The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death

because she's being an utter and total rag and I have to have quiet so I can pass fucking developmental psychology which is totally kicking my ass.

I put a hand to my forehead.

– But what the fuck are you doing here}

She picked up her notebook and tapped a pen with a fuzzy purple ball at the end against the lecture outline neatly printed on the open page.

– Chev said it was cool.

– Chev's not the only one who lives here.

She doodled a little kitty face.

– He said if you were a dick I should remind you that he's the only one paying rent right now.

I dropped the book at her feet.

– Fuck you. Have a book.

She picked it up with one hand, scratching her nipple again with the other.

– Cool! Thanks.

I walked to the kitchen, pointing at her chest.

– And don't do that, it'll get infected and your nipple will fall off and the rich, shallow and handsome afterbirth you're destined to marry will reject you and you'll end up a crack whore.

I opened the fridge and looked at the shelves stuffed with groceries; fresh, organic, very healthy groceries.

– What the fuck?

She settled into the couch, opening the Tolstoy in her lap.

– I took some of the money you left this morning and went shopping.

I closed the door and looked at her.

– Chev is going to shit when he sees food in here that didn't come from the Arby's or the In-N-Out.

She flipped pages.

– No he's not. He likes me a lot. He said so.

I took a package of tofu from the fridge.

– He say that before or after you bought this?

She flipped more pages.

– Doesn't matter. He likes me. I can tell.

– He likes to fuck you.

She looked up from the book.

– Well, duh! I'm a great lay.

I put the tofu back in the fridge and looked for something I could actually eat.

– How would you know, you been fucking yourself lately?

– Hey!

I took my head out of the fridge and looked at her.

– What, did I say something to offend?

She shook her head.

– Fuck no. I just wondered, if I get the book, do I also get this?

She held the book up, showing me the sheaf of hundreds hidden in the pages.

I walked over and looked at the money, tucked into the scene where Levin discovers the joys of physical labor.

– My dad put it there.

– Why?

I picked up the cash.

– I don't know. To apologize for being a dick maybe.

She flipped the pages of the book.

– Well if that's how your family apologizes for being a dick, how much do Iget?

I folded the bills and put them in the breast pocket of my shirt.

– You get to stay here and study.

She closed the book, ran fingers over the cloth cover.

– Hey?

– Mmm.

She looked up at me.

– I'm sorry about that thing.

I looked around, trying to find the thing she was talking about.

– What, the tofu?

She shook her head, pointed at the bookshelf.

– No. That thing. The yearbook. I recognized the name of the school, of course, but I didn't, like, know you were there or anything. But Chev told me. I didn't mean to, like, stir shit up.

She put her fingers on the back of my hand.

– That sucked. I remember when it happened and it totally sucked. I cried all night. So. I'm sorry. You know.

I looked at her fingers on my hand.

– Stop touching me, you stupid plastic bitch.

She pulled her hand back.

I pointed at Chev's bedroom.

– Don't get too comfortable around here. Chev is just going to fuck you until he gets bored, and then stop calling you except for maybe once or twice over the next couple months when he's drunk and needs a booty call.

Her lips thinned, she started collecting her books.

I kept talking, walking to the door.

– And you'll tell your friends that's cool, you can use the hookup, but when you call him to get the same action, he won't even bother to answer. He'll see your name on his phone and put it right back in his pocket and say something about how it's some chick I was hooking up with and now she's strung out on the dick.

She shoved the books into a knapsack and stood.

I waved her down.

– No, no, you stay here, make yourself at home, I'm sure Chev will be back soon for a pit stop.

I went out the door, the copy of Anna Karenina hitting it just as I slammed it behind me.

I stood there, thought about going back in and apologizing. Thought about going back in and telling her some lies about how Chev told me she liked to be pissed on. Thought about staying right where I was and never moving again in my life.

But what's the point? Apologies don't make things better. And you can only hurt someone so much before they stop caring what you do to them. And if I stayed where I was, sooner or later the weird cat lady from down the hall would come out and ask me to help her get that mean calico from behind the dryer in the laundry room and I've been clawed enough by that rabid fucking feline.

So I went down the stairs and around the building and cut down the alley that ran east to Highland, taking the shortcut toward the shop, with a few choice words left in my vocabulary to be directed at my best friend.

In the alley, the homeless couple stood outside their tent, sorting recy-clables between the three barrels mounted on their cart.

– Cocksucker.

– Bitch.

– Fucking loser.

– Fucking whore.

Their matching Mohawks bobbing as they dipped in and out of the barrels, coming up with glass and plastic and aluminum.