I rear back. “Did I—? Is that—?”
He doesn’t say anything. I think possibly, he is unable to.
“Ohhh.” I brace myself for many nights ahead of staring at my ceiling, reliving this mortifying moment over and over. I will never come back from this. “I am so sorry. I thought— Your shorts, they’re that windbreaker material, they feel just like the tent…” My face burns.
“Here we are,” he goes on formally, sounding not at all like himself. “It is dark. We are in the middle of nowhere; just you, me, and this giant piano. All is going as smoothly as can be expected. You have touched my dick. Your mistaking it for a tent is becoming more accurate by the second.”
This is humiliating. “I’m so,sosorry.” But also: “Whydid you have to bring a gingersnappus along on this trip?”
“It isn’t Forte’s fault that you’re insatiable with desire.”
“EXCUSE—”
“Always trying to get me alone. Dragging me out here tothis isolated location, with only one tent and one sleeping bag. And now you’re copping a feel.” His tone crisps up into a stern, soldierly march. “Zelda, I am a modern man with values and standards. If you want to sleep with me so badly, you will need to guest-star on my podcast first.”
“If you don’t shut up,” I growl, “I am going to…aha!” I’ve found the water. Definitely not any of Morgan’s valuable bits this time. I unscrew the cap, sloshing it with wild abandon. Morgan cries out.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to get it on you.”
I’m not sure if the hiss that follows is Morgan or Forte, who has stopped being a piano. I hit the lights, wincing at the brightness. Forte has transformed back into a small beast and is rolling happily in water.
“How did you know that would work?”
Morgan sounds winded. “He screams on the other side of the bathroom door when he knows I’m in there showering. Soon as I come out, he runs inside and lies in the wet tub. Loves it.”
I watch Forte rub his nose in a puddle. “What a weirdo. And the Black Bear Witch is a psychopath. Who looks at a cat and says,La-di-da, I know what I’ll do! I’ll turn this cat into a devil creature that shape-shifts into a piano whenever it gets mad!”
“Mother of god.” Morgan points at my leg.
It only starts hurting when I see the gash. My leg kicks of its own volition, as if I can knock the gash right off me. “Agh! Agh! I can see my bone!”
“That’s not bone, it’s your skin.” He encircles my ankle with one hand and gently holds me still. I feel the touch everywhere. “You’re just ridiculously pale.”
“You’reridiculously pale. My leg hurts. Oh, it hurts. This is worse than the time I had an IUD improperly inserted and had to get it removed after the most excruciating week of my life.” I pound my fist in the pillow. “Damn you, Dr. Paul! You should’ve just tied my tubes like I asked. But no, he was all, ‘What if you change your mind?’ And I was all, ‘Look, man, I have never seen a baby and thought,I want one of those in my house.’ No offense, Aisling. You and I are cool now that you’re old enough to tell me what you want without shrieking.” I howl when Morgan dabs at my injury with a tissue.
“When I asked my doctor about scheduling a vasectomy,” he replies, “she was super helpful. There was hardly any wait time at all. And after the procedure was finished, a nurse gave me some candy.”
“I hate you,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“Let’s not fight right now, darling. You might be on your last breaths. I want to remember you fondling. Fondly. I want to remember youfondly, is what you heard me say.”
I try to kick him, but he dodges.
“I’ve got a first-aid kit,” I grumble, tired and aggravated. “The suitcase over there, with my glasses sitting on top. Bottom pouch in the front compartment.”
Morgan heads toward the suitcase, then halts midstride. Stays frozen like that for several seconds.
“What are you doing?” I slap the ground with the flat of my hand. “I need gauze!”
He turns in the opposite direction and begins to root through his belongings instead.
“Did you bring—” My words fail when he lifts out a glassbottle filled with thick, sunny liquid. “Uhhh.” He twists off the cap. Dabs some onto my leg. It’s frigid and smells like tiramisu. “What. Are. You. Doing?”
“Testing a theory.” His gaze gleams like a mad scientist.
I spasm, swiping for him. “I can’t believe you put that into my open wound, you idiot!”
“Shhhh. It’ll take effect better if you speak to me nicely.”
