7. Something To Eat

There’s nothing better than a good friend.  They are someone who isn’t related to you and has no reason to be there for you.  But, for some reason, they still stick up for you and help you when you need it.  Why do they do it?  Because they’re your friend.  Do other animal species have friends?  Do monkeys look out for each other in the jungle just because they’ve known each other for years?  That’s something I’d like to find out.  Friends are amazing.  But sometimes, they can be a real pain in the ass.

I spilled my guts to Candice.  Not literally, but I told her the whole deal.  I told her I’m flat broke, that Simon was just using me like all of his patients, and for some reason unknown to me, I take comfort in eating my own flesh.  I cried.  She cried.  It was a really touching moment except for the whole being-strapped-to-the-bed-while-most-of-my-body-bled thing.

She stood up and grabbed her purse.  “Where are you going?” I asked, unsure why she hadn’t untied me from the bed.  “I have to take care of something?”  She responded, checking the contents of her bag.  “What?  Can you let me go before you leave?”  I asked.  “Nope,” she said, “There’s something really wrong with you and I’m not gonna let you kill yourself.  I’ll be back in an hour.”  She started to walk out of the room.  I called after her but she ignored me.  I heard the door slam behind her and I immediately looked around the room, trying to figure out how to escape my shackles.  But then I heard the door open and someone coming up the hall.  Candice stepped into the room and tossed my phone at me.  I winced and jerked my head to avoid it hitting me in the face, but it landed beside me.  “If you need help, call someone with your tongue.”  She said before leaving again.  “It’s a touch screen!”  I pleaded.  But she kept walking.  

I sat there for 30 minutes.  I tried pulling my left arm free but it wouldn’t work.  Stupid leather belt.  My right arm didn’t have a bicep anymore, so it was shot.  I stared at my ceiling for awhile and drew constellations in my mind with the popcorn texturing.  I really had to go to the bathroom.  And then the phone rang.

The ring tone and vibration caused it to slowly rotate and slide close to my butt.  I bent my head over doing the weirdest yoga position imaginable.  I just hoped my iPhone would respond to my tongue.  Success!  How about that?  God bless you, Steve Jobs!  Now to turn on “speaker phone.”  Got it!  No wonder people like to make out with me.  “Hello?”  I called out.  Please don’t be a salesman, because I’m about to ask you a really big favor.

“Novella?”  Simon said at the other end of the line.  Jesus Christ.  What the hell was he calling me for?  This was a really horrible situation.  I needed his help but I’d rather see him burned on a stake.  But like I said, I had to go to the bathroom, so I asked, “Simon, I need your help.”  Apparently the speaker phone kinda sucked because he couldn’t hear me and I could hear a banging noise happening behind him.  

“Why didn’t you show up today?” he asked.

Arrghh!  I want out of here so badly but I also want to call him out right now.  “You’re using me!”  I yelled.  

“What?” he asked.  

"I talked to that girl in your waiting room today.  She told me everything.  She told me how your only patients are women and how you do that to sleep with them.  I know everything, asshole.”  

Boo ya!  

“You talked to who?” he asked. 

“The girl in the waiting room today.”

“Was she blond?”

“Yes.”

“That’s Tracy.  She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.  She was lying to you.”

Bull shit.

“She’s been a patient of mine for two years.  Last month she broke every clock she could get her hands on because she thought they were ticking bombs.”

This can’t be true.

“And I can show you my client list.  There’s you, Tracy, and a woman in her 70s.  Other than you three, I have five male patients.  Trust me on this.”

Oh shit.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

I started to cry.  “No . . . .”

“What’s wrong?”

“I need your help . . . I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?  Baby?”

“I just. . . I need help. . . .”

“Hang on sweetie.  Let me call you back in two seconds.  Someone’s been pounding on my door since I called you.”

“No wait . . . .”

“Two seconds.”  He hung up the phone.

I let my end of the phone turn off by itself.  Was he lying to me?  What he said made sense.  More sense than what the girl told me.  I’ve been seeing him every night for two weeks.  When would he see anyone else?  I don’t even know what’s going on anymore.  I won’t be able to hide my arm from him.  What will I tell him? 

Whenever I cry like that I fall asleep.  My upper body looked like Jesus on the cross.  My arms were stretched out, my head hung limp as I slept, and I was spattered in blood.  It must have been awhile because when I woke up, it was dark.  Rooms get so dark when you don’t turn on the lights and the sun goes down.  Mine was pitch black.  And that’s why it was scary when I heard my front door burst open and someone grunting as they came in.  They were dragging something heavy across my floor, down the hallway, and to my bedroom.  It sounded like someone was dragging a carpet or rug, but much heavier. 

My door kicked open and I could only see the silhouette of a woman.  She reached for the light switch and it seemed like she turned on the sun.  My eyes were so adjusted to the dark it felt like I was blinded.  When my vision came back to me, I saw Candice standing there, huffing and puffing with her foot propped up on a rolled up rug like Captain Morgan.  “What are you so proud of?” I asked her.

She kicked the rug and it unrolled slightly.  She kicked it again.  Then again.  And then one more time to finally reveal her prize.  I’ll never forget the way his big, beautiful hand bounced on the floor lifelessly.  There he was...Simon.  He had a bullet hole in his forehead. 

“Now you have something to eat,” she said, still grinning.