Fix by J. Mann (highly illogical behavior .TXT) 📕

on it. A look that says, I win, always, because all I need to do is just sit here. And you lose.

“Problem?” I ask. Trying to hold on. Trying not to fall into her trap. But it’s too hot inside me, a burning pressure expanding, shoving at my casings, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from screeching.

“Forget it, Eve.”

Forget it?

Forget it just means fuck you. It means this is your shit, not mine, thank god, and I can just leave you like this, all balled up and pissier than pissed sitting in your own piss.

That is what it means.

Forget it.

And I don’t fucking forget it. I hold it inside and let it twist itself into knot after knot after knot, filling my belly, smashing my heart against my sternum, forcing itself up my throat and into my skull, until it threatens to explode out the top of my head. But it doesn’t. I won’t let it out. I won’t let her have this one.

She slaps the orange plastic bottle on the table next to me.

I don’t dare touch that bottle. Instead, I close my eyes, and despite the raging storm whipping through me, I say it, calmly, quietly.

“Make her disappear.”

I sit, frozen,

clutching at the round, smooth plastic

of my Roxy bottle. Knowing

I’ve been here before.

The Real One

You wore the fedora.

I wore the visor when,

two hours later, wandering

under the bright lights of the mall,

I finally let it fall

from my mouth.

“I’m having the surgery.”

I remember the

single word that slipped

from yours.

“What?”

Not a happy and excited

WHAT?

But something much smaller,

tighter.

I looked away to give you time—

instantly feeling your anger at this.

Me,

giving you

time.

Me,

knowing you needed it.

Knowing you needed something.

“Two weeks from now,”

I whispered,

watching you

out of the corner of my eye while you

tried to breathe,

tried to respond.

All you managed was a

lick of your lips.

It started then. My babbling.

Anything to cut through

the terrible silence.

Blood draws

MRIs

pulmonary function tests

out of school

for the rest of January and February

and maybe March

better junior year because

college apps

you know

and just think

Thomas the saint will have to do

all the work for

School Within a Freakin’ School, you’re so lucky, Lid,

to be partnered with Ayanna Bilkowski

that chick works harder than a Navy SEAL

maybe harder—

“You’re having the surgery?”

you asked,

sounding

more like I needed you

to sound. Like I

wished you’d

wanted to sound.

“January fourteenth,” I said,

forcing my mouth

into the shape

of a smile, and struggling

to hold it there.

Then… finally

you threw your arms

around me

and I hoped more than anything

you couldn’t feel me panting.

“Good for you, Eve,” you said,

your voice vibrating off the plastic shell

of my brace. “You’re going to be straight, and

I’m going to have two hands.”

You said it like we were going someplace.

But not the same place.

Need

WHEN I WAKE UP, IT’S DARK. I’M STILL ON THE COUCH. Still holding my Roxy. It takes less than a second for the fight with Lidia to flood my memory.

I turn my face toward the window. Close my eyes. Try to breathe slower. Try to return to wherever I was—that quiet, soft place of unconsciousness. But I’ve crossed some sort of awareness line and it won’t let me back in.

I open my eyes. The light coming in from the bay window illuminates the living room. The streetlight throws a stretched-out square across the living room rug and onto the dining room table, where a stack of books and papers sits.

Schoolwork.

In my mind’s eye I see Thomas Aquinas standing in my living room, wearing his T-shirt from Minnesota. I see him opening up his jacket, showing me the words Gophers Hockey. And before I can stop myself, excitement crackles across my chest as I remember how nicely those letters stretched across his.

Then I remember another boy. This one in a black fedora, and I pluck out a pill, stick it in my mouth—swallowing it with a sip from the nearest glass of water. It’s warm. And I can taste the dust floating on the top of it. I have no idea how long it’s been sitting there.

I settle back to concentrate on the Roxy’s effect, absently reaching my fingers into the orange bottle to count my pills. Then I cap it and close my eyes while the dwindling number settles heavily at the bottom of my stomach.

The blanket is twisted around my legs.

And it’s hot.

If only the window were open. I ache for fresh air. I close my eyes and imagine it.

“As you wish,” he whispers.

Cold air slides across my face. My god it feels good.

“So did I just wipe out a few lakes in return for my breeze?” I ask.

“You’ve visited Minnesota’s wiki page,” he says.

“‘The land of ten thousand lakes.’” I recite Minnesota’s nickname, sucking in a huge breath of state-destroying air, drawing it in long and slow. It tastes cold and delicious—yet by the time I’m releasing that very same breath, I see her on the chair, her eyes on my Roxy.

“Take me back,” I whisper, meaning exactly that. Back. To being twisted and bent and hunched and me. Me. How could I have wanted to be anything but what I was? Now I am… this. And I don’t know what this is. It’s like Sowah straightened my spine but left everything else crooked.

“I can stop the pain,” he says.

“Yes,” I beg him. “Please.”

“She didn’t need the hand, Eve.”

My telescope. It’s scary how he understands me.

“Do I need you?” I ask.

He laughs. The sound tingles across my scalp.

But then I see her face… the disapproving look.

I pull out my phone. And text.

Lidia

And then wait, staring at the screen, staring at all the bubbles filled with her name. Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia Lidia

There is never an answer. She is never going to answer.

“Eve,” he says quietly, kindly. “You can stop the pain.”

He’s right. I can.

I dig out another pill. This time, I don’t give a shit how many