Page 2 of A Breath of Life
Baby didn’t immediately move and flicked her tongue, tasting the air. Her long, muscled body remained partly coiled. When she stretched out, she was slightly over five feet long, significantly larger than she’d been when I first met her.
“She’s going to eat your dog.”
“She’s not going to eat my dog.” Diem approached Echo and scratched her ear. He earned a contented dog smile and a finger lick. Golden puppy eyes full of so much love peered up at him.
I tried a different approach. “She’s going to eat your boyfriend, then you’ll be sad. No more sex for you.”
“Then maybe I’ll be able to clean the tank in peace and quiet for a change.”
I gaped. “Rude. That hurt my feelings, and PS, why don’t I get ear scratches and kisses? I’m way cuter than a dog and far more afraid. Comfort me, Diem. I demand it.”
Diem refused to entertain my dramatics and moved toward the terrarium, keeping an eye on Echo. Although twenty-one months old and well-trained, she still had curious puppy moments that surfaced at random.
“Echo.” The canine immediately responded to Diem’s soft, deep voice. “Go lie on the couch.” He pointed.
With a huff, the dog obeyed the command.
“Although it hurts my feelings that her well-being is of bigger concern to you than mine, you should know, she’s not safe on the couch. It’s barely two feet off the ground. Baby will slither up there and eat her face. I can’t believe you’re risking Echo’s life… and mine.”
“Baby could climb on the counter if she wanted to.”
My eyes bulged. “No. That’s impossible.” I curled my toes, squeezed my thighs, and eyed the snake, who hadn’t moved but was clearly tasting the air to decide where dinner might lie.
I whipped my attention to the container with the thawing rodent. “Oh, fuck me. Diem, tell me you’re lying. Tell me the tongue flicking isn’t her sniffing out this disgusting rat. Tell me I’m safe up here.”
A shit-eating smirk twitched the corner of my boyfriend’s lips. Why did he have to grow a sense of humor? Why had I encouraged him to grow a sense of humor? This was all my fault.
The snake moved. Uncoiled. The action was slow and methodical, but my entire life flashed before my eyes, and I hollered, “Diem! Diem, help me. She’s coming. Get my phone.” I flapped my hand at the coffee table. “Quick. Time is running out. Please tell me she can’t get to me.”
He did not get my phone and instead commenced disassembling the terrarium. The bastard’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. If I survived this ordeal, he would be punished.
“I hate you. We are never having sex again.” We’d gone full circle. My childish words bounced off him like he was rubber and I was glue. “Hey, Google.” I shouted loud enough that the phone’s artificial intelligence registered my voice and blipped to tell me it was listening. “Can man-eating snakes climb onto kitchen counters?”
The animated voice responded. “Yes, some snake species are capable climbers. Their muscular bodies and scales provide them with the traction needed to—”
“Motherfucker. Diem Krause, for the love of god, if you don’t save me, I will… I will… do something unpleasant in return. I don’t know what yet, but you will hate it. You will suffer as I have suffered. Save me!”
He did not save me.
As my boyfriend piled the contents of Baby’s terrarium onto the floor, the snake moved. I would have screamed, but she didn’t charge toward me or scale the drawers to satisfy her hunger for twinkish-sized men. She moved toward the heated rock Diem placed close by and wrapped her body around it.
There she settled, unmoving and unthreatening. It was quite anticlimactic, to be honest. Echo, peering over the top of the couch, did a doggy huff-sigh as though agreeing.
Still, I did not relax. I did not jump down and make my escape, either. I watched carefully and cautiously as Diem cleaned and Baby mimicked a statue. I didn’t trust the snake not to scheme. She was scheming. I could tell. She had a scheming look about her.
Echo grew bored and lay down on the couch, no longer interested.
At one point, Diem brought a few items to the sink to be washed. He placed them in the basin, scrubbed them with a special detergent, then set them aside on a towel to dry. He washed his hands and snagged the dry dishrag from where it hung on the oven door.
When he glanced over, I gave him a scathing look and mouthed,You will suffer.
He huffed a silent laugh and approached with a spark of humor in his eyes. “You belong on stage.”
“My mother thought so too. She said I was fabulous in my high school’s rendition ofGrease. My father didn’t agree. Not Heath, he wouldn’t care, but the asshole who donated his sperm for my creation. That man had no love for the theater or his gay son.”
The tightening beside Diem’s eyes suggested he understood. His father had no love for his gay son either.
Diem tossed the dishrag aside, unfurled my tightly wound limbs, and hooked my legs around his waist, scooting me to the edge of the counter, so I sat flush against his broad body. I automatically wrapped my arms around his neck and peeked over his shoulder to be sure Baby hadn’t moved.
