Page 144 of Burn Bright
This wouldn’t be the first time he’s helped me study, but I’m just overwhelmed that he’s here right now. “You don’t want to talk about what I told you last night?” I skip over the graphic mice-murdering details. Are we just pretending I don’t do experiments on animals? Is this a fact we’re burying under a rug?
“I want to talk.” Ben places the paper bag on the coffee table, along with the fern. “But you have an exam in”—he checks his watch—“less than three hours. And I’d feel like shit for taking away your studying time.”
I twist the beaded choker around my neck. “I don’t think I can concentrate anyway.”
He nods.
I nod back, eyeing the springy green fern. It’s the fourth plant Ben has bestowed upon my apartment. After the eucalyptus, I told him he should be saving his tips, not transforming my place into the Secret Garden. He said, “Without plants, life wouldn’t be sustained on earth, so I’d say this little fella is priceless.” He added, “And I’ve never budgeted in my life.”
It shows.
My body wants to float into the stratosphere knowing he’s still gifting my apartment—okay, maybeme—priceless little fellas.
I place my vocabulary book beside the food bag. “I’ve tried memorizing the same fifty words all morning. It’s not really sinking in.”
He knows I’m in intermediate Latin. I’m not being quizzed over grammar or writing out full length sentences. I’ll be translating portions ofCaesarInvasion of Britainfrom Latin to English. A lot of it is context clues. Most of it requires knowing hundreds of Latin words. Add in the fact that most verbs have more than one definition, and it’s like having to solve a logic puzzle in addition to translating a language.
Ben snatches the paperback and opens it to the earmarked page. I’ve highlighted all the words I’m struggling with, so it’s no surprise when he says, “Deleo, delere, delevi, deletum.” Latin is a dead language, and yet, his pronunciation is near perfect.
I dizzy a little.
His eyes lift to mine, waiting for me to give the answer.
“Second conjugation,” I say. “To destroy, wipe out, erase.”
“I’m not erasing you from my life over this,” Ben tells me. “That’s why I’m here.” He pushes the white paper bag toward me. My stomach lets out a low grumble.
He smiles.
“Fuck,” I curse, fighting my own smile, then I peek inside the bag. A bagel. He bought me a bagel. The herbed cream cheese smells divine, but before I take a bite, I have to explain. “When I joined Dr. Venison’s lab, I knew I’d be working with mice. But I didn’t knowI’dbe the one euthanizing them. I thought the grad students would just…give them to me already dead. Which I know probably isn’t any better, but I was stupid…naïve.”
His face twists. “That’s shitty they didn’t tell you.”
I lift my shoulders. “I think they thought it’d be something I should handle if I’m going into science…medicine.”
“You’re eighteen,” he says like that matters, but I’m not sure it does. I’m an adult. Maybe anewadult, but I’m still expected to perform the same duties as students who are twenty-two.
“The position is voluntary,” I remind him. “No one is forcing me to do it. It’s not even a requirement for my major. I just know it’s something I need on my resume for med school. I could quit, but I’m not going to because I can’t get into another lab halfway through the semester. I know that makes me an asshole?—”
“You’re not an asshole,” he snaps, angrily. He glances down at the book in his hands, and while I bite into my bagel and chew, he reads, “Doleo, dolere, dolui, dolitum.”
I swallow. “To grieve, suffer; hurt, give pain.”
Ben looks to me with a million questions in his eyes, and I prepare for him to ask how much the mice suffer. But then he says, “Does it hurt you to have to kill them?”
“The first time I did it, my heart raced so hard. I thought I was going to mess it up and cause the mouse more discomfort. I just wanted it to be quick and painless for her.”
His forehead creases. “You were in the room?”
Oh…he must think we use gas. “So…CO2 asphyxiation is incredibly painful. The sensation is similar to drowning, and it’s not fast. It’s more humane to do cervical dislocations.”
His lips part in shock. “You snap their necks?”
“With a beaker.”
He puts a hand to the back of his neck. His face breaks. “Jesus.”
“It’s the worst part,” I say. “I hate it so much, but I don’t think I’m supposed to like it. If I got desensitized to it, I think I’d make myself switch labs.”
