by Urban, Ami
“That’s just ridiculous,” Lisa said.
I chuckled, but just decided to go with it. Grabbing the queen-sized mattress, I pulled as hard as I could. A pile of junk containing mostly empty bottles of some kind toppled over, crashing to the floor. The two of us froze, waiting to see if the ruckus had interrupted our host.
After two seconds, my last fuck ran out and I started dragging the mattress into the living room where we’d just been. Lisa followed behind, removing the rest of her clothes as we went.
Once the mattress had settled on the floor, she flopped down, spreading her body just for me. This pleased me. Very much.
I made to remove my boxers but stopped to look at her. “Before we begin… Did you properly stretch?”
To my amused surprise, she rolled her eyes.
That rhymed.
“Please, Jack.”
Something about the way she said my name – all husky and breathy – just got my juices flowing. Boiled my rice? Buttered my eggroll? What the fuck ever. It was hot.
I dropped the remainder of my clothes, noting the feeling of having an erection so large it hurt, and nearly dive-bombed the mattress. Lisa’s hands were on me at once, exploring my body while she gave me deep kisses.
When I entered her, the sensation of pleasure gushed over me, causing me to groan out loud. Her body felt like it belonged with mine. Not like property. Like destiny.
But that’s stupid. Ok, hold on. I’ve got this.
She rolled over on top of me and sat up, allowing a fantastic view of her breasts. Grabbing a hold of my hands, she guided them to her body. Then, she rewarded me each time I did something she liked by whispering my name.
My grip on her hips tightened as I felt a climax building in my midsection. A curse escaped me. I wanted to keep going. I could’ve kept going for days.
Lisa slowed down, placing her palms on my chest and leaning forward. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m ready. I want it. Please.”
Holy fucking shit, my dudes. Mark my words, ladies. If your man is taking too long in bed, just say that. That’s all it’ll take.
I practically exploded inside her. Gross, I know. Does it look like I care? Rhetorical question.
But my pleasure only lasted a split second. Because in a quick flash of recognition, Lisa transformed into the half-dead Biter. Her skin melted into the late stages of decay, her breasts drying out and sagging down to her stomach. Teeth tumbled out of her mouth onto my chest. A quick whiff of rotting flesh stung the back of my throat. A gurgling howl rose up from the thing on top of me.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
My fingers dug into its hips. And then it called out my name.
No. It didn’t. Lisa did.
My wife collapsed on top of me as my heart hammered inside my chest, paralyzing my entire body. Lisa’s skin felt hot and slick against mine. My arms tightened around her. Each of my breaths came in hot, jagged rips against my raw esophagus. Convulsive shakes overtook me, but Lisa must’ve thought they were from the pleasure. She hummed her approval, then rolled over onto her back to look at me.
Her expression changed in an instant. “Are you alright?”
I felt her hand on my chest, right over my heart. “Y-yup,” was all I could get out. If I were being truthful, I would’ve screamed. That’s all. Just screamed. All I could see was her as a decayed former version of herself. The image phased in and out at random.
Calm down, you fucking idiot. She’s gonna take away the Oxy.
Oh, fuck. Silas was right.
She sat up. “Are you certain?” That crease appeared between her eyebrows.
I reached out to her, brushing my fingers against her arm. After a long inhale, I finally said, “Okay, you caught me.”
Concern bloomed on her face.
I let out the breath in an overly comical whoosh. “I couldn’t remember which Bond movie George Lazanbee was in.”
Lisa made a sound in the back of her throat while letting out a sigh. “Is that what you think about?”
“You don’t?” I shook my head. “I may never be turned on again.”
“Jack.”
“Lisa.”
“You can’t bullshit a psychologist.”
Fuck. Now she was right.
Her hand moved from my chest to my stomach. “Is it the pain again?”
Oh, shit! That’s right! “Yes!” I said, almost too excited. “Yes.” When I saw the almost hurt look in her eyes, I put my hand on top of hers. I could still feel my heart ramming into my ribs. “But don’t worry, Babe. I didn’t get distracted. Vaginas like yours are one of a kind.”
Her gaze turned upward. “Actually—”
I laughed, interrupting whatever statistic she was going to throw my way. “What I mean is…” I pulled her down to me. “I came. And it was good.”
“Well, thank you.”
Something about the nonchalance of her statement made me chuckle again. “Anytime, Foxtrot. Anytime.”
She sat up, pushing the covers off her lower half, then stood, gathering her clothes. “Be right back.”
“UTI prevention?” I asked.
She smiled, nodded, then told me she loved me before heading toward a bathroom. Sighing, I repeated her words back to her, watching as that perfect ass walked away. The familiar burn of tears threatened to escape my eyes. Sweat still collected on my skin despite the end of our lovemaking. I couldn’t get the image of that Biter on my dick out of my head.
And if I couldn’t fuck, what did I have to offer?
Relax.
“Easier said than done,” I mumbled softly.
Just talk to that gay little surgeon fucker and increase the dose of Oxy.
Huh. Seemed reasonable.
There. See? Everything will be fine. Now go to sleep.
From the desk of Dr. Lisa Reynolds – May 26
I can’t recall exactly what woke me, but I believe it was a door slamming. When my eyes popped open, I was face-to-face with my husband, sound asleep. Exploring a bit more, I realized we were still in Brendon’s house. In the living room. On a random mattress. And as far as I could tell, we were the only two who had spent the night.
Footsteps thudded heavily on the carpeted stairs, causing Jack to stir. Brendon descended to the bottom floor in a threadbare robe, hanging open to reveal nothing but a pair of long boxer shorts and white t-shirt. His eyes were just slits behind black plastic-rimmed glasses. His hair was a mess and there was an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The way he was slouching wasn’t healthy, either.
I cleared the sleep from my throat. “Good morning.”
He grunted a reply, not even stopping on his way to the kitchen.
“My thoughts exactly,” Jack said, his own voice hoarse. After a few moments of banging pots and pans in the kitchen, Jack, visibly annoyed, decided it was time to get up. He seemed a bit wobbly on his feet but helped me up just the same. With warm and gentle hands, he guided me into the kitchen where Brendon had set up an array of various foods.
Jack mounted a barstool at the kitchen island, sliding some of the packages of food his way to read the labels. “Thick cut bacon. Nice.” He slid the package back over the counter. Brendon caught it beneath the palm of his right hand, then began to unwrap it.
“Who wants bacon?” He asked, his tone flat. Both Jack and I expressed interest. He grunted, nodded, then dropped a few pieces into a hot pan before lighting his cigarette. Grease popped up, splattering his forearm. He cursed but didn’t seem too worried about it. I felt it was a fitting punishment for his bad habit.
“Where’s your friend?” I asked, remembering one other person.
All he did was shrug.
“Wagyu beef steak?”
I turned my attention to Jack who was reading another label.
“Steak and eggs.” Brendon didn’t turn around.
“Wagyu steak and eggs?”
“It’s my birthday. I want a fancy breakfast.” He turned around, a pair of silver tongs in his righ
t hand. “It’s my birthday and I want to have a fancy-ass breakfast, bottomless mimosas and a never-ending wake and bake sesh.” He clicked the tongs with each emphasis. “That okay with you?”
Jack cackled. “Light it on up, Dyüd.”
Hmm… Curious. Now Jack was using the word…
Brendon nodded once, then turned back to the stove. I was surprised when Jack stood to help prepare the food. He didn’t seem to have much trouble getting around. I made a mental note to ask about that later.
When the food was spread out on the bar, smelling heavenly, we all partook. Jack sat at one end of the island, I was on his right and Brendon sat at the other end. I noticed a small fidgeting habit he had as his left leg tended to bounce up and down. Before starting in on his meal, he made the sign of the cross over his chest and sang, “Give us this day our daily dose of full affliction.”
The three of us had a wonderful breakfast where the conversation flowed almost as easily as the alcohol the night before. And somehow, we ended up on the topic of the most gruesome patients we’d ever seen.
I regaled them with my first patient while I shadowed a surgeon in Tehachapi. A male patient was presenting to the ER with leg pain. Upon the man removing his trousers, we found that his left leg had turned completely black from the knee down. It had also swelled to three times the size of his other leg. This patient’s dermis and epidermis were consumed by necrotizing fasciitis. Inspecting the leg physically only resulted in a partial degloving of the calf, revealing the dead muscle below. I recall it having the appearance of dark turkey meat. It was fascinating, really. But Brendon and Jack didn’t think so. At least their twisted features told me it wasn’t a good breakfast story.
“I guess they didn’t save the leg…” Brendon’s eyes widened into his coffee mug.
“We did not.” My confirmation elicited an amused chuff from him.
“What’s your craziest patient story Dr. B?” Jack was finishing what was left of his steak and eggs, mixing the two together in a wet pile of protein.
“Hmm…” Brendon finished his cigarette and put a hand to his cheek, his hum dramatically high-pitched. “I’d have to say the guy who walked, yes walked, into the ER at ten a.m. on a Wednesday morning with two feet of rebar sticking out of his chest.”
Jack’s question was, “how?” while mine was related to the man’s vitals at the time of presentation. Brendon addressed Jack’s instead of mine.
“Okay,” he leaned forward on his barstool, “the guy says to the nurse, ‘I fell.’ And we’re like, ‘Yeah, right, Dyüd.’ We can’t see him until he gives us a real answer, and he’s getting short of breath. So, I basically tell this guy that I promise whatever info he gives us is confidential, ya know?” Brendon paused his story to chuckle to myself. He bounced his leg. “So finally, this guy ends up telling us he was in a high-speed police chase and had crashed his beater on the way to his girlfriend’s place. When I asked him what he did, he said he got caught pissing on a playground. Guy figured it was a free country, so why not? Can you believe that?” He laughed.
Jack sighed. “Ain’t it funny how the colors red, white and blue represent freedom until they’re flashing behind your car.” They both laughed out loud. I smiled. “I once had a therapist tell me that a great way to let go of your anger is to write letters to people you hate and then burn them,” he continued.
“It is,” I said. “It’s actually one I mention to a lot of patients with PTSD from abuse.”
Jack nodded. “Well, I did that, and I felt so much better but I’m wondering...” He paused for an abnormal amount of time. Brendon and I leaned in. “Do I keep the letters?”
Brendon slapped a hand on the counter. Thankfully, he hadn’t been drinking or eating at the time. “I’d say burn those, too. It’s totally normal for someone your age to have anger!”
I knew it was a tease, it just felt a little mean. But Jack didn’t miss a beat.
“I always feel better when people tell me something is normal for my age. But then I think dying will also be normal for my age at some point.”
At that moment, Brendon put his elbows on the counter and leaned forward, a smile dancing on his lips. “Aw, I didn’t mean to give you an existential crisis! You have the body of a twenty-year-old!”
Jack chuckled. “Yeah, but I should return it. I’m stretching it completely out of shape."
Brendon let out a kind of honking laugh as he popped the last piece of bacon into his mouth and stood with his empty plate. “You so funny, guy!”
“Get your weed and we can get even funnier.”
“I think that’s my cue to head to the hospital.” I stood, smoothing the wrinkles in my shirt. When Jack looked at me, his features softened. His eyebrows seemed to melt downward.
“Miss you already.” The words were sweet and sincere.
“Aww!” Brendon put on a silly, throaty voice.
I smiled. “I should be home around midnight. I love you.”
We kissed each other. “Love you, too.”
May 26 – Jack Reynolds
“What are we playing?” The cannabis smoke left my lungs in clouds with each word. Brendon was crouched next to an enormous entertainment center. He’d been fiddling with wires for what seemed like hours. I’d already gotten halfway through my joint before he presented me with a PlayStation controller.
“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Some skateboarding thing. Tony Hawk? I have no idea.” He flopped down on the sofa next to me. “I just like triggering the crazy-ass glitches.”
“Fair enough.”
We sat in silence for a few moments. Brendon took a sip of coffee before a drag of his own. The game started, and for a while we goaded each other into doing impossible tricks with the skateboards. We’d take a hit when the other wiped out. And we’d cackle like frat bros whenever one of the players glitched halfway into the ground or a dumpster became sentient enough to eat another until only legs were sticking out of the top.
The character I was playing took a trick too far and landed on the concrete, rolling over and over until he skidded to a stop and a screen told me to start over. “Fucking hell.”
Brendon laughed. “Let go of L2 well before you land, Dood.”
“Oh. Got it.”
“Learn this shit, man. You’ll be a hero to your kids in no time.” His tone sounded somber.
“I like the hands-off approach with my kids,” I said.
“What?”
“You know.” I looked at him. “They know to keep their hands off my shit.”
He tossed his head back in another cackle. “I’m sure they won’t resent you for that at all.”
I smiled. “Nah. I love them. They’re just about the coolest kids.”
Brendon’s character jumped while grinding and landed perfectly on an adjacent rail. “Feck yeah, mother-fecker!”
“Who’s Amy?” The question came out of nowhere and I felt a little weird for bringing it up, but curiosity got the best of me.
He was quiet for a moment. “You went through her stuff in the closet, didn’t you?”
I shrugged. “Sorry.”
“No.” He put his controller down. “It’s okay. I knew it was only a matter of time before someone asked me.”
I waited a moment for him to continue, but he was silent for quite some time. I almost regretted asking. Putting him in a tough spot was the last thing I wanted to do. And God forbid the kid cry on me. I couldn’t handle that shit.
“I’m not really a surgeon.”
Well, that seemed irrelevant. “Don’t tell Lisa.”
He smiled wanly. “Noted.” After another long pause, he continued. “Amy was a surgeon. She was also my wife.”
My eyes widened. I figured he’d been dating someone named Amy, but not that he’d been married. He didn’t seem the type. I said as much.
“Yeah, I get that a lot. But she was something special, Dood.” He seemed to be recalling a long-ago memory. “She was beautiful, smart and fecking f
unny as hell. She’s the one who taught me the Ghetto Medicine dictionary.”
I nodded, urging him to continue as the Try Again screen music faded into the background.
I’m fuckin’ bored! Feed me more drugs!
“She got bit at the hospital while she was working. Left wrist and right calf. I didn’t even see it happen. She came home covered in blood. I was so fecking scared. But she promised me she’d be okay. I always believed her, you know?
“Anyway, she reassured me that she’d cleaned the wound properly, but she started getting symptoms of blood poisoning. The infection was spreading even though she’d done everything right.”
“Man, I’m sorry,” I said, shoving a hand through my hair. “It’s never easy watching someone turn.”
He shook his head so vigorously that a lock of his dark hair fell over his forehead. “That never happened. She was convinced she could walk me through an amputation. I spent hours pouring over her anatomy books. Those images are just burned into my brain now.”
We were quiet, but my head wasn’t.
Come on, bitch! Ask about the Oxy!
Fuck you. I’m not in pain right now. You don’t own me.
“She actually did a really good job of walking me through it. She was super detailed. It made me admire her even more. She was so strong the whole time. Awake too. During the whole thing. I took her leg off just below the knee and her wrist about halfway up the forearm. And for a while, it seemed she’d be okay.
“But then all the surgical sites got infected. And it looked similar to the rabies infection, so we basically had to take more of her leg and more of her arm. You…” He stopped, his eyes seeming to well up with tears. I silently begged him not to cry. Somehow, he held back. “You can only…amputate so much.”
Oh, Jesus. He’d amputated his wife to death? That was just fucking gruesome.
“I can’t tell you how excited I was when I met Lisa,” he continued.
I tossed him a quizzical look. “Say what?”
“Oh.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “No, I mean because of what she did with Gregg. I was so fucking impressed by her work when I saw it. Like, if only she were around when Amy was sick. She might still be here.”
