3-Zach #2
He lets go of the necklace and crosses his arms, drawing my attention to his glaring goosebumps. His lips part, but he presses his mouth into a thin line.
“Just go,” he says, glancing at the toilet, irritation replacing any prior tenderness.
“What, no.”
“I won’t watch.”
I snort. “I know you’re used to pissing out in the open with strangers, but I’m not.”
Kit leans against the cracked countertop; the chain hooked to his belt loops clanking obnoxiously. I cross my legs and squeeze as hard as I can, praying to Chip, since I don’t say the lord’s name in vain, that I don’t cough.
“Come on, Kevin,” I mutter, knocking on the door.
The hinges rattle, but the latch doesn’t budge.
Kit clears his throat, then splays his gargantuan palm across my stomach before gently ushering me back.
My thin polyester blouse does nothing to prevent heat from sinking into my skin.
I suck in a grating gulp as I step away, forcing more pressure on my bursting bladder.
“I’ll try the lock,” he insists, squeezing his lean frame between me and the door. “Just use the bloody toilet.”
I click my tongue and glare at the back of his stupid head. “Excuse me, who do y—”
“Right, right, how dare I, a man, ask a grown woman to relieve herself maturely before her pride allows her to have a slash on the floor. How ever should you manage?” he mocks in an accent that’s supposed to be mine, I think.
“I’m offended,” I grit out, “that that’s how you hear me.”
He chuckles through his big nose as he twists the rusty rod. “You sound like the adults on Charlie Brown. Wah-wah-wah.”
“You know Peanuts?”
Kit snaps his head around to face me, a half-smirk showing the faintest dip of a dimple on his left cheek. “I’m from London, darling, not Mars.”
I glare at him as I move toward the toilet. He turns back around, raising his hands in surrender. There’s barely any toilet paper left, so I can’t line the rim. Wiggling out of my pants just enough, I brace my hands on the nasty seat and squat. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to go.
“Do you—”
“Shut up,” I snap. “I need quiet.” A low chuckle rumbles from him, sliding down my spine and sending shivers through my limbs. “You’re not helping.”
“Sorry, I—”
“Please, for the love of everything, just shut the fuck up!”
It’s impossible to ignore how exposed I am.
My knees stay glued together so he can’t see anything even if he looks.
Kit sucks the oxygen out of the room with those greedy singer’s lungs.
I think about a time I was desperate to pee and almost didn’t make it, until the steady sound of water hitting water finally fills the silence.
“That’s a good girl,” Kit mutters, the retort dripping cynicism.
I spent the summer after college around Londoners and their special brand of sarcasm. Still, heat crawls up my neck. My body doesn’t care about nuance; it wants to die of embarrassment. It floods me as my stream rebounds in the bowl, but there’s no stopping it now.
A muffled giggle escapes Kit, and he coughs in an attempt to cover it up. I laugh at the juvenility, and before I can stop myself, it catches like fire, spreading through me. Kit’s awkward chuckle mixes with mine because what else can we do?
“I hate you so much right now,” I say as I finish, finally catching my breath. As I’m fixing myself, the skinny rod rattles while someone twists the knob from outside, and the door cracks open.
“Zach?”
“No!” I scream out to Kevin, my hands instinctively covering myself.
“Just a moment,” Kit calls out to the other side as he closes the door to a crack, blocking the frame while his back still carefully faces me, “she’s blowing it up in here.”
I stand up, flush, and walk toward the sink. “Shut up!”
The evilest smirk spreads across his face; like a cheesy villain who’s discovered the master plan to their success.
He grabs the door and pokes his head out, taking in a loud, dramatic breath as he pushes it wide.
A childish chuckle rumbles through the bathroom as he dodges my boot’s attempted assault to his shin.
“Right, mate, you’re good to go.” Kit hands the broken half of the knob to Kevin and slides back into the hall before I can strangle him.
“Really?” Kevin peers after Kit, then back at me, copper-brown eyes wide and assessing. “In the bathroom?”
“Huh?” I ask, gears clicking into place as I turn on the faucet. Shaking my head, I force air into my withered lungs. “Oh, no. No, no, we weren’t. That’s not—”
“Uh huh.” He puts his arms out for a hug as I dry my hands, and I fall into the familiar salt from his mornings spent surfing. “Zach, my girl, so glad to see you again,” he whispers, rubbing his free hand soothingly up and down my back before giving it two pats as he pulls away. “So, you survived.”
“I did,” I say, wiping the excess water from my hands with my jeans. “I see there’s a few new faces.”
“And a few missing,” he notes solemnly as he squats beside the door, retrieving a tiny screwdriver from his back pocket.
“Did George stop chemo treatment?” I ask, gnawing the skin around my index finger.
Kevin slides the broken knob onto the rod and nods. That’s what I’ll get; anonymity and all that.
“Are we going to be seeing you regularly again?” he asks as I tear a hangnail free.
“For a while; then hopefully I’ll be gone for a few months for work. But yeah,” I say confidently, spitting the nail fragment to the floor, “I’ll be back.”
He temporarily tightens the stripped screws and gives the knob a gentle twist on both sides, patting my shoulder as he stands. “Atta girl.”
Kit’s static presence looms outside the bathroom while he waits like a freak.
“Who’s that?” he asks, regarding Kevin as he saunters back toward the meeting.
“Kevin. He’s my sponsor. Or was. Might be again.” I rock on my heels. “I don’t know.” With an encouraging lungful of oxygen, I face the beast. “Look, my life is pretty complicated right now, and this Somnium project’s literally the only good thing I possibly have left.”
Whatever softness the pendant stirred in him is gone, shuttered behind suspicion again. He scoffs, three silver rings glinting in the dim, shitty light as he strokes his chin.
“So, this was a setup.”
It isn’t until we’re in the harsh, glaring hallway that I notice the sunken cheekbones, purple rings, and wrinkles too deep, too burdensome, to belong to someone in their thirties. Kit’s a mess, just like me.
“You know what? Maybe this was a setup; but I had nothing to do with it. No matter the circumstances, you’re here. And you look like shit.” I swallow hard, trying to bite my tongue. For once, I’m not the only disaster in the room. We’re both wrecked and could use a lifeline. “So just…stay.”