Only the Moon Watching

Chapter 51: The Secret Letters

Kristina Kelly chucks another milk carton at my face at dinner. This time, her aim's off, and I sort of see it coming and duck. It splatters all over my food but avoids cracking into my nose.

"Oh bummer," says Ripper.

Grifta tries to trip me on the way to the showers, and there's a mysterious splodge on my pillowcase that looks like booger when I get back to my room.

"They're messing with me," I tell Shiv.

"They want you to think they're messing with you," Shiv says. "They want you to think this is the worst of it. I guarantee they're actually planning something. Probably trying to get you in trouble with Girdle so you miss your meeting with Mike tomorrow–"

"If he even shows. We don't know that Vapor got to him, or was able to convince him–"

"He'll show." Shiv stretches out on her bed like a cat and yawns. "You'll have your pills tomorrow and a love-triangle with two devoted boyfriends–"
"Shut up."

"'s true. Mike'll feel inner circle, like you really trust him, like you've finally done your adrenaline-bonding because you asked him to bring you drugs. And Steak'll be blown away by the gesture. Even if a single bottle doesn't really help–"

"I'll get more," I say, surprising myself. "If the doctor takes a while to fix things, I'll be his supplier."
"Look at you, Ho." Shiv yawns again, but even through her sleepiness I can tell she's impressed.

I feel like a bad roommate for doing it when she's so obviously tired, but I need to talk on the bowl. Trying to bail out the water as quietly as I can, I start mentally composing a letter to Steak: I'll have the pills for you tomorrow. Mike's coming. He'll come through.

"Don't put anything in writing," Shiv says lazily. "And code won't work either. He's a sentimental little slut, I'm sure he's keeping everything you've sent him. If a guard finds your love letters, aww that's embarrassing. But if they find paraphernalia... something that looks like it could be talking about drugs..."

"Alright, fine." I knock on the bowl and call up: "Incoming?"
"Aye!"

I'm such a regular bowl-user now that I can tell just from the grunt that I'm talking to Chet.

"Come on, I'll help you, then." Shiv rolls out of bed and starts assembling the line for me, refilling the basin with water even as she grumbles about being too tired.

"Thanks," I tear out a sheet of paper and scrawl:

Nothing to say really, just wanted to talk to you. Hope everything's all right up there. Had a dream we were reality contestants. You and I won of course – we're the best at talking the bowl, in my opinion. Although I've never done it with anyone else...

Somehow I think people would actually watch that show. It's just the right amount of ick-factor and drama and how funny would it be to have couples Pavlovian-conditioned to get excited when they hear the toilet flush? I wonder if Vapor's at home getting embarrassingly excited every time her roommates use the bathroom. My heart used to stop when I'd get a text from a crush or a Snapchat from someone I was interested in. Now it's been so long without my phone I wonder if I'd even care – but somehow toilets will always make me think of you.

(Ew!) What a weird thought, isn't it?

If we ever went on a date in the real world, I'd wear orange just to tease you (because you said it's your favorite color, not sure if you were serious about that). But we'd have to get real dinner – actual food! – nothing confusing like orange slop that could be peaches or carrot or mac and cheese. I wonder if I'll ever be able to drink apple juice again, or eat mystery meat. Or maybe it'll remind me of you too and I'll actually crave it!

As long as I don't miss showering with my shoes on, or sleeping on a cot with a open-air toilet, I'm golden. You know how couples say stuff like, "I'd live in a cardboard box with you?" We're lucky because we've survived worse. If we make it to the outside world together I'd like to –

"Hurry up!" Shiv says. "I want to go to bed.

If we make it to the outside world together I'd like to have a normal life with you. Or at least, normally date you. Without toilets involved.

(Though how cute to one day take a pregnancy test over one! To have morning sickness into a bowl, like the kind my baby's dad and I first met on??) Shiv is side-eyeing me and I'm suddenly afraid she can read my mind – or at least the dumb smirk on my face – and I'd never want her to know what I was just thinking...

"I'm hurrying up. One last thought, sorry."

P.S. If Taylor Swift was a jail bird "Our Song" would be: "our song is a flush on the bowl! Staying up late tappin' on the toilet!" Maybe I'm so tired I'm just delirious but this is cracking me up...

Shiv reads over my shoulder before snatching the note out of my hands. "You are cracking up, mate," she says. She sends it off, and before I've gotten comfortable in bed, we get a knock back.

"You get it!" Shiv grumbles, pulling the blankets over her head.

I fish out the thickest Ziplock bag I've ever gotten. It's crammed with a half-dozen sheets of paper in various sizes. A post it on top says: "Didn't have time for a reply tonight. You're right, the Taylor Swift parody is dumb as heck. Here's all the stuff I thought was too stupid to send. I feel comfortable sharing now. xx"

Kiss kiss.

Suddenly wide awake, I settle under my blankets and read Steak's scrapped letters by the dim light of our frosted glass window, with only the moon watching.