“What were they like?” August asks.
It’s a deep and loaded question. I try to explain to him as succinctly as I can. “Some are similar to us. Some are vastly different. None are like you.” He blushes lightly, and I take the opportunity to press my foot against his outstretched ankle. “I’ve met nice Augusts and prick Augusts. I’ve met August who was a rich stockbroker, who chased me off his lawn with a golf club.”
My August laughs, while the asshole turns his head to listen in. “I’ve met straight August, with his beautiful wife and kids.But I couldn’t stand to tell him what was going to happen to them.”
He doesn’t move his foot away, keeping his earnest eyes on me. “I met fucked-up heroin addict August. He went through a lot, but didn’t come out the other side. He died while I was there. But the world broke all the same, like it always does.”
The memory of the stinking piss and mouldy cardboard of the alley I found his body in comes back to me, so I speak over it. “I’ve met coffee-shop August, who worked in that cafe we first sat down in together.”
“What?” August gasps out, his face a perfect picture of awe. “So that explains why you knew how to speak to the barista!”
I send him a smile of acknowledgement. “I’ve met pro-footballer August, scam TV psychic August, real estate asshole August, bat biology expert August, psycho-killer August—which is why I had to stalk you a little.”
He laughs. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. It was bad. And one time, I even met an August who was a bit like us, from London, normal guy. His parents didn’t die.”
August’s face turns melancholy. “How was he doing?”
“Really well. It was nice. I left him the fuck alone too.”
Asshole August is looking us both over, doing whatever calculations he’s doing in his head, so my August asks him, “Did your parents die?”
“Parents? No, I was born in a lab.”
“You what?” We both swivel slightly to stare at him.
He explains with a small shrug, “We don’t have parents where I come from. Total waste of time. Who wants to be pregnant?”
“Yeah, okay, maybe…” August muses. “But what about all the rest of it?”
“What? All that childcare? This kind of shit you two are talking about? No. We go straight into education of one type or another. I’ve seen this format in a few worlds now, living with parents, and it’s very strange to me. No wonder your world’s so backwards.”
“No wonder you have no empathy,” I stab at him.
“I have empathy.” The accompanying eye roll does nothing to convince me of that. “It’s not like Iwantto kill you. Do you know how much happier I’d be back in my own reality, not dealing with any of this? And if you want proof, I could have shot you yesterday. I could have gunned you down in the street. But I didn’t.”
“So you’re not completely evil. Congratulations.”
August cuts in, looking like he’s the one who almost got shot. “What happened yesterday?”
And feeling like I’m the one who almost shot him, I say, “He slightly… tried to kill me.”
“What?” he shouts.
“Hey, I’m not the supervillain here,” Asshole August responds, raising his shoulders.
“So you tried to kill him yesterday?” August’s eyes shift to me. “Before you came over?”
“Yeah. And the other night at the concert.”
The car shudders with the hard touch of Jon’s foot on the brake. “Wait, what? That wasyou?”
Christ, this guy.“Try to keep up, Non Bon.”
“But then…” Jon’s busy muttering to himself. “Youbothhave stalkers?”
“It’s alright,” August calls back with a smile. “They’re only other Augusts. Not real stalkers.”
