Rohypnol Brides by Simon Logan

Author:Simon Logan [Logan, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, Collections & Anthologies
ISBN: 9780809562909
Google: nYUeLsw61e0C
Amazon: 1607014459
Publisher: Prime Books
Published: 2006-03-29T22:00:00+00:00

So this is no longer about Jon and me, nor Eric and Jon, is it?

Somewhere along the way this became about Eric and me—or perhaps it always was that way.

I stand beside Eric as Jon performs and I suddenly am certain that he knows about the rat poison. He knows that I tried to kill Jon when even I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to achieve by feeding him it. He knows that I do not need Jon to reciprocate what I feel for him, for obsession is merely fed by the obsessive’s distance from what he lusts after. In fact, the further the two are kept apart, the stronger the obsession becomes, for it is only then that it is free to assume whatever form is required.

You cannot idolize a deity you can describe.

Jon bleeds for the audience, bleeds for us. Bleeds for himself.

Each night he falls to the ground a little earlier, hits it a little harder.

I feed more blood into him and he lets it all out again.

Eric grabs me as I enter whatever random room I am living in this night, shoves me inside and tears off my jeans and underwear and fucks me over the bathtub. He gives me a look when we are all in a diner after Jon has gone to bed and I follow him into the men’s room and go down on him. We do it in the cab of the ambulance one night when we run out of gas.

“He can’t do this forever,” I say to him one night as Eric’s semen drips down my thigh.

“I don’t think he wants to,” he says. By this point Eric has lost 50 pounds and more are shed each day, either orally or anally. You can smell the virus on him.

“I’m betting with myself as to who is going to die first,” I tell him, his hot breath on my back. “You or him.”

“And I’m betting who is going to kill him first—you or I.”

It is the first time the sentiment had been spoken aloud, though it had been attached to us both like a parasite for several months. Now the chrysalis has split, amidst our medical prison.

We just look at each other, realizing that that is what we have come to.

Are we adopting the Scorched Earth strategy in this little war of ours?

“I’ll never let you have him,” Eric says to me.

“And I’ll never let him go,” I reply.

So the answer seems obvious.

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