Costa shrugs. “You know, your boyfriend never would have been able to do something like this before. He’s different now. What if he could fly?”
“Oh, shut up, Costa,” Sam says. “That’s ridiculous.”
“We could make you some sort of cape or whatnot.” Costa opens his arms and beckons to Sam. “Come here, my favorite superhero. Give me some love!”
Sam dramatically rolls his eyes, but he reluctantly steps into the hug and puts his arms around Costa’s neck. “You’re crazy.”
“And you’re strong.” His arm moves a bit.
Then, I hear a sound that I can’t place.
Costa’s voice turns serious. “You can do anything, Sam.”
“Goddamn it, Costa,” Sam whispers, but I can hear the emotion. “Again?”
Costa moves his arm, and I see the pocketknife in his hand while it is now sticking into Sam’s stomach.
“No, no, no…” I repeat softly, unable to move, aware that I can’t stop this.
“You have to knock this shit off.” Sam grabs on to Costa.
Costa lowers Sam to the floor and against the couch.
He looks at me over Costa’s shoulder. “Stay with me, Stella. Remember, it’s going to be fine.”
Even though blood is once again pouring from the person I love, this time, I try my best not to panic, and I listen to his words.
Costa runs a hand through Sam’s hair and then lifts his chin to look into his eyes. “And it feels good, Sam, doesn’t it?”
Sam smiles at him, virtually drugged, clearly euphoric. “Yes.”
“Tell her you’ll be right back,” Costa purrs.
Sam shifts his eyes to mine. “Listen to me. Listen, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.” He’s not lying to me. He wouldn’t.
Costa kisses his forehead. “Good boy. Enjoy your trip.” Then, he digs the knife in deeper and lifts it upward.
Sam lets out a groan that sounds all too much the way he did earlier while we were alone and half naked. And I can’t stop staring at him. I hold his eye contact as he takes a few shallow breaths.
“Stella, tell him that you hear him,” Costa says, “that you’re all right. You’ll give him a good surge if he knows you’re not freaking out.”
It takes everything I have to control my trembling when I go to him and take his hand. I even force a smile. “I hear you, Sam. I hear you. I’m all right.”
Sam slightly nods.
And then, he dies.
Costa pulls the knife from Sam’s gut and leans against the couch, leaving one arm draped over his friend’s shoulder.
Now that I don’t have to control myself, I straddle Sam’s body in order to lunge at Costa and slap my hand across his face as hard as I can. “You’re a fucking asshole! You’re a fucking asshole!”
Costa grabs my arm with one hand as I remain kneeling over Sam, panting and shaking, while his blood colors my dress.
“Settle down,” Costa says firmly. “He’s fine.”
“He didn’t want to trip again, you fucker!”
“Yes, he did.” Costa is inappropriately calm. He wipes Sam’s blood off on his jeans as though it’s nothing. “We always do.”
