Psychostasis by Ezra Blake & Antonio Eros

Author:Ezra Blake & Antonio Eros
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2020-03-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

The last thing Ash desperately wanted, aside from redemption, was probably a double cheeseburger. An older man lured him off the street with the promise of food; he went through the drive through with Ash in the car, ordered one for himself, and ate it in front of him.

Every morning feels like that. God used to allow him a moment of tranquility when he first opened his eyes, before he remembered who and what and where he was, but he lost that privilege somewhere between the first hit of heroin and his cock in Jake’s ass. Now the cramps wake him. The longing wakes him, cold and magnetic in the bottom of his shriveled stomach, and it’s just like watching burger grease saturate that sadist’s goatee as he leered and moaned and sucked his fat fingers.

Ash almost asked him, too. He might have followed through without pity or kissing. He also might have kept a knife collection in his trunk, so Ash got out of the car.

“Jake?” His voice is lost in the drool-soaked pillows. “Hey, Jake?”

He palms his crotch. It’s the only part of him that doesn’t hurt today. He’s joined the ranks of all those choir boys whose voices will always sound like helium, but he can’t muster a spark of gratitude. Jake has been a constant fixture at his bedside. Why the sudden neglect?

He drags his aching body out of bed. He creeps into the master bedroom, hovers one finger over the mirror keypad and prays, Please, Lord. I never ask for anything.

“What are you doing?”

He falls back on his butt and spins around. There’s Jake, flushed and wiry under his wife-beater, his hair a waterfall of grease.

“I need my meds,” Ash says. “You weren’t—”

“Yeah, I was cleaning shit off the patio so we can put the dog out there. You’re supposed to wait for me.”

It’s true. They have a procedure. Ash shuffles to the bedroom and prostrates himself on the filthy sheets. Jake needs to look at it—that’s the procedure—but he’ll never feel comfortable showing his crotch to another guy, penis or no penis.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A lot.” He parts his legs the barest fraction of an inch. “Trust me.”

Jake leans in to examine the pink lip of the wound, raised and shining in the lamplight—it’s mid-day, but the sun hurts Ash’s eyes, so they keep the curtains drawn. “It’s healed,” he says.

“Nuh-uh. It’s less than a week.”

“I know, but it’s healed. See for yourself.”

Since the operation, Ash has done nothing but see and feel and smell his healing body. He knows what’s happening down there. The throbbing pain has dulled and spread everywhere, especially into his creaky joints and the little mountains of gumline between his teeth. “Maybe it looks fine, but it ain’t,” he says. “Probably the inside is still healing.”

The Lord detests lying lips, Hail Mary, full of grace…

“I’ll get some ibuprofen to tide you over. We’re running low.”

“We got plenty left.”

Cords twang in Jake’s neck. “I don’t have a job now. We need to conserve resources.

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