My Life as a White Trash Zombie

Chapter 27

Hunger prodded me, as if to taunt me about the loss of my brains. I let out a harsh laugh—yeah, I was brainless—then scrubbed at my face with the back of my hand and made myself take several deep breaths. Great, so I finally stood up to my dad. Told him all the things that I’d been wanting to tell him. Told him stuff I knew would hurt him. Now I felt like total shit, and I had no place to go.

I slowed down to the speed limit. The last thing I needed was to get pulled over. Plus, it wasn’t like I was in a hurry to get anywhere. Where the hell was I going, anyway? I could probably afford a hotel for one night, but more than that would eat my savings up pretty quickly. I needed to be thinking like a damn grownup. Budgets and shit like that.

I pulled into the parking lot of a SpeedE Mart and tugged my phone out of my purse. I started to punch in Randy’s number, but then I hesitated. I barely even thought about him anymore. I said he was my boyfriend, but when was the last time he called me? My finger hovered over the keypad as I chewed my lip. Okay, so we’d never had that sort of super-deep, madly in love kind of relationship where we called each other up and talked on the phone just to talk. Mostly we hung out together. It’s comfortable, I admitted to myself. But who else was I going to call? Marcus? I let out a bark of laughter. Yeah, right. Even if I had his number, there was no way I was going to ask him to get involved with my fucked up personal life. He’d already seen enough of that. Besides, he’d probably get on me again about getting away from my dad.

Well I was finally away from him. Go me. Now what the fuck was I supposed to do?

I sighed and finished punching in the number.

“Hey, Randy,” I said when he answered. “I’m fighting with my dad. Can I come by?”

He greeted me with his usual hug and kiss then went back to working on a Toyota Camry. I went on into the trailer, dropped my purse on the end of the couch, and stood there for a moment, looking around as if I was seeing it for the first time.

Randy’s trailer was far from nice, but it was a shitload better than my house. Still, he had dishes piled up by the sink and laundry in a pile in the hallway. It had always been like that, I realized, but this was the first time I’d really seen it. Maybe it was because I’d spent the last couple of months where half my job was cleaning—and I didn’t mind it. Or maybe it was that I’d finally had the chance to see that most normal people didn’t live like complete pigs. In the past several weeks I’d been inside dozens of houses. I’d been in million dollar homes and barely standing shacks, and I’d seen the difference between the places where the people took pride in themselves and their homes, and the shit dumps—like where I lived with my dad. And the price of the house didn’t mean a damn thing.

I was drying the last dish when Randy walked in. He gave me a funny look.

“What are you doing?”

I stacked the plate in the cabinet. “Doing your dishes. Duh.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Okay. Just never seen you do that before.”

“I figured I’d help out, y’know?”

“Um, okay. If you say so. Doesn’t fucking matter to me.”

I found myself scowling. Did anything matter to him? I used to love how laid-back he was. About the only times he ever seemed to get worked up was when another guy showed interest in me, and even that never lasted for long—only until he was sure I wasn’t going anywhere. Then he’d be back to being all calm and laid-back, comfortable, with everything the way he liked it.

I was beginning to see that “laid-back” was simply a nice way of saying “doesn’t give a shit.”

“I’m trying to get my fucking life back on track,” I said. Then I shook my head. “No, it’s never been on track. I’m sick of being a loser.”

He plopped down onto the couch and shrugged. “I don’t think you’re a loser. You don’t rape old ladies or steal from welfare moms, right?”

I wiped the water off the counter. “No, but that’s not being a loser. That’s being evil.”

“I s’pose. Hey, grab me a beer since you’re up?”

I pulled the fridge open, snagged a beer, and handed it to him. “See, I think losers are people who don’t want anything for themselves. Or who don’t do the shit that needs to be done to get anywhere in life.” I handed him the beer.

He cracked it open, then glanced at me. “You’re not drinking?”

“Nah. I’m wiped,” I lied. “If I drink I’ll fall asleep.” I paused. “So what do you think?”

He took a swig and then gave me a sideways glance. “About what?”

“About being a loser.”

“Oh.” He took another swig. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He shrugged again. “I dunno. I think if you’re not hurting anybody, it’s all good.”

“But maybe being a loser is about hurting yourself,” I pressed, but I could see that I’d already lost him.

“Jesus, Angel, you’re being awfully deep.” He laughed. “C’mon, look at us. We have fun. We fight, make up, fuck. We grab a beer, smoke a joint, knock back some pills. No one gets hurt. We’re not robbing convenience stores for money.”

“But some of those pills are stolen from people who need them.”

His mouth twisted. “Maybe some, but most are prescribed to people who go from doctor to doctor. The docs don’t care, ’cause they get their money.”

I blew out my breath. “I dunno. Maybe so. You should see the drugs and pills I come across in my job now. Seems like everybody and their mom is on painkillers or anxiety drugs.”

“Whaddya mean? How do you see them?”

“Oh, when someone dies we collect any leftover prescription drugs, and then they get destroyed.”

He hadn’t moved. “So they throw out all those pills?”

“They get incinerated,” I told him. “But they get counted first,” I added, suddenly feeling strange telling Randy about the drugs. “Anyway, thanks for letting me come by,” I said, trying to change the subject. “My dad’s out of jail and being his usual dickish self.”

“You know you can always come stay here.” He pushed off the couch and went into the kitchen, returning a half minute later with the bag of pot.

He lit a joint and passed it to me. I sighed to myself and took the hit even though I knew it wouldn’t do anything. It tasted like shit, and I instantly regretted doing it as the taste faded and the color in the room dimmed. I’m fucking poisoning myself, using up my brains, I thought sourly. These are my brains on drugs.

I passed the joint back to him. “I don’t want anymore,” I said. “Toldya, I’m tired. It’s been a shitty day.”

He eyed me for a second, then leaned his head back and took a long hit. “You’re not turning into one of those squeaky-clean, moralistic fuckers, are you?”

I scowled. “Gimme a fucking break, all right? Would I be here if I was?” And would it matter if I did?

“Dunno. Would you? You’re only here right now’cause you need crash space.”

I stood and grabbed my bag. “I don’t need this tonight. I’ll find a goddamned hotel.”

He made a noise of frustration and snagged my arm. “Lighten up, willya? I don’t give a fuck why you stay.”

I stared at him for several seconds. Why didn’t he give a fuck? Shouldn’t he? Wasn’t that how normal people acted around each other? They should want the other person to be there for them. Did he really want me, or did he simply not want me to be with anyone else?

“Do you love me?” I blurted.

An expression of pure bafflement crossed his face. “You know I do, baby.”

The crazy thing was that I was fairly sure he did, in his own strange way. And I loved him, in a strange, dependent, who-the-fuck-else-would-want-me kinda way.

He stood and ran his hands up my arms, then pulled my purse out of my hand and set it back on the couch. “Is that what’s been screwing your head up? You think I don’t love you enough?”

I shook my head. “That’s not it.” He loved me enough. As much as he could ever love me, I realized. There’d never be anything more or deeper between us. It was better than nothing, though, right? But who’s to say that “nothing” is my only other option?

He slipped his arms around me. “Look, I’ve told you before that you can stay here anytime you want. All the time if you need to. It’s cool.”

I looked up at him. “So you’re asking me to move in with you?”

He looked briefly puzzled. “Huh? Well, yeah. I guess. I mean, I’m here by myself, and we’re already fucking, so it’d make sense if you wanted to stay here too.”

Wow. That was romantic. I didn’t have to look around. I knew what the trailer held. Was this really the best I could do?

“Um, I need to think about it,” I mumbled.

He gave me a squeeze. “Okay. Offer stands.” He slipped his hands lower and pulled me close to him. “I’ll even let you work off the rent,” he said with a laugh.

I knew he wasn’t trying to sound like a sleaze, so I didn’t call him on it. “I can pay,” I said.

He lifted his head. “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t like fucking me anymore?”

Shit, that really hadn’t come out like I’d meant. “Sorry. I mean, I have a job now and can split costs with you. I’m not a leech.” I fought back the grimace as the words came out of my mouth. Shit, was I agreeing to live here with him? It’s temporary, I told myself. It’s better than living with my dad.

“Um, okay,” he said, then dipped his head to nuzzle my neck. “If that makes you feel better.”

“Yeah, look, babe, I’m super tired,” I said, putting my hands on his chest. Fucking him would use up my brains like crazy. And I didn’t have any to spare. But if I moved in with him I’d need to stay tanked up on brains. Where the hell would I store brains here, anyway? Maybe get a storage unit and a freezer. Shit, there was no way this would work.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I said, realizing it was a lie as the words left my mouth. I had no desire to screw him anymore. I didn’t want to move in with him. I was using him for the night. Yeah, classy.

Luckily he didn’t seem to be offended, simply dropped his hands with a soft sigh. “Okay, I won’t be a dick. You do look pretty worn out.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, managing a smile. He gave me a lopsided one in return, but his expression was guarded, as if he was debating whether or not to say more. I didn’t feel like prying it out of him, whatever it was. “Okay, um, I’m gonna go grab a shower, okay?”

He gave me a slow nod, then plopped back down on the couch and picked up the remote. I turned away and headed down to the bathroom, feeling like there was something hanging in the air between us, with neither of us giving enough of a fuck to care.

The morning light seemed dull and filtered as it speared through the streaked window. Dust moved sluggishly along the track of light as if reluctantly being sucked up to some higher dust heaven. I could feel Randy pressed up against me, his face tucked into the nape of my neck. His breath was warm against me, but even that felt muted. I closed my eyes and sighed. My last full meal of brains had been two days ago. By later today I’d start to smell. In another day or so I’d begin to fall apart.

I eased away from him and checked the time on my phone. Maybe I could go on in to the morgue with the excuse that I left something there. Check and see if any bodies came in.

I’m still a junkie looking for a fix, I thought with a scowl. Only now my life depends on that fix.

Randy was pretty well dead to the world, and I was able to pull clothes on and slip out before he woke up. A weird sense of relief washed over me as I drove away. Once again, I checked my rear view mirror to see if anyone was watching me go. Once again, real life failed to pay attention to how things were depicted in the movies.

It was barely eight A.M. when I pulled up to the back door of the morgue. I did my best to not act like I was slinking, but I sure felt as if I was pulling some sort of heist. My mouth was dry, and my hands shook as I swiped my card in the reader. I had no reason to be so nervous, though, right? I mean, all I had to say was that I was looking for something I’d lost. My watch. That would work. I hurriedly yanked mine off and stuffed it deep into a pocket.

I closed the door behind me and listened hard. There was only the low hum of the cooler and the scent of Pine-Sol and formalin. I headed down the hallway, cringing at the absurdly loud echo of my footsteps on the linoleum.

Pulling open the door of the cooler, I quickly slipped inside, relief swimming through me at the sight of a bag on a stretcher. I paused. Took a deep breath.

Shit.

Even before opening the bag, I knew what I would find. Still, I pulled the zipper open, confirming with my eyes what my nose had already told me. The woman had probably been pretty in life, and even through the bloat I could see that she’d maintained herself well. Toned and slender body with some fake boobs that had probably set her back quite a few grand. Carefully waxed eyebrows. I could even see the remnants of makeup. I had no idea how she’d died, but whatever the circumstance no one had found her for several days. She wasn’t crawling with maggots or anything like that, but the first few layers of her skin were already beginning to slip off and I knew that there wouldn’t be any brains worth salvaging.

“Angel? What the hell are you doing?”

I jerked in shock and whirled to see Nick standing in the doorway of the cooler. Shit! I’d been so absorbed in my pity party I hadn’t heard the cooler door.

“Jesus, dude, you scared the crap out of me!” I yanked the zipper closed, then moved to exit the cooler. I thought for a second that Nick was going to block my way, but at the last instant he stepped aside, giving me a baffled look.

“What were you doing, Angel?” Suspicion and worry darkened his voice.

I paused, took a deep breath and turned back to him. “I was looking for my watch.” I twisted my face into a grimace. “I remember having it on the last time I was here, and I’ve looked everywhere. Stupid me was thinking that maybe I dropped it in a bag. . . .” I trailed off. God, this was the dumbest thing I’d ever come up with. There was no way he was going to buy this.

But, shockingly, the suspicion in his face cleared. “Oh,” he said, brows drawing together in a slight frown.

“That must be one special watch if you were willing to wear it again after it was in the bag with a decomp.”

I mustered a weak smile. “I didn’t know that was a decomp. I guess the last one I worked on has already been picked up. I mean, it’s not a really nice watch or anything, but I hate the thought of springing for a new one, y’know?” The lie came to me with the ease of too much practice.

He shrugged. “I guess,” he said in a tone that told me he’d never really had to worry about money. “You seriously came in on your day off to look for a watch?”

I gave him what I hoped looked like a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Hey, I have no life, y’know?” And if I didn’t find brains soon, I wouldn’t have any life.

He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

I mumbled something and then made my escape.