Chase
“Oh my god, those are guts ... Chase, those are fucking entrails.”
We both jump back about ten feet from the bed before Evie turns in a circle, looking like she’s going to be sick. I’m shaking my head as I wipe my forehead with my forearm.
I can’t use my hands because we’re both gloved up like mad scientists, equipped with yellow dish gloves and goggles we found while rummaging through the garage for more protection.
Evie’s face-masked glare lands on the cat, who’s standing in the crack of the door, cleaning herself.
“What is wrong with you,” she snaps, but the cat ignores her, still licking her paw.
“Not an ounce of remorse,” I add, letting out a harsh sigh. “This level of destruction is on par with hyenas or coyotes. You’re a cat named after aSuper Mario Broscharacter. What the fuck, bro.”
“She’s like a honey badger,” Evie barks, sounding nasally because of the mask. “Or a capybara ... Did you know those things are violently aggressive?”
I draw my head back. “Is that true?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “I saw a documentary ... or clips of one online.”
I let out another deep breath and look back at the grotesquerie on the bed.
“Okay, come on. We gotta get this over with. Get it done.”
I click my kitchen tongs together a few times, knowing I’m never using them again, but technically, they’re not mine, they’re Noah’s, so whatever.
She’s humming a squeal, dancing on the balls of her feet while standing in place, because she’s dreading this as much as I am. But still, I inch closer, forcing her to do it at the same time. I can hear her breathing as she holds open a big black garbage bag.
It’s the extra-large kind that supposedly doesn’t break.
The closer to the bed I get, the more I’m regretting this.
Goddammit.Why are we doing this?
Oh yeah, because she’s a lunatic who, after I said we should just pull the blanket and the sheets and toss it all out, declared we needed a goddamn funeral for the “victims of this senseless attack.” Her words.
My knees hit the mattress before I lean over it, and I stop to fake cry. I look up at the ceiling for a minute because I’m not cut out for shit like this.
It’s like she can read my mind because she yells, “Chase. I swear to god ... Men used to go to war. Pull it together.”
I huff an empty laugh. “Joke’s on you, buddy. Back in theGame of Thronesdays, I would’ve been that sickly kid everyone was hoping would live just long enough to be king.”
She jiggles the bag viciously, the loud whipping of plastic filling the room. I jerk my whole body in protest.
“Lock in, dammit,” she barks.
I draw out a breath. “Fine. I’m fucking locked. Fuck.”
We both let out a few harsh breaths before our eyes meet, and we inhale, then exhale together, our gaze never breaking.
“Okay,” I whisper, and she nods. I finally look down at the carnage again.
It’s time.
I extend the tongs on a shaky breath to pick up victim number one, swallowing, and try not to close my eyes.
“Get the bag ready,” I say quietly, immediately wondering why I’m whispering.
Who’s hearing me? Not the rats.
