Page 51 of Liar & Champion
“Never. Me have my own life to live? You are the center of my universe and always will be. You are my sun to my orbit, the moon to my tide, the fan to my hotel room without any air conditioning.”
“Wow, Beastie. That’s traumatic. You have no AC? Where are you? Tell me it’s low-humidity, because if it’s Florida, life isn’t worth living. I give you permission to commit suicide right away.”
“Thanks. That’s what I was waiting for, permission to commit homicide.”
“I said suicide. Don’t be a psychopath.”
“People can’t just not be psychopaths. That’s like saying, ‘don’t be terminally ill’. I mean, the obvious solution to the second is to die, then you’re not terminally ill anymore, but how can you stop being a psychopath? Like Hitler, still a psychopath centuries after he died.”
“Can’t argue with your logic. I miss you.”
“Of course you do. No one else brings you pills. But this guy, this home health care specialist, he brings you pills? I’m jealous. I’m being displaced.”
“Um… He doesn’t exactly know…”
He was quiet for a second. “You married some guy and didn’t tell him you were dying? And you call me psychotic. Poor guy.” He said it dismissively. He didn’t really care about Nix’s feelings.
“It’s nice not to be treated like an invalid.”
“Or you can’t help but lie. Maybe you’re not really married.”
“I am, too.” I switched to video chat and showed my ring and the certificate I’d already had out to show Aunt Willie. “See?”
“Yeah, I see,” he said, but his screen was dark so I couldn’t see him.
I tapped on my screen. “Where are you?”
“I’m in a dark place right now. Literally.”
“Hm. You didn’t try to take out Michael, did you?” Michael Dupre wasn’t an invalid anymore. Not that Beastie couldn’t hold his own, but Michael was on a whole different level than my best friend.
“Naw. You’re going to die soon, so why worry about some stalker?”
“Hm. When you say it, it sounds kind of idiotic. I love that about you.”
“Of course you do. Everyone loves to hear their own misguided philosophies echoed back to themselves.”
“I miss you.”
“You already said that.”
“Are you coming to Las Vegas some time?”
“You want to introduce me to your husband?”
“You said you’d give me a present. No one else is giving me a present.”
“Except Aunt Willie.”
“Obviously. Is it art supplies? Or maybe an original painting by someone affordable but still talented? Ooh, I know, it’s a basket full of my favorites, applets, cotlets, and jelly bellies!”
“It’s kind of involved. I’m not sure if you’ll like it. I made it.” He said it quiet, and it kind of stunned me because as far as I knew, Beastie didn’t make anything.
“Oh, wow. Beastie, you know I’ll love whatever you made me.”
“We’ll see,” he said and then sighed. “I have to get back to work. Thank you for texting, Sunshine. I was genuinely worried.”
“Pyschopaths don’t worry about other people.”
