“In this movie, the bird population starts attacking humans. They become coordinated and plan staged attacks.”
“I see.” I looked at Cujo suspiciously. He didn’t look like he had some grand, malicious master plan; now he just looked lazy, lying there on the floor, his head propped up on a hay bale as if using it as a pillow, as if he was about to fall asleep. I tugged on the leash and he opened his one eye lazily. I sighed. He couldn’t fall asleep at a time like this.
“I have to go,” I said, hauling Cujo to his feet. I was having to pull him along with me now. He was no longer being good on the leash. Instead, he was lazily dragging his paws on the ground, as if he didn’t want to leave, as if he was trying to keep me here. But I wasn’t going to let him.
“You can stay if you want!” I heard Mark say and I turned. He was smiling at me again, a small, curious smile, and my stomach gave the tiniest little flutter. A pitter-patter of feet running across my diaphragm. I looked back at him and noticed for the first time that night that he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
“You’re not wearing your glasses,” I said.
His smile grew. “I touched my eyeball.”
I smiled back at him. “Well, it looks . . . you look . . .” I stopped talking when I had that feeling again.
Familiarity? Where the hell from though?
“You know, this is probably going to sound weirder than dogs understanding me, but . . . I don’t know. You look familiar.”
Suddenly, Mark’s entire demeanor changed. He lowered his head and turned his body away from me. “I have one of those faces,” he mumbled. He briefly looked up at me again, but then walked away. “See you around.”
I stared at his back. I hadn’t expected him to get so touchy and irritated.
“Bye. Whatever!” I said, and walked away briskly, while the pitter-patter on my diaphragm turned to stomping. I noticed a woman walking purposefully in my direction. Well, I thought she was walking in my direction until she crossed her arms angrily and moved past me. I turned around and watched as she stamped up to Mark and stopped in front of him.
“I thought you weren’t coming here tonight?” she asked with what was clearly an accusatory tone.
“Um . . .” He ran his hand through that hair of his. Slightly long, slightly wavy. “I changed my mind. But it was too late to let you know.” I smiled to myself. That sounded like a lie. He sounded guilty. Boyfriend-guilty.
“Really.” She had her hands on her hips now. Clearly, she also didn’t believe him.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes, as he gave her what looked like a fake placating smile. And then his eyes moved past her and he caught me watching. His smile immediately disappeared and he narrowed his eyes at me. He obviously didn’t want me seeing this. Whatever! I turned and walked away.
I can’t believe I’d had a pitter-patter over him.
CHAPTER 23
I was having a strange and disturbing dream. I was running down the road in the town and was being followed by a flock of blue Twitter birds. They were raining brown poop emojis down on me and I was frantically weaving from left to right to avoid them. And then I heard laughter and turned to see #Kaige riding on the back of a giant Twitter bird. I felt a hard thump on my head and realized that they had tossed my iPhone 11 Pro in rose gold at me—the one that @TheKyleWhite101 had bought me for my birthday last month; he’d filmed that amazing unboxing with me and then Apple had sent us another one free. I stopped and picked up the phone and it melted in my hand like mercury. All my pictures and videos and messages and friends and likes and followers, melting through my hand like mush and falling to the ground. I tried to grab up the liquid and make it solid again, scrabbling for all those years of work and sharing and posting, but it was gone. And then, the evil Twitter birds started shooting giant Pinterest pins out their mouths like missiles. They flew through the air and one caught me, pinning my skirt to the ground. I tried to get away, pulling at my skirt, but it wouldn’t budge. I was stuck. Trapped by the physical manifestation of social media come to life to torment and torture me. And then, just as a giant screaming ghost-face emoji started rushing at me, I opened my eyes.
I sat up in bed. Drenched in sweat, panting hard. I grabbed my phone and squeezed it. Thank God, it was solid. Everything was still intact. I breathed a sigh of relief and flopped back onto the bed. I was just about to roll back over and go to sleep again, when I heard a whimper.
“Cujo? Are you okay?” I looked over at him. All I could see was a black shadow stretched out across the carpet. I flicked the lights on. He was lying on his side, his head down on the ground, tongue hanging out.
“Hey! Are you okay?” I climbed out of bed.
He tilted his eye up to me, tried to raise his head, but it flopped back down again as if he couldn’t hold it up.
“Oh no!” I rushed over to him and shook him. He barely stirred. “No, no, no! Don’t you dare!” I slipped my arms under him and heaved with all my might, trying to get him onto his feet. He teetered there for a moment or two, and then slipped back down onto the ground like something without bones. Shapeless like jelly, melting into the floor, like the phone in my nightmare.
“Come on!” I repeated the action, and again, boneless, he slipped back down.
“Shit, shit!” I walked in a circle as I decided what needed to be done. And right now, there was only one thing to do. “Right!” I heaved him up again, this time using every ounce of my strength. He was so heavy, like a deadweight, and it took everything inside me to finally hoist him off the ground.
“You’ve gotta help me here! Okay! I can’t do this alone,” I urged, huffing and puffing from the exertion. He seemed to understand, and put his paws on my shoulders, slipping his legs over them like two great arms. I wrapped my arms around his back and hoisted him onto me as best I could and then rushed for the door.
“Oh my God, you are heavy,” I said, as I walked as fast as I could down the road towards the vet’s. Each step I took felt like torture, as his weight held me back like a gale force wind might do if you were trying to walk into it. My back ached from being bent backwards, my knees ached, my fracking spine felt like it was going to snap in two.
“Almost there, almost there, almost there,” I said to myself, to him, to whoever as I shuffled up the road. One tiny step in front of another tiny step. Soon I could see the house. But the closer I got, the more he was slipping from my grasp. I stopped and tried to reposition him, his legs over my shoulders, my arms wrapped tightly around his back, holding him onto me, pressing him tightly against my body like glue. I could feel his heart beat, feel the weight of his head on my shoulder and the hot rush of breath against my neck. Finally, after another exhausting few meters, I arrived at the house. I kicked my foot against the wooden door over and over and over, drumming at it repeatedly and loudly, calling out until a light went on and the door was finally opened. A sleepy-looking Samirah looked at me through hooded eyes.
“Something’s wrong with him!” I exclaimed.
