Contemporaneous: Chapters 48 – 49
48. “Back already?” Luca asks me, sitting against the table’s edge as he folds his arms across his chest. “Fuckface.” “That …” I say, like that one word will encompass the entire experience. That. And it does, but it also represents every stream of thought I have. I go with what’s strongest in my mind: Autumn. “Is that like punishment?” I ask. “You kill Autumn because I took my own life?” “You’re not that important, dickweed. A least not in some celestial sense.” “Autumn died—” “Shit happens.” “Shit happens? Who the fuck are you? Forrest Gump?” “Life is like a box of cuntings,” Luca says. “You never know when or…
Contemporaneous: Chapters 42 – 44
42. The phone rings. I almost don’t answer it, because I think it’ll be Lana, launching another salvo – part of me worries she’ll show up on my doorstep to continue this, although she’s only ever done that when she incontrovertibly knows she’s the one who’s fucked up, and wants to be conciliatory. You can place those visits along with Halley’s Comet. And my head’s raw. My ears are raw. I’m raw. Like I’m recoiling in expectation of some inexorable, scathing deconstruction of all my inadequacies. I wonder if this is how tortured prisoners, where the expectation now is just as horrifying as the experience itself. Fuck that. What I…
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