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I can’t stop it.
Gagging sounds come as I bend forward, spewing much of nothing out until I dry heave.
An ocean of tinted water propels out of me.
Gross.But had it been a chunky upchuck, it would’ve instigated a viscous cycle.
Another Spanish mumble, that sounds like the same one from before. I focus on the number of times. If there’s one person, maybe they left and came out, that would account for the two times at the door. And maybe they entered and left the bathroom too.
There’s probably more than one person.
Damn this all to shit.
Just a little while ago I was thinking about death, and being naked, and accepting the fact that my end was coming. But no!
Styx gave me hope.
And the universe took the hope away… by taking Styx. My fingers tremble so I fist them, digging nails into skin. The pressure is enough to keep me from tapping out from reality.
Find the positive.
There is none! No positives!
Okay…. maybe possibilities.
Improbablepossibilities, but it works. Like, no one died. Maybe it’s Styx walking about outside and—
The penis Styx had put at the front door speaks again.
The French one too, almost at the same time. There has to be more than one person.
I can’t. Surviving is just not a life skill. Good thing my life will be over soon, at least I won’t constantly live in disappointment.
Now it speaks Spanish. The pounding in my ears is so intense, I can’t even tell where the voices are coming from.
I never thought the last words I’d hear before I died would be from a fucking intrusive- Foreign! Dancing! Dick!
My head spins so fast I have to rest my forehead on the doorframe. In the meantime, I loosen my stiff muscles. With both palms firmly on the ground, I left one leg at a time. Pain shoots from knee to heel, and my spine feels like it’s stretched so tight it will crack with the slightest sudden movement.
Snap like a rubber band.I ease up on my palms, which alleviates the pressure on my shoulder.
Wait.
Why did the motion activator go off in Spanish?
One at the door. One in the bathroom and one…
Slowly, I glance over my shoulder.
One in Mama Rosa’s room!
They’re everywhere.
I’m going to die—trapped and on my knees—if I don’t make a move. Broken bones are not ideal, and my drastic plan had not factored in a bad guy upstairs.
Lobby it is.
Before I change my mind, or collapse from the lack of oxygen reaching my brain, I crawl outside, doing my best to avoid the puddle of evidence I left behind. The small hallway, the pictures, all of it is intact. The door to the bathroom is slightly ajar, but from my position, I don’t see anyone.
