Edenville by Sam Rebelein

Author:Sam Rebelein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-10-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Sundown

The next week was a puttering, “Wednesday again already?” kind of week. Neither Quinn nor Cam would be able to say where it had gone, when the calendar turned itself over into a stifling first week of September.

Cam poured out pages of material. Every night, he sat in that attic. Fat drops of eye-jizz slopped onto his hands as he typed, hunched over the computer on his lap, on that old pink sofa. He typed so fast, at first he didn’t even notice the glops of glue globbering out of his eyes, spattering against the backs of his hands, onto the keys. Barely felt it gumming up between his fingers and the laptop, tying him to the keys, to the words, in thick phlegmy ropes as he typed, typed, typed.

Yennigen brought to the well. Yennigen falls to Earth. Yennigen murders their way into a new skin, yet again. Yennigen always needs a new skin again.

Cam wrote on, trusting in the importance of these visions, though no pieces of bloodywood revealed themselves.

Yet.

Fluid gummed up his keyboard, made the little fan on his laptop whir loud. His eyes stung like fuck, and there were times he had to stop writing, clutching at the dusty cushions of the sofa, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. Once, they hurt so bad he thought his eyeballs might melt right out of his skull. His eye-bleeds during the writing of Shattered Man were never this bad. Now, the pain almost made him think it wasn’t worth it.

Almost.

But the clarity that came after this pain was orgasmic. It felt so good to slap that laptop shut and know he could rest easy, he’d done important work. Soon, his eyes might swell and burst, sure. But in the meantime, getting the words out was mwah, chef’s kiss. He’d drop into bed hours after Quinn, skull burning but heart content.

If Quinn was concerned about him, she said nothing. They barely spoke the entire week, drifting silent through the same home. Something had cracked between them, but Cam didn’t care. He was a full-on special boy at last. So what if he’d broken his word to her? So what if he’d lied? He was finally, finally, working on something that mattered.

On Tuesday, he ran into McCall in the hallway. McCall asked him how his teaching was going, and Cam admitted he was having trouble focusing, he was doing so much of his own work. He’d even zoned out during a workshop with a student (the girl he’d met at the salad bar), because he’d squeezed an entire bottle of eyedrops into himself beforehand, and the burning still hadn’t stopped.

“Well, that’s an awkward situation for sure,” said McCall. “Just let me know if any of them are writing anything . . . useful.”

“You got it,” said Cam, blinking so hard that McCall was just a blur. “Hey, do you have any interest in a story about . . . alien worms? Is that helpful?”

McCall screwed up his face. “Is that what It’s showing you? No.

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