Page 101 of Dead Serious with Benefits
There was a pause before Arlo snorted. “You’re passionate about this.”
“You’re goddamn right I am,” I huffed. “We are not going to our graves with you only just now telling me this story, alright?”
“Okay,” he said after a minute. “That still doesn’t help us right now.”
“Well, what’s going to help is if you tell me you haven’t given up first and foremost.”
“What?”
“Look, you tell me some hard-to-tell story in a situation like this? That’s a deathbed confessional. And I won’t lie, you can, in fact, be morose and morbid, and at a time like this, that makes me wonder if you’re the sort to roll over and die. And really? This is not the time for that, I don’t need that energy in my life.”
“That...energy? Just how hard were you struck in the head?”
“Arlo!”
There was another pause, and I could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again. “I’m not giving up on life. My...connection with death, dying, and grief does not mean I have a sudden desire to be one of the dead. I want to live, Ward. I’ve always wanted to live. Death waits for all of us, and I accept that, but that doesn’t mean I want to find out those final mysteries at the age of thirty-one.”
“Good, then you’re with me?”
“In the most literal sense.”
“Arlo.”
He snickered. “I’m with you...do you have an idea?”
“Uh...no.”
“I see.”
“I hear that tone, don’t start with me.”
“Well, I assumed with all the bravado and energy you were putting into this conversation, you had something in mind.”
“Well, you see, I did have an idea, but then someone decided to share a story at the worst possible time and distracted me.”
“Youhadan idea?”
“I was thinking of an idea.”
“Ah.”
“Shut it.”
“Would you like some help?”
“Oh, now you want to help?”
“I cannot be sure,” he said, and I heard a scraping sound. “But whoever tied me up seems to have chosen to tie me to the vertical bars of this shelving unit.”
“We already established that,” I pointed out, but if Arlo was saying something about it, it meant there was some significance. “So what?”
“And so, the edges of this shelving unit are not dull, not sharp, but...hold on a moment,” he said. I listened to the sounds of scraping, shifting, and at one point, he hissed.
“Arlo?” I questioned.
“Hold on,” he said between his teeth. “Just...a moment?—”
I waited until I heard him grunt, and then something snapped. “Please tell me that was the strip and not your wrist.”
