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Cool. Maybe he’ll fall asleep, and I can jet.
No such luck. After maybe twenty more minutes of it, I find myself shifting uncomfortably in the bed. I had a lot to drink last night, and it’s becoming painfully obvious that my bladder hasn’t had a chance to empty since.
Keys frowns. “You okay, man? You’re getting kind of fidgety. Maybe Bunny’s right; maybe you need more pain meds.”
“What I need is a fucking toilet,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
“Oh!” He shoots out of his chair and extends a hand. “Here. I’ll help you to the bathroom if that’s what you need. Your legs weren’t really injured, but with those bruised ribs it’s gonna be painful to get up by yourself.”
I reluctantly take his hand with my unbandaged one and accept the offer of assistance. He wasn’t wrong. I damn near scream when I work myself into a sitting position. I have to admit, I’m grateful for the help. With only one good hand, it’s hard to get up. Once I’m upright, though, Keys refuses to let me walk on my own, so I end up with a potty buddy. It’s humiliating having him escort me down the hall to a small men’s room, but when we get to the urinal and I have trouble with the drawstring of the sweats I’m in—Who changed my clothes, and when?—I don’t argue with him helping me.5082
Once I’ve drained the ol’ lizard, Keys leads me to a small cafeteria of sorts. It’s set up almost like some weird fallout shelter storage unit, with all kinds of miscellaneous dried goods jammed onto metal shelving units and a few mismatched fridges holding the perishables. I pick out a couple of things to eat without really paying attention to what I’m grabbing, and Keys pulls a couple beers out of one refrigerator before we finally sit at what looks like a stolen park bench.
At this point, I don’t even question the beer. I just take it when he opens it for me and self-medicate with a few swigs.
“Slow down, dude. You’ve probably still got some sedative in your system.”
I give Keys a choice finger in response as I dig into a pudding cup with a plastic spoon. Vanilla’s not my favorite flavor, but it’s soft and easy to eat. My jaw still throbs.
While I eat, he sits back with his sucker and just … watches me. It’s creepy.
“You’re full of surprises, Neil. You know that? Like, the D&D tattoo and the, ahem, jewelry.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you actually really got one of those things. Not at all what I expected.”
Expected? “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Nah. Not disappointed. Just amused.” He rests his elbows on his knees as I open a second pudding cup. “You get that for a girl or what?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no,” I lie.
He just smirks at me and sucks on that damn sucker. Is he not done with that thing yet? It’s gotta be almost dissolved by now.
As if on cue, he takes the soggy paper stick out of his mouth and pulls a fresh sucker out of his pocket. When he unwraps it, I smell grape. He puts the new sucker in his mouth with a grin. “Sorry, hope the sugary smell doesn’t bother you. I have a kind of oral fixation thing. This keeps me from grabbing a cigarette or something equally dumb.”
Well, on the scale of bad habits, I guess suckers aren’t so terrible if he’s trying to avoid smoking. “No, you’re fine. Doesn’t bother me.”
Keys nods and gestures at the now-empty beer. “Need another?”
Remembering how wasted I got at the club, I shake my head and ask for a coffee instead. He gets up and heads over to a beat-up old Starbucks machine I saw sitting in a back corner. The thing looks ancient, with an older logo on it, but I guess it works well enough. A few minutes later he comes back with a steamy cup and a couple bottles of creamer.
“Here. I didn’t know if you’d want it black or what, so dress it up however you like.”
I almost wish I could drink it black, but I can’t stand coffee if it doesn’t have something in it to cut the bitterness. I opt for the boring plain cream instead, hoping I seem less frou-frou if I skip the French vanilla or hazelnut. I can’t quite explain why, but a part of me actually cares if Keys thinks I’m a wimp.
While I stir my drink, he goes back to the corner and brews himself a cup. I take note that he not only puts even more creamer in his cup than I use, but he also adds whipped cream and a drizzle of Hershey’s ice cream syrup.
“How can you drink that with a grape sucker in your mouth? I shudder even thinking about that flavor combo.”
He shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee concoction. “I dunno. I think I fucked up my sense of taste with the cigs. Nothing’s been quite the same since I quit. I can barely taste these lollipops, to be honest. Don’t know why I bother dressing up this cup of Joe when I can’t taste half of what I put in it.”
“That, uh … sucks. No pun intended.”
Keys lets out a loud belly laugh at that. “I like you, Neil. You’re funny.”
Funny. Right. “I guess I am. My coworkers sure thought so. Justin—he’s a team lead at the game company I work for—shoved me at this chick at the club last night, and I was so drunk I started trying to hit on her. He probably was laughing his damn ass off when her bodyguard jumped me.”
“Yeah. That was Samson Ramsey’s girlfriend, Candy, that he threw you at.”
My jaw drops. “Wait,theSamson Ramsey? The mafia guy?”
