The Impact

Chapter 10

The rest of the night is uneventful, so my dads assume the monsters are gone. We are all uneasy, however, me more than the others I think. Because I don't remember any monsters. Edmund pretends to be strong, but he wakes up crying in the night, to the extent that our dads bring him in to sleep with them. Lydia is no better she started out the night constricting Peter's neck. Parker is restless next to me in my bed. That's actually disappointing, not her being restless, the being in bed together thing. Apparently that was a thing though not an exciting one. Here's how the evening goes:

Small people are taken in with our weary looking dads. Parker and I left to our own devices.

Her: I guess we should try to rest too.

Me: yes let's. (wondering if that means she'll leave)

Her: do you want me to go?

Me: NO! (calmer) I mean...no of course not, you can stay, why do you ask?

Her: wouldn't it be weird since I mean---I know I'm like a stranger to you

What I think: you are incredibly sexy I don't care that I learned your name a few hours ago I would like it if you took your clothes off and crawled in my lap.

What I say: No, no, I mean, I don't feel like you're a stranger to me. I just don't remember you. it's weird.

Her: okay.

Me: I'm going to take a shower.

What I think: this would be a good time to take all your clothes off and lie on the bed provocatively.

What I say: Unless you want to first or—whatever

Her: no that's fine.

Yeah. I know. smooth right? So I go and take a really long shower under deliciously cold water. And she does not join me. And then I put on a t-shirt and pair of gym shorts and nothing else since that's all that's lying in the bathroom. Then I take the t-shirt back off because sleeping bare chested is more suggestive.

And when I get out she's sitting at the foot of my bed in these long pants, long sleeved, FLANNEL nightclothes braiding her hair. Oh and she's wearing socks. There is nothing that removes any hint of sexual tension like wearing socks.

Her: you're not cold

Me: No---no the cold water felt good,

Her: You took a cold shower? It's December it can't have felt good

What I think: you would feel good

What I say: yeah it felt good

Her: do you um----I can go to the other room

Me: what do you usually do (please say make passionate love to me)

Her: sometimes, it depends, if I stay usually we're watching Netflix or playing a game

I don't think it's the sort of game I'm thinking about.

Me: Okay I mean, let's just talk

Her: okay

I went and sat down at the other end of my bed. Then I lay down because I was tired and weak from not eating. And I was convincing myself it was a good thing she was not interested in sexual activity because as tired and weak as was I would not be able to satisfy her young strong body. and then I thought some more about her young strong body and fell asleep. She eventually fell asleep curled up next to me, her under the blankets me out. Disappointingly chaste.

When I wake up I go take a shower and let her sleep. When I come out she's up. She asks me if I slept well I say yes. Then we go downstairs. I swear to god Gage is staring at me trying to figure out if we fucked last night. I am well aware he didn't get any action considering the two little people were in need of emotional comfort all night. I don't know if he cares as much as I do, considering he remembers the last time he had action and I do not.

Peter is making breakfast, which is very good of him. I can't eat it.

"I don't understand this," Parker says, rubbing my back as I vomit into the trash can. It's becoming a matter of form now.

"Good now, sorry," I say, straightening back up.

"Try some orange juice," Peter says, wiping my face.

"I'll just stay here then," I say.

"That's not a good attitude," Gage says, as he serves Edmund and Lydia who are still in their night things as they sit at the marble counter top.

"But an accurate one," I say, drinking the orange juice wincing at the taste. I don't like the stuff. And then I get to experience it twice.

"If you're still like this by tomorrow we are going to the hospital," Peter says, shaking his head.

"Okay, stop feeding me things," I say, drinking a glass of water.

"You need to eat something, you're getting weaker----you're shaking," Gage says. I look at my hands, he's right they are trembling.

"Didn't you say he got sick inexplicably as an infant?" Peter asks.

"Yeah but total disclosure the house was kind of more of a meth lab at the time so all things considered that's probably why," Gage says.

"What?" I ask. What's a meth lab? I decide I don't care.

"When you were like, a year old or so you were pretty sick---doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong," Gage explains, "But you weren't breathin' right. You did throw up a lot. but you kept some food down."

"What made me get better?" I ask.

"We got you out of the meth lab," Gage admits, "I didn't know then that it could make a baby that sick, eventually it dawned on me and your aunt Erica---and Dashiell."

"That was it? Just change of scene?" Peter confirms.

"Yeah, like I said, he was coughing then too," Gage says.

"That's not what's wrong now," I say, filling up another glass of water.

"Why can you keep water down and not juice?" Edmund asks, "If your stomach's that irritated."

"I don't know," I say, shrugging.

"It doesn't make sense, you're right, Eddie, he shouldn't be able to keep anything down, then---do you feel nauseated?" Peter asks me.

"No, just hungry," I say, "Just give me some time. I'll be okay."

But I'm not okay. as the day wears on I get weaker and weaker. I need food. That's pretty obvious. But I can't stomach it. I try everything we have at the house, but I'm throwing up blood with the food by noon.

On other fronts, the day is productive. Dashiell shows up, and Peter and Gage and she tag team leaving the house for supplies. Apparently society is trying to function as normal, and stores are opening again. Schools are set to open day after tomorrow. I take issue with that.

"Do I have to go to school?" I ask.

"Yes," both of my dads. In unison.

"Because I feel like I was done," I say.

"No," they say. Again in unison. It's creepy how they do that.

Nobody mentions my third dad. I kind of want to bring him up but that feels like a sore subject and I don't want these dads to think I love them less because there's a third one. Because I don't, but I feel like he's another puzzle piece of my life.