Page 111 of Third Time Lucky

I choke on my words, feeling like a piece of gristly meat is stuck in my throat as I try to address the situation. God, I hate this. Fighting with people who I love. But I need to call him out for his womanizing ways.

Pause, Ash. Find the right approach. I notice all the knives on the butcher block before him and watch as he runs a cloth over them one by one until they shine. It gives me an idea.

‘Would you rather be dismembered or mutilated?’ I blurt out impulsively.

Playing ‘Would You Rather’ was our go-to game for killing time as kids. As adults we often play just for fun. I’ve heard all kinds of shit and thought of things I otherwise probably wouldn’t have.

He rears his head back, looking at me with concern.

‘Do I live if I’m mutilated?’

‘You’re horrifically maimed. Your face, once recognizable and “pretty” is now a grotesque jigsaw puzzle of scars and disfigurement,’ I say. ‘No one would ever recognize you.’

‘Just dismember me then,’ he says. ‘My face is half of my personality, so if it’s gone, butcher me like an animal and be done with it.’

‘I suppose your precious manhood is the other half?’

He bristles at my words, wounded pride apparent in his eyes.

‘Damn, bro, what’s up with you?’

I shake my head as if nothing is up. But everything is. This man is fucking up my world and his.

‘Would you rather murder or be murdered?’

He scrunches his face. ‘You’re morbid as hell today,’ he spits out. ‘I’d rather murder if I could get away with it.’

‘You wouldn’t. I’d turn you in without a doubt.’

He gasps. ‘We are brothers. Your answer is supposed to be, “how deep should we bury them?”’

I shake my head.

‘Would you rather be intelligent but hideous or stunningly beautiful but utterly dumb?’

He scoffs at my question. ‘I’m already both,’ he boasts arrogantly. ‘Next question.’

‘Are you, though?’ I challenge him, knowing full well that his ego could use a good deflating.

‘You’re being a douche,’ he snaps back at me.

I nod, smirking triumphantly. ‘Would you rather have someone call you out on your stupidity or remain willfully ignorant?’

Finally, he stops what he’s doing and turns to face me directly. His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes me.

‘Do you have something to say, Wright?’ he demands, sensing there’s more behind my questions than idle curiosity.

‘I do, actually.’

‘Then fucking say it.’

I meet his gaze head-on and take a deep breath, ready to finally address the elephant in the room.

‘Your toxic, fuckboy ways are creating possibly irreparable damage to my brand-new relationship,’ I seethe.

‘How’s that?’ he retorts.

I roll my eyes in exasperation. ‘Let’s see, you fucked her maid of honor the moment you met her. Now you’re attempting to ghost the same woman after weeks of sleeping at her place five outta seven days, and the other two nights, she’s at yours! You’re basically living with her, and now, in true Aaron style, you’re going to fake your own death and hope someone else might be dumb enough to fall for your playboy waysagain?’

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