Strangers

Throat

Hey, you done moping?"

"Fuck off."

"At least you curse. Last time I had a dude who tried to convert my junkie ass."

"Seriously go away."

"What're you gonna do, chase after me?"

James elected to stay silent. Turns out Michael was more than he bargained for.

"So, 16? Football player?--serious dude loose the jersey--Girlfriend your too scared to let visit you?"

"We don't get visitors Michael. It's rehab or, something."

"Yeah something. My Grandma figured third time the charm."

"It's your third time?"

"Yeah I got a punch card. They give 'em to junkies. Wish we'd get the good pain meds instead. Or at least a damn smoothie. Why your all cranky isn't it?"

"I'm not cranky." James whined.

"What you are is starving, not at much as me though."

Michael ripped an IV from his arm, he at least took the care to stick a cotton swab on it after.

"You can afford to share. You'll be out of here and back to the good shit soon enough."

"But that's medicine isn't it?"

"You know its pain meds, and it's the lowest dose they can give you without you passing out. But you could do just as well with a nap." He said prepping his arm.

"I don't want you to."

"I don't give a shit."

"The nurse will come, she'll see what your doing."

"Will she? No one gives a crap about you James, you did this to yourself."

"Why would I?"

"I have guesses."

"What's that supposed to mean."

Michael slotted his face up against him, it made James swallow. He noticed things about Michael. His features were to severe. James imagined his face he roughly punched out of old clay, his cheeks cracking into place, contorting what was left. It gave him an exaggerated look of conventional attractiveness, almost too perfect to look real. It was that unsettling allure that made him scared.

Michael ran a quick scabby hand along his cheek.

"You'll feel better, soon enough. Because your not an addict right? None of what you did was your fault."

James didn't talk, it didn't feel right to, and his throat was getting scratchy. Michael placed a hand around it. Delicate, like silk.

"I could kill you, right now. It's what everyone expects me to do."

James eyes went wide, the pain creeping in behind him. His eyelids burned and he was taking on water.

"I'm a washout, a failure, a junkie and a whore. Everyone expects me to add one more to the list. But which should I kill James? I'm bored."

"Don't."

"Oh, changed your mind now? Thought dyin was how you ended up here? I'd do it if you wanted."

"No, not you."

"Suit yourself." His grip got a little tighter anyway. "Maybe me then? I do all this at once," he said tapping the bag, "I might get somewhere."

James knew he was falling under. It was like being swallowed, but Michael held onto him like a lump in his throat.

When James passed out he caught a glimpse of Michael putting his IV back in him, finger gracing his face once more. In darkness, James didn't know how to feel.

***

James wasn't sure if he'd woken up when Paige visited him.

"Paige, I don't want you right now. It hurts."

She skipped up next to him, hand tight behind her back. She pinched his arm.

"Pains good. Means it's getting better."

"I don't like better."

"Prefer the drugs?"

"I'm not an addict."

"They'll make you got to NA anyways. They already got me shoved in something like it. They just don't get us."

"Please Paige, I feel really sick."

"I can make it better."

"I don't want you too."

"I need you to want me. You get it, you know it felt good to die."

"Dying hurt."

"What hurt more, drying, or it being your fault?"

"You don't know anything."

"You hurt me. When you pushed that table. You scared me fell out the chair."

"I'm sorry."He said through gritted teeth. "It just hurts."

"What, being a cripple? Maybe we should cut it off, just for fun."

"Paige what's wrong with you."

"Everything." She drawled.

"Why are you here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm broken. I'm like a twig."

"Your skinny."

"Getting warmer." She said, walking her fingers along his chest, he could feel his breathing start to match hers.

"Like an eating disorder?"

"No, I'm not sick. None of its real if I don't let it be."

"Paige you died."

"I know, it was wonderful!"

"Go away. I really want you to. Where even are your tubes? You had a whole bunch of them."

"I still have this one."

She pulled down her shirt. It was snugg everywhere but her breast, where it was stretched out and sagged. Her monitor danced in probes and delicate wires.

"Why isn't it on?"

"It is."
It was flatlined. The interface dull and monotonous.
"Look what happens when I try wake it up again."

She grabbed a suction cup that kept one of the wires tethered to her. He expected it to pop, but it came off wet and black. It was thick and dirty, and oozed out of her.

"I told you your still alive James. I hope you get better."

She pushed him into the bed, he resented how weak he was against her. By the time he could support himself enough to see the door she was gone. Michael was fast asleep.