Zippered Flesh 2: More Tales of Body Enhancements Gone Bad (30 page)

It meant nothing to him.

In the dark of night he awoke, unable to breathe, his body soaked in sweat, panic crawling all over him.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry

Look at you now
, a voice sneered in his ear and when he turned toward it, Fuckface Freddy was grinning a smile missing most of its teeth, his nose squashed and bleeding, one eye misshapen from when Dean had knocked it loose. His breath smelled like alcohol.
Look at you now, shithead
.

Dean clamped his hands over his eyes, into his hair and pulled, screamed, a long hoarse tortured scream that made lights come on in more houses than his own.

Look at you now
...

“These sessions will only be beneficial to you, Dean, if you open up to me ...”

Look at you now
...

“He starts at Graham High in the fall. Let’s hope he doesn’t fuck that up.”

“Don’t talk like that, Don. He’s still your son.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

Stephanie kissed him, her head making the covers ripple as she worked her way down his stomach. He moaned, filled with confusion and desire. Surely it couldn’t all have been a dream, but if not, then he was thankful at least for the respite, this neutral plain where no harm was done and no one had been hurt.

Not here.

And when he ran his hands through her hair, she raised her face so that he could see the scars. So that he could touch them, remember them. But there were no scars. Only a wide gaping smile from which Greer’s giggle emerged ...

Almost a month later, his parents left him alone for the weekend. They’d asked him to come with them to Rodney’s farm; his uncle was sick, and they claimed getting away from the house for a while might do Dean some good. And Rodney would be just tickled to see his nephew.

Dean refused, in a manner that dissuaded persistence, allowing them no option but to leave him behind, but not without a litany of commands and warnings. Then, on Friday evening, his mother kissed him on the cheek; he wiped it away. His father scowled; Dean ignored it. Then they were gone and the house was filled with quiet, merciful peace.

Until there was a knock on the door.

Dean didn’t answer, but his parents had not locked it and soon Les was standing in the living room, hands by his sides, a horrified expression on his face.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Venting,” Dean said, drawing the blade of his mother’s carving knife across his forearm. He stared in fascination as the cuts, deep and straight, opened but remained bloodless and pink for a few moments before the blood welled.

“Hey ... don’t do that okay?” Les said, his voice shaking as he took a seat opposite Dean. “Please.”

“It helps,” Dean said, wiping the blade clean against the leg of his jeans. Then he returned the knife to an area below the four slashes he’d already made. Blood streaked his arm and Les noticed a spot of dark red was blossoming on the carpet between his legs. Dean had his arm braced across his knees, as if he were attempting to saw a piece of wood. Face set in grim determination, eyes glassy, he slowly drew the blade back, opening another wide pink smile in the skin.

“Jesus, Dean. What are you doing this for?”

“I told you,” Dean said, without looking up from his work, “it helps.”

“Helps what?”

“Helps it escape.”

“I don’t get it.”

“No. You don’t,” Dean said and gritted his teeth as he made another cut.

There were dreams and voices, the words lost beneath the amplified sound of skin tearing.

And when he woke, he knew his arms were not enough.

Summer died and took fall and winter with it, a swirl of sun, rain, snow, and dead leaves that filled the window of the Lovell house like paintings deemed not good enough and replaced to mirror seasons that surely could not move so fast.

A somber mood held court inside. A man and a woman moved, tended to their daily routines, but they were faded and gray, people stepped from ancient photographs to taste the air for a while.

And upstairs, a room stood empty, the door closed, keeping the memories sealed safely within.

Another year passed.

“Two, babe,” the kid said, running a hand over his gel-slicked hair and winking at the pretty girl in the ticket booth. On the screen behind him, garish commercials paraded across the Drive-In screen and the meager gathering of cars began to honk in celebration.

The kid glanced over his shoulder at the screen and looked back when the girl jammed two tickets into his hands. Using her other hand she snatched away his money, offered him a dutiful smile and went back to her magazine.

“Chilly,” scoffed the kid and returned to his car, his shoes crunching on the gravel.

The movie previews began and the honking died. Crickets sawed a song in the field behind the screen.

The moon was high, bathing the lot in a cool blue light.

“One,” said a voice and the girl sighed, looked up at the man standing in front of her and began to punch out the ticket. Her hand froze.

“Hi, Stephanie,” Dean said.

He moved his face into the amber glow and Stephanie barely restrained a grimace.