by Peter Styles
Good, I thought, watching them cast sad, worried looks at each other as they departed for some event that I had refused to go to. At least I’m not the only miserable one.
The captain, if he was worried, didn’t show it. He treated me the same as he always had. I still worked well; I may have worked even better with my newfound indifference to death. He talked to me once about counseling, telling me that one of the other guys had expressed concern for me, but I shrugged it off, and he never brought it up again. He dropped the investigation into the fire at my house, saying that a power surge must have occurred when the power was turned back on. No one really questioned it.
As for Nicky, he was reported as missing to the police, but none of them seemed to take much of an interest. After all, Nicky was a small-time drug hustler and known ne’er-do-well; they weren’t going to “waste” their precious resources looking for someone like that. Even if they had, I doubted that they would have had much success. Nicky had been off the world’s radar for nearly his entire life. The only person who cared about him was a lonely, depressed firefighter who barked at new recruits and walked the streets late at night when he couldn’t sleep. No one was going to care.
I was alone in my grief for Nicky.
Which was probably why no one else at the firehouse noticed a ramshackle old car parked outside.
I sat and watched it through the window of the bedroom. I had come back from a call and found it empty, but something about it felt off. Maybe it was that all the paint had flaked off the top, but it was parked in a nice neighborhood. Maybe it was the fact that the parallel parking was just crooked enough to be abnormal. Hell, maybe it was the fact that there were giant, pink, fuzzy dice hanging on the rear-view mirror. But something about it caught my eye.
Remy walked in after his shower and sighed. “Dude, it’s just a shitty Toyota. Get over it. You’re obsessing.”
“It’s not obsessing,” I told him, “if something comes of it. It’s only obsessing if I’m wrong.”
“What is it if you’re right?”
“Being perceptive.”
He snorted. “Fair enough.” He tossed himself down on his bunk. I didn’t look, but I could still feel him watching me. “So if it turns out that you’re right, are you going to hold it over me?”
“Probably.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
I shrugged. “I guess I don’t really care if I’m wrong.”
“And that doesn’t worry you.” It was phrased as a statement, but I could hear the worry in it that turned it into a question.
“Nope,” I said. There was some kind of perverse pleasure that I took from making Remy uncomfortable. I had to be uncomfortable all the time after Nicky left; why should he get to feel differently?
Remy, though, didn’t go for the bait. He just let out a little huff, laid back on his bunk, stuffed his headphones into his ears, and turned on what sounded like too-loud reggae on his iPod.
Ah, well. I’m sure I’ll get to mess with him plenty some other time.
Guys filtered in and out, but I didn’t move from where I sat, and my eyes never left the car. I heard anxious muttering from behind me every so often, but I didn’t tune in long enough to hear. I didn’t care what they were saying; I was sure it was something about me being crazy, but I didn’t mind them thinking that. They were probably right.
At least, that’s what I thought until I saw a figure with a very familiar, loping walk come down the sidewalk, holding a bag of fast food and pulling his hood down low over his face. He was layered in a hoodie and a coat to try to combat the mid-autumn chill, but I could still see how thin he was. His tight jeans revealed long, slender legs and left virtually nothing to the imagination. Everything he wore was black, and I noticed, as he reached the car and fumbled around in his pocket for his keys, the multiple wristbands and straps he wore on his slender wrist.
I jumped off of my cot with a startled scream. The rest of the guys muttered a few complaints, but I didn’t pay attention. Instead, I ran for the door.
“Whoa, whoa!” I felt someone grab me by the shoulder. I whipped around to see Louis, looking alarmed. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
“I need to leave,” I said. I could hear the firehouse’s claxons going off in my head, sending adrenaline and fire pumping through my veins, but I knew this wasn’t a disaster. It was the opposite; it might be the only opportunity I could find to make anything feel right again.
“No way, dude.” Louis’s grip tightened on my shoulder. His glared at me. “I’m not going to let you just go running off into the sunset all by yourself.”
I almost laughed. “And why not?”
“Because, man, you have a job to do!” he snapped. “We’re all here, and we’re all working and putting in the time and the effort! It’s been three months, dude.”
“Louis—” Remy said, but Louis didn’t listen. He just talked over him.
“Listen to me, Chen,” Louis said seriously, shaking me a little. “You need to get over this. So your boyfriend lied and left you. Big deal. It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to a person. You can’t just go all walking dead on us and expect us all to pick up the slack while you fucking find yourself or whatever. You have a job, and you knew what you were getting into when you signed up for it.”
I blinked. “Louis,” I said, my voice calm, “you should let go of me.”
“No way in hell.”
“It’s not a suggestion. And it’s sure as hell not a request. You should really, really consider letting go of me.”
His hand stayed firmly on my shoulder.
I sighed. “Fine,” I said. “Fine.”
He smiled, ready to revel in his victory.
He didn’t get a chance. Instead, he got my fist planted square in the center of his face.
He let out a shriek of pain that didn’t manage to drown out the crack of his nose breaking. He dropped to his knees at my feet, his hands clutching at his face as blood dripped through his fingers down to the floor.
I shrugged. “I’m sorry, man,” I said earnestly. “I told you to let go of me.”
He spluttered, staring up at me. “You—you—you fucking dick!” he snarled.
“Fair enough.” I called over my shoulder. “I’m going out. If the captain gets pissed about it, tell him he can suck my dick.”
And with that, I ran past Louis and out to the pole.
I wasn’t exactly proud of what I’d done, but I couldn’t pretend I was ashamed. A smile actually spread over my face when I saw Louis’s stunned expression again in my mind.
I knew I could easily have overpowered him without having to break his nose. I was one of the biggest guys in the department; it wasn’t hard for me to take down an asshole like Louis who stood at least five inches shorter than me. But that hadn’t been the point. I hadn’t just wanted to subdue him.
It had been what he’d said. It had been the way that he stood there defiantly, ignorantly, ranting at me about how my pain didn’t matter as much as the department did, telling me to get over something that simply couldn’t be overcome. It was the way he’d assumed that I wasn’t trying hard enough, that my lack of ability to handle what was happening in my life made me a worse person. It was so easy for him to stand there and say that I should just suck it up for everyone else when he wasn’t living my life and feeling what I was feeling. Of course he was going to tell me to put the department ahead of myself. He didn’t care if I drowned, as long as I did it silently and without bothering anyone else. The way he talked to me disgusted me so viscerally that I couldn’t even feel the pain in my fist when his nose fractured under it.
He sounded so much like my own thoughts, the ones I’d had when Nicky had days where he was too depressed to get out of bed, or when he couldn’t think of any way to fix things other than people pleasing, or when he came home with an application for a job that never got filled out. He sounded like the words I’d hurled at Nicky before he’d
locked himself in the basement.
It made me hate him, and it made me hate myself even more than I already did.
I made it down the pole and out of the front door in record time. I stopped on the sidewalk and stared across the street at the rusting Toyota. Nicky sat in the driver’s seat, his hood pulled back, scarfing down a burger.
I meant to sneak up on him, but instead I yelled his name as loudly as I could. It was a cry of jubilation, a release of pain, and a plea for help.
His eyes widened and he turned to stare at me. He met my eyes and froze. So did I.
It felt like an eternity, the two of us locked together like that. But it couldn’t have been long. Our eye contact was broken by a car driving innocently between us, and he recovered first. Nicky twisted the key in the ignition and the car roared to life, taking off like a shot and speeding down the street.
“NO!” I yelled in frustration. “NO! Fuck!”
I turned back to the station and ran inside, looking for something I could use. I had to find him. I had to catch up with him, figure out what had happened, and get him back.
My eyes settled on the truck.
Technically, I reasoned, there were two trucks. The chances of the crew being called out to two fires at three in the afternoon on a Wednesday were low.
Low enough, at least, for me to not feel too guilty about what I did next.
“Hey!” I grabbed a rookie who was sitting in the cabin of the truck, clearing off the dashboard. I shook him. “Keys! Give me the keys!”
“W-What?” He stared down at me with wide eyes.
“Keys!” I barked again. “I need the keys to this truck!”
“I—but—Why?” he asked, bewildered.
“I don’t have time for this, just hand them over!”
He continued to stare.
“KEYS!” I bellowed, and he jumped so hard he hit his head on the roof of the cabin. “PLEASE JUST GIVE ME THE GODDAMN KEYS!”
“Okay!” he stammered, and he tossed them to me. “Okay, just calm down, man!”
I didn’t listen. Instead, I picked him up out of his seat and half-tossed him to the ground. I shouted a half-hearted “thank you” over my shoulder as I jammed the keys into the ignition, turned on the siren, and went screaming down the street.
As I expected, every car on the street stopped for me—save one. The crappy Toyota roared on, wheezing with every push and going far over the speed limit. Though I’d never once envied them, I was jealous of cops at that moment. I couldn’t pull Nicky over and arrest him. I would just have to make sure that I didn’t get arrested before he gave up.
I followed him for a while; we were out of the city within what felt like minutes. We’d strayed, somehow, into the country. Nicky had taken a few winding paths, trying to shake me off, but I’d stayed on his tail.
He clearly hadn’t been prepared for a chase, though. On a two-lane dirt road, his car started to sputter and jerk. The truck was still going strong, as it had to; its gas tank was always filled to the brim, and it was kept in perfect working condition. The nature of the job dictated it. An average civilian’s car may have a few advantages when it came to speed and maneuvering, but they couldn’t outlast a fire truck.
And the Toyota was certainly no exception.
It came to a gradual halt, dying with a harsh rattle. I switched off the siren and could hear Nicky swearing from his place in the driver’s seat.
I jumped out of the cab, and Nicky got out of his car, shamefaced and staring at the ground.
We stood there for a few moments, divided by distance and fear, and I took him in. His appearance hadn’t changed at all; for some reason, I thought that three months would have brought massive changes with it. It seemed like a lifetime since we’d seen each other.
But no. Instead, he stood in an unfamiliar outfit, but everything else was just as it had been when he disappeared.
I walked up to him. He kept staring at the ground.
And I punched him in the shoulder.
It was a pretty gentle hit, meant to surprise him more than anything, and it worked. He rocked back and his hand flew to his shoulder. “What the fuck, Tim?!” he snapped, furious. “You can’t just—”
I didn’t let him finish. I drew him into my arms and held on as tight as I could.
He struggled against me for a second, apparently still trying to object, but the fight wasn’t in him. I heard him mumble, “Oh, screw it,” and his thin arms wrapped around me, holding onto me so hard it actually hurt.
It felt good. It felt real.
I only released him when a passing truck honked at us, breaking me out of my stupor. He blinked up at me, and I was sure that I was just gaping stupidly at him in astonishment. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I guess we should talk,” he said, embarrassed.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I guess we should.”
Chapter Nine
I returned the truck to the station, but I didn’t manage to make it there before the captain had realized what happened. I considered coming up with an elaborate lie to explain why I’d rolled back into the station with my boyfriend in tow, but I didn’t. I didn’t have the energy, and I definitely didn’t have the desire. Now that Nicky was back, everything else seemed a thousand times less important than it had before.
I was, unsurprisingly and summarily, fired by my apoplectic captain. I saw Nicky’s face fall and his mouth open to argue, but I held up a hand to stop him. I knew my captain was angry, but his words were almost impossible to distinguish through the sheer volume. I let my eyes glaze over around the ten-minute mark and allowed him to shout himself hoarse.
After that, he was ever so slightly more open to conversation. “You can come back and get your things tomorrow,” he told me shortly, panting from the effort of yelling so loudly for so long.
“Are you going to call the police?” I asked.
He thought for a moment. “No,” he decided. “You’ve been a good worker up until today. I don’t want you to get thrown in prison when you could be out doing good in the world. If you need a reference for another job, I’d be happy to give one. I just can’t excuse something like this.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” I said gratefully. I didn’t add that I was shocked he hadn’t had me arrested. I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
We left and I drove Nicky to a nearby café. I ordered us a couple of coffees and sat down across from him. “I’m sorry,” Nicky said almost immediately, a pained expression on his face. “I can’t believe you got fired.”
“I can,” I said. “I carjacked someone. I literally committed grand theft auto. I’m just glad I’m not going to prison.” I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “I also punched Louis in the face.”
“What?!”
“Yeah. Hopefully that won’t come back to bite me.” I took a sip of my coffee and watched as Louis dumped several packets of creamer and sugar into his. “I’ve been able to save up a lot since Remy hasn’t been making me pay rent, but I don’t think I could afford a court battle or anything.”
“Oh.” Nicky’s tone stiffened. “You and Remy are…?”
“Just living together,” I said. I couldn’t help but smile. “You really think I’d ever hook up with that idiot?”
He shrugged. His expression was miserable. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’d blame you if you had.”
I shook my head. “Well, I haven’t.” I cleared my throat; even after everything that had happened, I still didn’t want to make Nicky feel guilty, but I’d learned my lesson about keeping my feelings quiet. “All I’ve been doing for the past few months is waiting for you.”
His eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“But… why?” he asked, bewildered. “I completely screwed up. I messed up our bank account and blew up our house. I started a fucking meth lab. Why would you want me back?”
“Have you forgotten the part about me loving you and wanting to supp
ort you no matter what?” I asked. “None of that was fake. It wasn’t conditional. It wasn’t until you start a meth lab.” I paused. “Although, I do have to ask—what the hell were you thinking?”
He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and poured another packet of sugar into his coffee. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I knew how bad things were, money-wise. I could see how stressed you were getting poring over the bills day and night. And I felt bad that I couldn’t help more.”
“So you went straight to meth?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do. Harris just up and left, and I was running out of product. I knew pot wasn’t going to be much of a moneymaker anyway. I was having trouble finding buyers.”
“It still feels a little extreme to decide to build a meth lab,” I argued. “What about your studio?”
He let out a sad little laugh. “I sold it,” he said. “Every last piece. I got rid of all of my equipment. It wasn’t making us any money, and I didn’t think I could find anyone to hire a guy with a middle school education. I had been pretty good at selling drugs when people still wanted them, so I figured I might as well try upping my game and selling something people really wanted. Hence, meth.”
“Hence, meth,” I repeated. “Jesus, Nicky. I love you to death, but that was an absolutely insane thing to do. How did you even figure out how to do it?”
“Online tutorials,” he explained. “You can learn anything online. I looked through some of your old chemistry books from college, but they weren’t a lot of help. Honestly, most of it came from Breaking Bad.”
I had to force myself not to laugh. “Sorry. Breaking Bad convinced you to make meth?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking nonplussed. “Why is that so weird? It works out great for them.”
“What are you talking about? Walter White dies!”
Nicky’s jaw dropped. “He dies?!”
“Yes!” I let out a stunned laugh. “What did you think happened?”
“I don’t know! I thought he got away with it. You know, like the woman in Weeds.”
