldn't be so bad, just find out when he planned to get his own place and everything, and go back to the rabble on TV. A small part of me didn't want to have to talk about it, just wanted him to stay forever, but I had been thinking a lot ever since he brought me soup a couple days back and I was thinking that I really needed to get a hold of myself. I needed to remember that this was Pancho who wore a fucking wire when I finally trusted him enough to let him buy at my house, who almost drowned and showed up naked on my doorstep, who kissed me the first night he stayed with us, and not Pancho who smelled like mint and wore crooked salmon-colored button-ups and whose snoring put me to sleep every night. But it didn't matter which Pancho I wanted to stay, because he was going to leave eventually, and it was better to bring it up now than to wait any longer. The TV was droning on, and Pancho was still entranced in whatever ridiculous product they were selling. I cleared my throat, and he glanced at me briefly, then went back to the TV. "Pancho?" I started, "We, um. We need to talk."

He grabbed the remote and muted the TV, turning on the couch to face me. "Yeah, uh, sure man. What's up?" He asked, obviously trying too hard to be casual about it.

I sighed. I just needed to get this over with, that was all. "I, uh. Look, you've been staying here for about a month now, and I was just wondering, y'know, when you're gonna get your own place, or something?"

He fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt nervously, like he really didn't want to be having this conversation. I didn't blame him. "I dunno, um," he paused for a second, biting his lip, "I guess I hadn't really thought about it."

He hadn't thought about it? It dawned on me that I had gotten myself into this mess. I was the dealer, I was the one who fed the god damn problem, and now I had my own fucking ex-client living with me, and he had no idea what the hell he was doing. That was also my fault. My fault for getting him hooked, my fault for trusting him. Realizing I should probably continue the conversation, I repeated, "You hadn't really thought about it?"

"Yeah, I-"

I interrupted, which was really fucking rude of me, and I wish I hadn't, but I was impatient and fed up and I just needed to know what the hell was happening. "Look, man," I sighed, "you gotta at least try here. You're kinda fucking everything up here, alright, y'know, you show up, and you're not dead, and you've got your fuckin' wire, and-"

This time he cut me off, with, "Oh, the wire? Man, that thing wasn't even fuckin' on."

I felt myself go numb. "What," my words were shaky as I spoke. I couldn't really believe it. He wouldn't have done that. He had to have known how dangerous that was and how fucking worried I'd been. "Are you..." I swallowed, trying to regain my composure, "What the hell. You. You wore a wire to my house. And it wasn't on."

He frowned, not really looking at me. "Yeah, I-"

"God damn it, Pancho!" This time, interrupting him had become the least of my problems. My sympathy had melted away, and now I was just furious. He didn't have any plans, and he had tried to mess with me by wearing a wire. "Why the fuck would you do that?! Was it supposed to be some kind of sick joke?!"