Burn Scars by Eddie Generous (best novels for beginners TXT) 📕

that’s part of the ex’s deal, but I saved up a bunch of money, gonna put it back in when Linda starts paying.” Jim started pinching his penis through his shorts. “Am I pissing? I keep thinking I gotta piss, but I can’t feel my skin right.” He said this last bit double high and double quick.

Cary wandered to by the kitchen door and started opening cupboards. They were all painted wood—lime green. The paint was dull and flecking. Every hinge squeaked when they moved, and in the cupboard next to the stove were enough mouse turds to fertilize a garden.

“What you doing—I got the snow from the usual guy, you know Maurice, big Black dude? Real big guy, he’s good for—I got to piss. I got to shit.” Footfalls smacked down the hallway and a door slammed a couple seconds after Jim leapt from the couch. “You ever do really good shit?” Jim shouted through the bathroom door after he’d closed it behind him.

Cary went to the sink cupboard, following Linda’s unspoken suggestion, and found what would have to do the job for him. The green container was old and rust bloomed at the steel seams. Most likely it was under the sink when Jim moved in, sometime after his failed marriage. Hell, it might’ve been from several tenants ago; the packaging suggested decades.

Cary ran from the kitchen into the living room with the container. He picked up the mirror—Jim had begun to sing-shout let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the raaah!—and Cary dumped the fine powder into the coffee table drawer. The mirror returned to its spot and Cary dumped a mountain of Comet a little right of center on the mirror. The crystals looked huge when compared to the fine granules of powder, but that was to a sober eye. Hopefully.

The door swung open and Jim started running. Cary threw the Comet container sidearm. It cracked a window before falling to the floor.

“What you doing?” Jim shouted.

Cary stepped back from the table. “Just, looking. I mean, how do you do that stuff anyway? I never tried anything worse than pot.”

“Goody-goody Cary never did no coke, ha! No way, José!” Jim dropped onto the couch and looked around the table until he found the hollowed Bic pen he’d been using as a straw. He used his pinky to push aside a bump and turned up his face, waggling his eyebrows at Cary like he was saying look what I can do. Bent, pen tube up his nose, opposite nostril pinched, he snorted up half the separated line. He popped to his feet holding his face. “Woo wee! Goddamned! That’s power.”

Cary stood back, blinking. He’d hoped the Comet would incapacitate him, something. But he was lively as hell.

“You smell bleach man?” Jim said as he bent back over the Comet again. He snorted the rest of the clumsy line and jerked back. “Hitting man. Hitting. Hit! Ting!” He stuck a finger into the crystals and rubbed the stuff beneath his lips. He then made a horse-like face, all gums and teeth. The cleaner seemed to sizzle, his gums were instantly red and white, the tissue hues desaturated, and blood really started running from around the teeth. “Man, that’s the shit. You gotta hit this! Turn you into a real boy, Pinocchio.” He was huffing, panting, his entire body rocking with each breath.

Cary sat on the couch next to Jim and said, “Show me again. That looked like a pretty small bit.”

Jim grinned, eyes huge and pink, smile bloody, lips and nose raw. “Yeah, man. Yeah, man! Let the bodies hit the floor! Let the bodies hit the floor!” He headbanged twice before settling in for another round.

Jim bent over the table, aiming, and Cary latched his fingers together. The man offered up a fairly big target and Cary drove his hands into the back of Jim’s head. Cary clenched his teeth a half-second before he drove downward. Blood spilled instantly over the Comet, fizzling pink bubbles, and Jim jerked upright, waving his arms in front of his face, screaming as blood ran down his chin and onto the floor. The pen casing had tapped him like a maple tree. The red patter ran, dripping everywhere.

“Cary!” Jim screeched. “Help me, man!”

“Okay, okay,” Cary said, trying not to panic. “Lie down on the couch and I’ll pull it out.”

“Man. Man. Man.” Jim wasn’t making for the couch. He was just standing there, crossing his eyes and waving his hands near the pen casing sticking a few inches out of his face.

“Jim, lay down!”

Jim nodded then, spraying blood like he was a baby elephant playing a game at the watering hole. “Yeah, man. Yeah” He walked in movie mummy strides, arms reaching for balance, legs wooden.

Cary grabbed him and sat Jim down hard onto the battered couch. He stretched Jim out and told him to close his eyes. The man still waved his arms near his face.

“Grab onto the couch cushions, this’ll hurt,” Cary said.

“Hurts now!” Jim said, spitting blood. His gums were clear down to the roots of his teeth and he’d popped dozens of vessels in his eyes.

Jim did lie back, however, and Cary put his knees on Jim’s shoulders, grabbed the pen and withdrew, bringing it several gooey inches from the man’s sinus. He set it on the table next to the mirror, but didn’t roll off. Jim started shaking and screaming, blood bubbled from his nose and mouth.

“Jim, you’re a darn idiot,” Cary said.

If Jim heard, he did not react to the sentiment.

Cary leaned back over Jim and pinched the man’s nostrils and covered his mouth. Jim started bucking, but Cary rode him, on and on, the minutes passed and Cary pressed his weight into his co-worker’s face, a man he’d known for