Page 71 of Wrath

"Mmhmm. He said take you by a burger place there." Ezrasmiles, lifting his brows as his eyes find mine before settling on a red light. "Even told me your favorite burger."

"The Purple Haze one?" Shit, this is embarrassing.

"He said you like the one with Worcestershire and goat cheese?"

I stare at the dark road ahead of us. It’s my turn to reply.That’s the Purple Haze one.I should say something to him.Goat cheese is better than the regular cow stuff.Instead my mouth opens and I hear myself ask, "Are you a lifeguard?"

I can feel him get uncomfortable, even though my eyes are set on the road. After a second, during which he hangs a right onto a side street, I figure he isn’t going to answer. Then he says, "Who told you that?"

"My mom. She said you'd be good to take me to B'ham because you know CPR. As if I'm going to need CPR.” I roll my eyes. “Or you to remember my burger."

I squeeze my eyes shut. It's because of what happened—seizures throw your feelings off—but I feel like I'm going to fucking cry here. In his car. Driving quiet roads at night. Driving toward the cabin even though I didn't tell him how to get there. I'm like...baggage. Baggage he doesn't want—and I know I am.

I ask him, "Did you want to die that day?" My chest feels hard and dark, like it's encased in armor.

"Truth or truth, Mills?"he says.

"You know all about me. Right down to the taste of my cock. So, yes. Truth, Ezra."

He doesn't wait even a second before he says, "Yeah.”

I stare out the windshield.

“Did you?"he asks back.

I refuse to look at him. To see what kind of face he’s making, try to read what’s in his eyes. "No more than any other day."My voice sounds hard,unlike me.

"You want to die on any other days because of where you live?"

"What does that mean?” A car in front of us turns onto a side-street, and it’s just us moving down Vertical Road, with all its shuttered storefronts, closed for the night.

"Because of all the bigots?"he asks.

I smile, even though there's nothing funny. "Not all of them," I tell him. "Only some. Everybody has their baggage."

"What's your baggage, perfect boy?"

"Is that a joke?"

"Well, you can't be part of Team No Homo. So I guess that's something. But what else isn't picture perfect? Even your name sounds like a hero. Josh Miller—it’s like Clark Kent.”

I clench my jaw, sore from the seizure. "You don't know shit about me, Ezra. Not even one thing."

"I know you like when I lick your little slit. And if I run my tongue around the rim of your dickhead, it starts leaking. I suck it like a popsicle, and your hand in my hair will pull, but never too hard. Perfect gentleman, you are."

"Yeah, you know what mydicklikes,” I say, feeling my throat ache. I swallow hard. “I'm not a dick."

"Touché." He takes the right just after Fairplay BBQ, turning onto County Road 9.

"Why do you want to be a slut, Masters?” I ask. “What about that question?"

He grins, looking genuinely pleased with himself. "Do you consider me your slut, Millsy?"

"I think you're a twisted fucker. I think you do it for the power feeling. Maybe all your mom's boyfriends were assholes."

"They were husbands, dipshit." He says it casually, keeping his tone even.

"Maybe that, or maybe you're gay just like me."

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