{"id":2384,"date":"2023-08-04T15:37:39","date_gmt":"2023-08-04T15:37:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/?p=2384"},"modified":"2023-08-23T21:39:01","modified_gmt":"2023-08-23T21:39:01","slug":"cunt-toward-enemy-4","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/cunt-toward-enemy-4\/","title":{"rendered":"Cunt Toward Enemy[4] The Birthday Effect"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Lazur sits at the booth, the restaurant dim as always, black interior, cold morning light through half-drawn curtains. He wears blue jeans and a green field jacket and worn-out combat boots, black stripping to gray.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The only reason he knows about this place is because as a child he was taken in search of what was supposedly his dad\u2019s favorite restaurant. They drove for hours looking for it as his dad explained the virtues of this particular location, hinting that it would reunite them with something that had been taken from them, imparted by proximity to an authentic mode of production, something honest and true pertaining to manhood and culture. Lazur still isn\u2019t sure if this is the restaurant, or another restaurant his dad settled on in lieu of the perfect, still-undiscovered ideal, in whose absence their masculine trajectories have suffered. When they ate here, his dad seemed vaguely subdued, which his child-self didn\u2019t think much of, but decades later he tried to decode the cloud of adult emotion in retrospect. Perhaps it was the restaurant, but it wasn\u2019t as good as his dad remembered. Perhaps it would have been better never to find it at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s been awhile, but no one has come for his order. He sees a few other people eating, served before he arrived. An old man looks around, waiting for service, and Lazur gets the tripped-out notion that his dad never left, and has been aging here the whole time. But his dad has come apart in his memory, and looking at photos doesn\u2019t help.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It might just be staffing issues. But there\u2019s a pressure in the back of his head. He knows when time is missing, when a countdown has begun. It takes place in that empty space, that deceptive silence, the time people refuse to give a name, the time they waste.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He goes to the back, lays his hand against a door, then pushes. The hum of the street and the murmur of diners disappears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The room is dark, the lights are off, but something glows from the floor. He thinks of a hologram. The floor is broken like a pipe leaking phosphorescent gas. It has familiarity, like looking at a waterfall, a phenomena of pure motion cheated by a lens to a static image. Chunks of concrete are suspended in the air as if from invisible wires. The still image is optically unstable, as if projected by a light source or the wires are vibrating. The light is a gradient of fire colors, separated starkly into whites and warms, debris jeweled with chromatic aberration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In front of the spectacle, a tiny table is set with food.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur reaches under his jacket just as Rubicon rolls into view. Dark segments split the ruin of his flesh into hemispheres, as if a Fordite figurine had facets of black diamond. The light is harsh and eerie, making it difficult to parse the material.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMiss me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur\u2019s hand trembles inside his jacket, the grip of his gun squeezed choking tight. He can\u2019t trust himself to draw. \u201cWhat is it this time? The trolley problem except this time the trolley is going to roll over my dick? Is that, that your brilliant plan, the latest plan from the mind of the incredible genius?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon flinches, then something like a smile pulses in the quasi-clitoral migration of his melted lips across his cheek. \u201cWhat do you think it is?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur stares into the oozing conflagration. A swelling cloud of heat and shock and rubble and he\u2019s seen it before, in a fraction of a second. \u201cA bomb.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA slow bomb.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow slow?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe blast escapes in twenty minutes.\u201d Rubicon follows his gaze into the suspended explosion. \u201cIsn\u2019t it beautiful? The world breaking slow, superheated, stochastic\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEat with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEat with me and I\u2019ll give everyone the chance to leave. Does that satisfy your twisted sense of morality? You freak?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He parses what Rubicon is wearing now. A tight little black dress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon says, \u201cIt\u2019s covered by their insurance. This restaurant has been struggling for years. Your conscience is clean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSomeone will notice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe bomb is surrounded by a weaker version of the field. We\u2019re technically in the shockwave. Can you feel the tension? That whisper? This entire dinner will take twenty seconds.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur allows disdain to arm his voice. \u201cYou need someone to talk to that bad?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It must take a deliberate effort and tilt of the head for Rubicon to keep saliva from dripping from his mangled mouth, that busted dam of teeth and lip, because he\u2019s gushing, eyes furious. \u201cNeed? I don\u2019t need anyone.\u201d He wipes his mouth. \u201cI was just thinking about you in those hotel rooms being so sad, and when I saw you going to the gun range, I thought, this guy, he\u2019s going to shoot his brains out one night and it\u2019ll be so anticlimactic, after all the effort I put into ruining your life. And your birthday was coming up, and you know the birthday effect, statistically it\u2019s very dangerous for people like you. So I wanted to cheer you up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat makes perfect sense. They call you a terrorist because you\u2019re good at making people happy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon\u2019s eyes disappear for a second, lids like fleshworld camouflage. \u201cI have friends.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFriends?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. Colleagues.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur\u2019s stomach growls, eating away his center, he sits down, arms detached from his nauseous body, shaking on the table as he stares at the napkin covering his plate, pure and clean and he\u2019s sure whatever lays beneath is none of those things. \u201cWhat\u2019s with the dress?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The slow bomb glitters and glows and tunnels in the backdrop, chiseling iridescence into the tight dark fabric wrapped around Rubicon\u2019s body. \u201cYou know how when your body is severely deformed, generic men\u2019s fashion looks even worse?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. I heard all about that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt sags and hangs around me, makes me look like a crispy kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe bomber jacket was pretty funny.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. Haha.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The tight, thin fabric fits the blasted body like an alien sheath, burnt shoulders bare, an elegance of sinew, recurve clavicles catching the light along snaking curves. A bent foot rests naked on the floor, big toe missing, strangely dainty without it. The other foot is fused together, smooth as a slipper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon is embarrassed at Lazur\u2019s scrutiny. He tucks a shred of blond hair back and it falls again, no ear to hold it, just a vestigial acoustic flower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur says, \u201cIsn\u2019t there some kind of reconstructive\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is the reconstruction.\u201d The uncanny acoustics of that laugh. \u201cSome parts of me, the best they could do is make a container for my organs. Such as they are. I take a lot of meds.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou could get, you know, a face or something.\u201d The shredded mask of Rubicon\u2019s surviving facial skin is surrounded by a patchwork of synthetic grafts faded to different colors around ridges of bone and shrapnel. Lazur has the idle thought of picking at that skin and peeling it away until there\u2019s nothing to contradict the monstrous reality. How long would Rubicon\u2019s sense of humor last under his nails? Tugging at a corner of it like a vicious child\u2019s earlobe\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI thought about trying radical surgery. But it wouldn\u2019t go on clean. Bad CG. Play-do. I. I wouldn\u2019t look like myself.\u201d Rubicon\u2019s labored breathing fills the silence. \u201cSometimes I wake up thinking I still look the way I did. The other half of the time, I can\u2019t remember being any other way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The slow bomb grows in the background, lighting his face with cold and hot light, shadows draining across the extreme waste of his scars. He sucks mucus back into his labyrinthine sinuses. \u201cAren\u2019t you hungry?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur hesitates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome on. If I wanted to kill you. Well. You know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur peeks under the napkin on his plate. \u201cIt\u2019s not some kind of bomb food?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t give me ideas.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Under the napkins: pierogi, pickled beets, and an amber glass of kvass, hyper-real in the bomb-light. Pan from Lazur\u2019s picture-perfect plate, pierogi glistening with oil, beets brilliantly amaranthine, to Rubicon\u2019s side, his skeletal fingers gripping a cup of beige sludge swirled with purple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How fucking nice, to see your enemy punished by an inalienable doom of their anatomy. \u201cHow do you feel knowing everything you eat will have to be blended like baby food for the rest of your life?\u201d Lazur forks a pierogi into his mouth, chewing it blatantly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon stares into his sludge. \u201cYou\u2019re really doing the psychowhatsit, aren\u2019t you?\u201d He licks his fragile teeth which can\u2019t chew without breaking. \u201cWhat does it taste like?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou have a cup right there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon scratches his melted face. \u201cYou don\u2019t get the texture when it\u2019s blended together. It\u2019s just not the same.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe texture\u2026\u201d Lazur takes another bite of pierogi. \u201cKind of gummy. Bland, comforting carb breaks apart, warm meat on the inside.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon listens, chin propped on his hand. He\u2019s probably not aware of the drool leaking through the hole in the corner of his mouth, those salivary vents webbing his cheek. Or he just doesn\u2019t care anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur tries the horseradish and pickled beets. \u201cThe \u0107wik\u0142a burns. I don\u2019t know how to describe it. Pure. Stinging. Wet. Kind of sweet. It\u2019s good, a little nasty, it\u2019s like someone\u2019s mother made it and doesn\u2019t give a fuck.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t think you\u2019d tell me. Thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not really the best pierogi. Over-boiled, under-seasoned.\u201d He chews impassively, then swallows. \u201cI never thought about it much. But maybe I come here because. If a place like this can stick around, even if it\u2019s not the best, and the food is hit or miss, and the service isn\u2019t friendly, but people keep coming anyway, then maybe\u2026\u201d He looks away. \u201cIt\u2019s like. Some days you\u2019re the only one in here and it\u2019s dark and quiet and it feels like it belongs to you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Rubicon says. \u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The slow explosion crackles like gravel waterfalls or icebergs breaking apart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur says, \u201cWhy do you do it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon picks at his burnt hand. \u201cYou know I love the third degree.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m serious. Deterministic games only. Perfect information.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon leans over the table, dress sagging, flat chest spiraling stitches into darkness. \u201cOkay, Laz. I got a gold star and I never looked back. Everyone is like that, right? You do something and you\u2019re rewarded for it so you keep doing it. Zap. Zap. My dopamine, your dopamine. We\u2019re two people who are good at our jobs and it screwed us together like, two worms eating toward the core of an apple.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOr a bomb.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The burnt skin stretches at the corner of Rubicon\u2019s mouth. \u201cBomb for teacher.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt can\u2019t be that simple. Not with you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re stable. I\u2019m volatile. It has a timeless cosmic, uh, resonance archetype kinda thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the TV version. You didn\u2019t always know me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m talking. It didn\u2019t have to be bombs. It\u2019s a transferable skill\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut not a transferable emotion.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat gave you that emotion?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon swirls the straw, staring into the vortex of pureed pierogi. \u201cMy dad, I guess. It felt good having my own thing. Really really good. And then it was money, lots of money, money my dad didn\u2019t control. It\u2019s money, you know? It means you\u2019re doing something right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur sucks pierogi off his fork, exposing the gleaming metal. He considers the effect those tines would have on the inviting, vulnerable mucous membranes across from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo one fine summer day, I stopped needing my dad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur looks up. “I thought his jet had a malfunction.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt sure did. And the pieces are still washing up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSounds cathartic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe feeling didn\u2019t stick.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt never does. You can die chasing it. You almost did. So stop.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHaha. I don\u2019t know if I can.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon swirls his sludge with the straw. \u201cIt\u2019s, uh. It\u2019s kind of getting out of control.\u201d Nervous laugh. \u201cDon\u2019t look at me. This is your fault.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou sabotaged my shipments. My deals. I had to cooperate with other people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot getting along with your friends?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCall it artistic differences.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In that dress, you can see the cable management of Rubicon\u2019s body, surgically streamlined just enough to survive. A pair of wire cutters could disable it in two snips. Lazur peels his eyes away. \u201cYou have to stop.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t stop being a terrorist. Because if you\u2019re not the terrorist, you’re just\u2026terrified.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur sips his kvass, cold and sweet with a tender bite. He understands the impossibility of what he asked. Because he\u2019s the same, from the other side. \u201cYou have to keep an eye on the terror.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSee? You\u2019re the same. You\u2019re hooked on this bomb pussy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t use those exact words.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat words would you use?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur doesn\u2019t respond. He can\u2019t do this, not with him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tick tick tick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon cranes his head, just scar tissue from this angle. \u201cI never heard you make that sound before.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat sound?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTick tick tick. My mouth is the wrong shape, that\u2019s not right. What do you call that. Plosive. That\u2019s perfect, Laz. You\u2019re ex-plosive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust a habit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A skully smile from Rubicon. \u201cTic seems more appropriate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cVery funny.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTic tic tic. You sound like a little clock.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur catches himself making the sound again and forces his teeth apart, hot breath jetting through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, Laz. What makes you tick?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur\u2019s throat clicks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEver talk to a therapist?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy trauma is classified.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me, then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy would I do that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon sags in his wheelchair, looking dizzy from the act of speaking so long, but unable to stop himself. \u201cBecause you can tell me your stupid feelings and you won\u2019t get in trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou really want to hear about my boring, shitty life?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBetter hurry before your little ticker runs out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur rubs his dark hair, silver threads coming loose through his fingers. He knows the alcohol is lowering his inhibitions, but if he doesn\u2019t get the words out, he never will. \u201cI feel as aimless as I was in my early 20s. I sit around and eat, or sit around and don\u2019t eat. The TV is on but I don\u2019t remember a thing I saw in the last six months. I check my phone for no reason. Maybe I had a reason when I was picking it up, but nothing ever happens, so I don\u2019t know what it could be.\u201d He takes a sip of kvass, then another, but the dryness in his mouth won’t leave. \u201cI can\u2019t play my favorite games anymore. All those explosions. I try playing games without explosions. The numbers keep counting down. I drink and it feels bad. I try my favorite snacks and it\u2019s like I\u2019m eating cardboard. Nothing does it for me anymore. It\u2019s like being in my early twenties again but I can\u2019t enjoy anything. Nothing to look forward to. And my job. My stupid career. I\u2019m not fixing anything. I\u2019m just making shit fall apart more slowly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon smiles in delight. \u201cYou\u2019re so depressing. You have these sick lines in the corners of your eyes like someone tried to cut them open.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the anticipation. It\u2019s killing me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t make me jealous.\u201d Rubicon tries to suck liquefied pierogi through his straw and can\u2019t get enough suction, it drains back down, leaving a sticky mess on his chin. \u201cHow does it feel, being old?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not that old, you were just raised on anime where 40 year olds look like children.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJeez, Laz. I never needed those bombs to make you blow up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur realizes the question was asked with genuine curiosity, and feels kind of bad. \u201cI used to think 20 was the cutoff. Like a lot of stupid kids. Then I thought 30. It had to be 30. But nothing happened. Okay. 40. That\u2019s the cutoff. But I don\u2019t feel any different. That\u2019s the thing about getting older. It happens so slowly. You have time to get used to it. It\u2019s a mercy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something changes in the air. Discomfort. Awkward silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you didn\u2019t. One second you were young, hot, had the whole world ahead of you. Then,\u201d he snaps his fingers and Rubicon twitches. \u201cYou were like this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon stiffens with rage, then his lips stretch in a smile, eyes a little too wide. \u201cThat\u2019s right, baby. I\u2019m the human sunk cost fallacy.\u201d He touches his blast-sculpted face with the stumps of his fingers. \u201cAnd it\u2019s not like it was an act of God. I did it to myself. Right? Poetic justice.\u201d He waves his mutilated hand and the elbow bends hypermobile, loose as a puppet. \u201cThis is all anyone will ever see. So why should I bother being anything different?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t look human. So you don\u2019t feel human.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d Rubicon stares at the bomb, death-light filling the gutters of his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur is uncomfortable with this uncharacteristic silence, it fills with ticking tinnitus. \u201cI had this dream once, I was a black smear on a concrete floor. From an explosion that happened before the dream even started. I thought that was it for me. Until I woke up. And if you wake up like this every day\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon stares off, ear hole facing the man across the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut I think you felt deformed before that bomb ever hit you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon\u2019s head dips forward. \u201cHeheh. Heheheh.\u201d He looks up, the light glazing his eyes white as a deep sea fish. \u201cYou got me. I\u2019m ugly as shit. Inside out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid I say that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s true, though. It\u2019s your job to look at a box and know what\u2019s in it. What cutting this wire will do, even if you can\u2019t see what it connects to.\u201d The slow bomb shines in his shattered pupil. \u201cYou want perfect information, Lazur? My nostrils, burnt. My eardrums burst. I can\u2019t feel through half my fingers. I\u2019m numb all over, or itching like crazy. Insane in the mucous membrane.\u201d Scratch scratch scratch, fast like a dog. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing to contradict what my mind tells me, even if it\u2019s delusional.\u201d The slow explosion grows like a concrete crowning sun, illuminating the membrane and vein of Rubicon\u2019s eyes, taut from fluid pressure, blue rings floating in blood, irises collapsed, darkness flowing from behind, corectopic avulsions of black, pupil warped like a crushed olive. \u201cThere\u2019s no release.\u201d He chokes on saliva, leaning forward to spit on the floor. His lips shine, a fractured gloss. He pants as if caged inside his own skull. \u201cDo you get it yet?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A scent of ash escapes the tight temporal core of the bomb. Lazur\u2019s nostril twitches.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon\u2019s leg tilts to the side, a lazy motion that exposes darkness cupped by the skirt, held safe from the bomb-light. His underwear is smooth and tight. The only thing inside that black strip is the spinal outline of a catheter tube. Lazur can\u2019t even swallow, bits of food in his teeth like surgical dregs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo I watch you from this ruined body. Jerking you off like a walking dick. Getting your shoulders rock hard. Milking your adrenal gland like a prostate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He tilts his hand back, fingers splayed cuntily, the delicate phalanges looking unnaturally long in contrast to the crude stumps of his missing digits, like a grove of half-cut aspens. \u201cAll that stuff I told you. Money. My dad. I think it was true. Even if I was trying to impress you a little. But the only thing that matters is. I\u2019m incredibly smart and incredibly bored and you\u2019re going to pay for it. So why haven\u2019t you tried to kill me yet?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur\u2019s eyes flick away for a millisecond. \u201cBecause your guys are back there. And they\u2019re going to shoot me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou think I\u2019d let some thugs watch us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou obviously have an assurance of some kind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon\u2019s smile is hard to read in the tug of scar tissue, lips stuck like bubble gum to the scar mask of his face. This close, Lazur can hear the sucking of saliva, the whistle of that lung. Like a machine he wants to fix because of an annoying sound, or at least percussively maintain. He gets a flash of his dad\u2019s hand slapping the side of an air conditioner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon says, \u201cAre you going to kill me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The kvass fills Lazur with subtle alcoholic heat, a warmth mild enough to slip under his defenses. \u201cI have a moral obligation to snap your neck.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon\u2019s tongue flicks between his lips, wet and pink through the dry scar tissue. \u201cIs that how you wanna do it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want a drop of you on me when it happens. I just want you to disappear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome on. I humiliated you in front of the world. Then I put a stick of dynamite up your ass. And you don\u2019t know how you\u2019re going to kill me? You seriously never\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur stands up so fast everything on the table rattles. He kicks it and it hits the glacial explosion, freezing in the air as if stuck on translucent glue. There is nothing between them except slow heat, Rubicon\u2019s skeletal form exposed in the wheelchair, a single lung working overtime, and Lazur tall, one hand in his jacket, the other clenched at his side. \u201cIt\u2019s hard to pick, when you\u2019re brittle like a twig all over. You know the kind? You see it on the trail path and you snap it without a single thought.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon\u2019s chest swells lopsided under the black dress with the exertion of his breathing. \u201cThat\u2019s not your style. You like to put things back together.\u201d A plate fragments, ceramic shards flying in formation. \u201cBut there\u2019s a mess coming even you can\u2019t clean up.\u201d Skeletal smile. \u201cThat\u2019s what scares you, doesn\u2019t it? Knowing even when hope is gone, you\u2019ll be out there counting grains of sand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStop fucking with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat else can I do? My brain is on fire and I don\u2019t have a fucking body\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur grabs his arm and Rubicon gasps, his stringy arm burning like barbecue, this unexpected, electric fire touch from disgusting peasant fingers. He licks his lips, tongue caught in the divots of his burst mouth. He still holds the straw from his flung cup, beige slime dripping from the tip, splatting on Lazur\u2019s dark boot which weighs on the wheelchair footrest, keeping it immobile, until the man starts to apply pressure and the wheelchair skids back an inch, into the heat from the bomb, crawling waves of thermal energy, each pore caressed in slow motion. Most of Rubicon\u2019s sweat glands were burnt off, but a patch of face still shines, a dripping crescent moon. Lazur is inches away, no expression, just his heavy lids and the jut of his lip, clinical as if he was inspecting a bomb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon stammers, \u201cWhat, what are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A surprised look. \u201cThe thing about missing a bunch of nerves, is you can\u2019t tell I\u2019ve had a gun pressed to your knee for about five seconds.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon swallows, a loud wetness through his deformed sinuses. Then he laughs and it\u2019s like his face is swimming up through a sea of gore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re shaking. Are you excited?\u201d He bites his lip, studying the man with the gun against him. \u201cOr\u2026scared?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A drop of sweat lands on the barrel of the gun. \u201cIt\u2019s a trick.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inscrutable scar-gaze. \u201cMaybe. If you could kill me with zero repercussions, would you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur doesn\u2019t respond.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou never killed someone before, did you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want to kill anyone, ever.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLazur the super-pacifist.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He never thought of himself in those terms before. He had aggressive fantasies and behaved aggressively with other men in the institutions that preceded this slow bomb Slavic restaurant encounter. But Rubicon\u2019s hideous violence seems to have a polarizing effect that makes certain details of his past stand out, the same as when he figured out he liked guys. Perhaps pacifism is a sexuality, or a sub-category, top or bottom, detonate or defuse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looks through the frozen icicles of chemical flame, into the unknowable violent core of combustion. In this still frame, it looks unreal, like a bad effect, a cheap and ugly rip in the world. \u201cI just want to protect people. And that protection can\u2019t be partial. Once you make an exception, something is broken.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The kneecap under his gun listens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere has to be someone who cares. I used to work at\u2014you know. And when I was assigned overseas, sitting around with the guys, you hear them talk, and. If you\u2019re an EMT, nurse, agent, life or death, someone trying to fix this, this damage, you have a responsibility to, you know, no matter how stupid they are, no matter what they did, even if they killed someone\u2014you\u2019re where the killing stops, and anything else can even be possible. I can\u2019t stop just because it\u2019s ugly or no one wants to do it. It\u2019s\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a dirty bomb but someone has to defuse it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur pulls the gun back, looking disgusted. \u201cAll that clever shit and smiling and being ironic. I was that way at your age too. I didn’t understand it meant no one could have a simple conversation with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon sits there, burning with embarrassment. \u201cI\u2014I don\u2019t want you to think I\u2019m not a serious person.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy do you even care what I think?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon shifts in his seat like his bony ass doesn\u2019t have enough padding to sit comfortably. Lazur catches the gleam of a catheter bag. Rubicon stares at him with a hard fury, as if to say, look at the least humiliating most in control parts of me, get skewered on these eyes. \u201cI was the best. My whole life. Then you showed up. Older than me. The only one who can stop me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon breathes hard through his nose, lips pressed tight and trembling, sinuses sawing like catgut. \u201cMy talent is the only reason anyone takes me seriously. So when you make me look replaceable\u2026\u201d Some kind of liquid shines through the holes of his face, tears or sweat or saliva or both. \u201cIf I\u2019m not the best, I\u2019m just a freak in a wheelchair.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The explosion looms, eating through debris with blinding fangs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd the worst part was, it didn\u2019t even seem like you cared. I was a crossword puzzle to you.\u201d The white of his eyes warm with delicate pink, like heated metal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur\u2019s heart beats fast and tight. \u201cWhat makes you think you deserve my attention?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you were smart, you\u2019d know that\u2019s gasoline you\u2019re spilling.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCongrats. You put your self-esteem in the hands of a man who wakes up and stares at the ceiling for two hours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou sound like you\u2019re going to shoot yourself, not me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur\u2019s arm drops to his side, gun flashing in the light. \u201cIt\u2019s my birthday and the only person who showed up is the guy trying to reduce me to my individual atomic parts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon points at himself. \u201cHaha. That\u2019s me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur stands up, silhouetted by the blast, gun still clenched in his fist. Metal warps, glass sings itself to death, the floor cracks under his boots, his stomach hurts, he sweats like summer. All he has to do is stand here a little longer, and then he won\u2019t have to worry ever again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon looks at him with concern. \u201cHey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMake a wish.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA wish?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s your birthday. Make a wish.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wish for the principle of combustion to be erased from the universe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon\u2019s voice pitches up, pleased. \u201cYou talk like I\u2019m some kind of, entity. Yes, I brought fire to earth, I\u2019m Bombetheus\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re an amoral little boy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWow. Okay.\u201d Rubicon sucks quickly on his straw. \u201cMake another wish. Be realistic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want you to stop using me as a scratching post for your massive ego.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI said realistic. Try again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want…” If he keeps talking he\u2019s going to lose it. Part of him wants to pull the trigger and blow the contents of his own skull into the slow explosion. Deprive the brat of his toy. Hands cover his face, tired breathing into the palms, gun rubbing through the dark hair like a caress, like he could just turn it a little and trick himself into\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow about you hold onto that wish. Keep it in your back pocket.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shockwave curdles the edges of their hearing, the vibration accelerating. \u201cRubicon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat thing you said. Things getting out of control. Tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon smiles like he\u2019s going to laugh it off but it just colors his voice brittle and unsteady. \u201cWell, Laz. I don\u2019t wanna give you nightmares.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur recoils as if the boy\u2019s whisper contains a respiratory virus. \u201cYou need to stop it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon straightens up, and it\u2019s clear it takes effort to keep his spine erect and his head high. \u201cI hate when you use that tone of voice on me. You all think I\u2019m this crazy little cripple. A deep-fried delinquent. But one day. Your agency. My colleagues. The whole world. They\u2019ll see I was always the best. That there will never be anything like me again. Because I\u2019m going to break you. Cameras live. Timer running down. Worst six hours of your life. They\u2019re going to see every single part of you day one unboxed. And then, uh. Then I\u2019ll kill you!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur\u2019s palm is so sweaty the gun feels like it\u2019s sliding. He switches to his other hand. Rubicon watches the black hole of the barrel bob up and down, gaunt fingers gripping the sides of his wheelchair. \u201cBut until then. You\u2019re staying alive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The barrel steadies, then drifts again as Lazur wipes sweat from his eyes. Rubicon inspects him seriously. \u201cYou know what I like about you? You get scared, but you don\u2019t get surprised. You\u2019re so fucked up you accept every horrible new reality coming your way. Some people, I can\u2019t talk to them without every little fact of my existence being a cause of spectacular, conversation-killing pity.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The gun rises and falls at the rate of shallow breathing, Lazur\u2019s lips pressed tight, eyes fragile. \u201cMmhm.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBye, Laz.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks for dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy treat, baby.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rubicon pulls on his joystick and the wheelchair rolls back through the visual distortion of the sharpening shockwave, particles of tephratic floor pinging off his wheels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lazur stands there with his hand wrapped around the gun like a claw, knowing he should end this with a single bullet. But he can’t decide which direction to pull the trigger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tktktktktk.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Lazur sits at the booth, the restaurant dim as always, black interior, cold morning light through half-drawn curtains. He wears blue jeans and a green field jacket and worn-out combat boots, black stripping to gray. The only reason he knows about this place is because as a child he was taken in search of what […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_mi_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[57],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2384","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-cunt-toward-enemy"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2384","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2384"}],"version-history":[{"count":26,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2384\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2454,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2384\/revisions\/2454"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2384"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2384"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xrafstar.monster\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2384"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}