Even with this gelatinous aid, the mere idea of her thinking I was too snippy hits me right in thefeely thingin my chest. After staring at the screen for what feels like asuperlong time—is time moving slower, or is it just me—I send a follow-up message.
Me:
Please stay safe and do whatever he said. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
“There. That’s better.”
Why am I speaking aloud? I’ll blame the gummy while ignoring that I was doing it before taking it. Facts are dumb.
“With so little experience spending time alone, I don’t know whether to be concerned.” I narrow my eyes, feeling a tinge of resistance from my lids. “That’s probably nothing to worry about. The eyelids, I mean. But also the other thing.”
Whatever the other thing was.
Oh.
“Talking to myself. Is it a mental breakdown or just good fun? Find out at eleven.”
Meh. Who cares? Concern over my mental health is at the bottom of myCrushing Agonieslist.
“I’ll just pretend there are friendly ghosts here to listen to me.”
No response.
“Casper? Can I call you Casper? Youarefriendly, right?”
A rambunctious giggle erupts from me as I envision Mr. Grump Face Dirty Dimples returning to find me talking to ghosts.
I glance at my hand, noticing I’m still holding my cell. I impersonate the emoji I sent to Reed earlier, sticking my tongue out at the phone. Surely, Kenzie and Silas will feel my disrespect through the interwebs or satellite signals.
More laughter fills the room, presumably from me. However, the ghosts are still a possibility.
Screw Kenzie and Silas.
Neither snake has replied to my texts. Normally, I’d be worried they were mad at me and spiral into a co-dependent depression. Tonight, I’m so dang chill I’m unable to give two ships.
Too bad I can’t ask Kenzie where she procured these little guys. Not that I want to develop a drug habit, but this is the most fun I’ve had alone since I bought my first vibrator.
Maybe Reed has some drug contacts- because I don’t want to ask Kenzie for anything ever again.
Standing, I rub circles on my belly, thus conveying my hunger to the ghosts. In case they missed it, I add, “Yo, mute ghosts. It’s snack thirty.”
Giggle.
Out of habit, I head straight to the produce drawer in the fridge. Reed has plenty of healthy options. All of them fresh and perfectly edible.
And entirely unappetizing.
“Bleh.That’s not what my tum tum desires. Now, I have to deal with the guilt of willfully choosing a bad option. Alas, the munchies want what the munchies want.”
The ghosts don’t respond. I’m beginning to think they don’t like me. I throw the bird finger over my shoulder at them, wiggling it from side to side to ensure they get a good look.
My spine stiffens reflexively. I bring my hand in front of my face, keeping my fingers in the same position for inspection.
Will you look at that?I used anactualbird gesture. Not a PG one. The one that’s the non-verbal equivalent of theFword.
I sort of love that for me.
“So vulgar,” the ghosts exclaim with disdain.
