Page 74 of Severed Rivalry
Me: Not for me. And Ci doesn’t need any more drama or any more reason to be mad at your mom.
Ayla: Fine. But I’m only being an adult because you’re making me.
I fight to hold back a laugh and switch from looking at places to break our system, to digging into folks in South Dakota.
One day I’ll take them all down. Sometime after fifty-seven and a half weeks from now when it’s safe to pop my head up. I’m not risking playing Whack-a-Mole with my daughter.
But once the risk is passed, it’s game on.
Cian
My hunchback days are far from over, but I’m moving on. The rubber boxing helmet thing that squeezes the fuck out of my face has me thinkingPhantom of the Opera, but I can’t sing. And my weird hand gesture seems to be lost on everyone.
At least I’m in a room.
When the door pushes open, my sister is followed by an angel.
I can feel the lopsided grin that squeezes my face in my helmet contraption. One cheek squishes against it as I try to sing. But nothing comes out.
“You good, big brother?”
I smile. “Yeah.” She’s tall. Like really tall, and I have to look way, way up to see her.
The angel behind her looks happy and that makes me happy too.
And horny.
I cover my crotch when I look at her. But I can’t stop the goofy grin.
“Oh God,” Ayla says and spins. “I’ll… be back. Later.”
“She ran away,” I say. Or I think I say that. “You’re so bootiful. Bootiful. Beeootiful. Pretty.” I enunciate the last word.
“How are you, Ci?” The angel smiles really wide, and her eyes dance. One is a different color on the outside, and I want to stare at it.
“Bootiful. I’m pretty.”
“You’re definitely handsome. I like the scruff.” She rubs a finger over my jaw on my non-puffy side.
It tickles, and my cock gets warm and bouncy.
“Happy dick.”
When the angel bursts out laughing, I lift my singing Phantom hand and squeeze her boob. “Honk.”
She leans down and kisses my lips with light pressure. “Love you, Ci.”
The angel loves me. She has boobs and she makes my dick springy. “Yay.”
I wake in the hospital with pressure in my temple and cheek. Did they put my face in a fucking vise? My jaw feels loose, but it finally doesn’t hurt. Actually, nothing hurts. For the first time in more than two weeks, nothing hurts.
The dreams I’ve been having are wild. I get why people would want the good stuff and why it’s so sought after. I could’ve slept for a week and I wouldn’t have cared. And the dreams were ragers.
Mom sits in the chair at my feet. Her eyes roam my face and search my eyes as if they hold the mysteries of the universe.
I lift a hand and offer a low wave, not speaking. I’m afraid I could overdo it with as little pain as I feel. The pressure is insane, but the pain is muted.
“Cian. I’m—” She starts crying. “I wanted to be here when you woke up. I asked Ayla and her friend to wait just so I could see you. You look good, son. Your dad?—”
