When my phone starts to vibrate on the counter next to me, I almost don’t answer it. Das’s name appears for the caller ID, and I curse him silently. I texted him for a reason. If you call someone after they send a text, you’re legitimately a psychopath who deserves to be put down. Seriously, just text me. It’s not that hard; in fact, it’s much easier. 

I sigh and tuck the phone between my shoulder and my ear while I continue eating breakfast alone in the cold kitchen. “Hello?” 

“Akuji, I’m actually surprised you answered,” Das says, and I roll my eyes even though I know he can’t see me.  

“Yeah, yeah, I answered. You could’ve texted me; you know.” 

“I could’ve but that would’ve felt a little heartless, especially since, last time we hung out, you seemed kind of angry at me.” 

I ignore that. 

“Anyway, to answer your question—” 

“That I texted you,” I interject. 

“That you texted me,” he continues, “yeah, I can go to the mall with you, but I can’t stay long.” 

“And what are you doing that is so much more important than spending time with me?” 

“Well, did you hear what happened to Aster?” 

My eyes widen, and I take the phone into my hand. “Uh, no. What happened?” 

“Apparently he was killed by this weird like humanoid thing. I don’t know. I don’t buy it, but whatever, that’s what the police say. Yeah, anyway, she’s really upset about his disembowelment, and she tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.” 

Because I was busy hiding from the police. 

“And so she called me. So, I’m at her house right now, and she hasn’t stopped crying since she got the visit from the cops,” Das concludes.  

“Right, right. I’m so surprised that happened. It’s like a freak incident. Unbelievable,” I monotone unconvincingly. I should try harder to make it seem like I care, but I don’t. I really don’t.  

Das lowers his voice just above a whisper, “And honestly, man, I love her and all, and I really shouldn’t leave her here alone, but I can’t do this for another six hours without a personal mental health break.” 

“Understandable,” I respond. “Well, I guess that explains why Cecillia didn’t answer her phone.” 

“You texted her too?” 

“Honey, you were my plan B.” 

He gasps in fake offense, “I feel so hurt.” 

“Get over it,” I tease, and he chuckles. 

“Yeah, so I can come. Just remember, I can’t stay forever.” 

“Yeah, that’s alright. I already know what I want,” I tell him, and Das makes a noise of astonishment. 

“Akuji? Knowing what he wants? Amazing,” he mutters. 

I can’t resist cracking a smile and giving a small laugh, “Oh, fuck off. See you there, babe.” 

“Alright. See ya,” he says before ending the call.  

I sigh and shut off my phone, placing it face down on the counter. Then I’m subjected back to the silence and monotony of home life with Brennan where there is no Brennan and I have no life. I don’t wait to get dressed and head out.  

 

† ⸸ † 

 

I turn around and look at myself in the mirror, tucking my fingers under my butt. “Does this highlight my thighs well? I want to highlight my thighs,” I say. “He’s a thigh guy.” 

Das parts his fingers to look through the gap in between them. “Dude, I don’t know. Why are you asking me? When you said you needed to go shopping, I didn’t think we would be shopping for this!” 

I look down at him and smile, finding his embarrassment endearing. “Oh, c’mon, we’re both men.” 

“Yes,” Das says, hiding his face again, “exactly. That’s the problem. We’re both men, and you’re trying on lingerie.” 

I wave my hand dismissively. “It’s not that bad. Now, answer my question. Does this make me look ‘thicc’?” 

“We’ve been here for like two hours already. Can we go now?” 

“No! You haven’t been of any help; that’s the only reason we’re still here. We could’ve been done so much earlier if you would just man up and tell me what you think.” 

Das groans. “I see why you wanted to invite Cecillia. She’d be all over this.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t have Ces, so answer the question,” I laugh, readjusting the stringy outfit around my waist.  

My friend lets his hands drop onto his lap before sighing deeply. Then his gray eyes drop down to my body. He stares at me for a second and disappointedly comments, “Lace?” 

I scrunch up my nose and look back at myself in the mirror. “Why’ve you got to say it like that? Is lace bad?” 

“Lace,” he lectures me, rolling his eyes and sitting back in his chair, “is, for one thing, out of style. And two, it itches. No one enjoys lace anymore unless he’s some mafia man in a smokey room back in the 50s. But who knows? Brennan might be just that.” 

I whine and collapse down onto my knees, sitting back on my calves. “I just want to do something to get his attention. This shouldn’t be so hard.” 

I look up into the mirror and notice Das staring back at me in the reflection. He leans forward off the wall and turns his head to face me directly, so I swivel around to meet his eyes.  

“Why do you want his attention? Do you think that will somehow make him love you? Because from what you told me, he obviously never will. This won’t get his attention emotionally. Maybe physically, but that’s only temporary. This won’t change anything.” 

Tears rush to the corners of my eyes. “I-I don’t care.” 

“I know you don’t, but you’re going to keep fighting for it even though you know that it will never last—even though you know you’re just hurting yourself.” 

“Stop.” 

And he listens. He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “I’m just saying.” 

I don’t respond. I just sit on my knees and hold back tears, barely keeping myself together. A couple of moments go past, and I think Das starts to feel bad about saying those things. He gets this look of pity on his face, and he sighs again. 

“Get the lace,” he tells me. “He’ll probably enjoy it. He’s old-fashioned enough.” 

I turn my gaze up to him. “You mean it?” 

Das smiles pitifully, “Yeah, you look good in it. It’s enough to tease him into giving you affection. I’m sure if I was gay, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you. Now, let’s go, you whore. There’s a girl back home that needs my comfort.” 

I nod and start stripping again to change into my regular clothes, and Das yelps like a vampire seeing the sun.  

“Dude, warn me. Jesus Christ, I don’t want to see that,” he exaggerates, covering his eyes and putting a hand in front of himself.  

I chuckle quietly. “You’re the only person I’ve ever heard say that before. You must truly be in love.” 

Das cringes with his eyes still closed and shakily stands from his seat. “Yeah, whatever. Meet me outside when you’re done. Goddamn,” he mutters, feeling his through the dressing room and walking out. 

I roll my eyes at his childishness and start slipping on my pants. He’s an ass and an idiot, but I’m also lucky to have him. I think. Sometimes I forget why I put up with his obnoxious behavior.