Soft Apocalypses Read Free Page A

enough for pepperoncinis.
    I head to the bathroom to wash my face, but when I push open the door—
    –I find myself in Dr. Shapiro’s office. She’s staring down at an MRI scan of somebody’s chest. The monochrome bones look strange, distorted.
    “There’s definitely a mass behind your ribs and spine. It’s growing fast, but I can’t definitely say it’s cancer.”
    I’m dizzy with terror. How did I get here? What mass? How long have I had a mass?
    “What should we do?” I stammer.
    She looks up at me with eyes as solidly black as Betty’s. “I think we should wait and see.”
    I back away, turn, push through her office door—
    –and I’m back in a rented room. But not the downtown dive with the dusty chandelier. It’s a suburban motel someplace. Have I been here before?
    The green tarp on the king-sized bed is covered in blood and bits of skull. There’s a body wrapped in black trash bags, stuffed between the bed and the writing desk. Did I do that? What have I done?
    Oh, God, please make this stop . I have to lean against the wall to keep myself from tumbling backward.
    Betty comes out of the bathroom, dressed in a spattered silk negligee. I think it used to be white. There’s gore in her wig. Her eyes go wide.
    “I told you not to come here!” She grabs me by my arm, surprising me with her strength. In the distance, I can hear sirens. “They’ll be here any minute—get away from here, fast as you can!”
    She presses a set of rental car keys into my palm, hauls me to the door and pushes me out into the hallway—
    –and I’m stepping into the elevator at work.
    Handsome blond Devin is in there. A look of surprised fear crosses his face, and I know the very sight of me repels him. His hand goes to his jeans pocket. I see the outline of something that’s probably a canister of pepper spray. It’s too small to be a Taser.
    But then he pauses, smiles at me. “Hey, you going up to that training class?”
    I nod mechanically, and try to say “Sure,” but my lungs spasm and suddenly I’m doubled over, coughing into my hands. When did simply breathing start hurting this much?
    “You okay?” Devin asks.
    I try to nod, but there’s bright blood on my palms. A long-forgotten Bible verse surfaces in the swamp of my memory: Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer thee? I will lay mine hand upon my mouth.
    I look up and see my reflection in the chromed elevator walls—my face is gaunt, but my body is grotesquely swollen. I’ve turned into some kind of hunchback. How long have I had the mass?
    Instead of the pepper spray, Devin’s pulled his cell phone out. I can smell his mind. He’s torn between wanting to run away and wanting to help. “Should I call someone? Should I call 911?”
    The elevator is filled with the scent of him. Despite my pain and sickness, the Want returns with a vengeance. Adrenaline rises along with my blood pressure. My tongue is twitching, and something in my back, too. I can feel it tearing my ribs away from my spine. It hurts more than I can remember anything ever hurting. Maybe childbirth would be like this.
    Betty. I need Betty. How long has it been since I’ve seen her? Oh God.
    “Call 911,” I try to say, but I can’t take a breath, can’t speak around the tongue writhing backward down my throat.
    “What can I do?” Devin touches my shoulder.
    And the feel of his hand against my bony flesh is far too much for me to bear.
    I rise up under him, grab him by the sides of his head, kissing him. My tongue goes straight down his throat, choking him. He hits me, trying to shake me off, but as strong as he is, my Want is stronger.
    When he’s unconscious, I let him fall and hit the emergency stop button. The Want has me wrapped tightly in its ardor, burning away all my human qualms. The alarm is an annoyance, and I know I don’t have as much time as I want. Still. As I lift his left eyelid, I take a moment to admire his perfect bluebonnet-iris.
    And then I plunge my