head down, applying pressure on the sides of his throat. Bullseye hisses and instantly lowers his head. Reaper’s biceps are flexed, stretching his shirt. “You just earned yourself a fucking carving, Bullseye. I don’t know what’s crawled up your ass, but you better yank it out. How dare you, Bullseye. How fucking dare you accuse Tongue of that. He has been nothing but loyal. I should fucking gut you right here, right now, and I’ll do it over Candy’s body since you seem not to give a fuck about anyone else but yourself. Is that what you want? You want to defile Candy’s body?” Reaper’s neck stiffens, and he must apply more pressure because Bullseye falls on his knees.
“No, Prez. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. You’ll meet me when I fucking call for you, and you’ll take your carving. If I hear one more word from you about Tongue, I’ll do what he does—” Reaper lifts Bullseye’s head and hisses—“I’ll rip your fucking tongue out.” He drops Bullseye’s body to the floor with a thud, and his boot goes to the back of Bullseye’s neck pushing him face-first into the floor. Reaper cracks his neck left and right and spins in a circle as he looks at everyone, me included. “Jo,” he greets me, and he has a relieved smile on his face to see me awake. Eric snaps his eyes open when he hears my name, takes a step forward, then trips over Bullseye’s leg, smashing against Reaper’s chest.
“Sorry, Reaper. I’m still waking up,” Eric’s sleepy tone gravels from unuse as he napped in the corner.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You aren’t the one on schedule to get your chest carved. Anyone who has any questions, stay behind and ask Doc. He’s going to be busy tonight, so don’t stay long. Also, anyone who is willing and not injured, I’m putting together a search party for Tongue. He would not turn his back on us. I’d bet my fucking life on it.”
Tool flinches when the words leave Reaper’s mouth. Saying that means that if Reaper is wrong, the members can ask for his head. I don’t think any of them would, but he just gave them the choice. “Meet me in the kitchen in ten,” Reaper says, giving the injured one last look over before curling his lip and pounding up the steps.
No one stays behind unless they have someone here they care about. Eric waits for anyone to ask him any questions, but not a single person has the energy to stay. Every member and ol’ lady drags their feet up the steps behind Reaper and soon, the only ones left in the basement are me, Eric, Skirt, Dawn, Sunnie, Patrick, Poodle, Melissa, Moretti, and Mary. Out of all of us, I’m concerned about Patrick and Melissa most.
What if they never wake up?
I always wondered what it would be like not to wake up, what it would feel like, what death could be like. I bet it’s serene, a drug-like state that makes the body and brain feel at peace. Peace. It’s a word that isn’t used enough and is often under so much strife, so much torture, so many oceans of tears—it’s buried. And by the time you’ve dug it out to hold peace in your hand, it slips through your fingers again, sinking six-feet under, and all that’s left is to pick up the shovel and start digging once more.
“I have a bone to pick with you,” Eric says before a large yawn takes him by surprise. He sits down in the gray padded chair and leans his arms against the rail. His hair is a wreck. He has spatters of blood all over him, dried sweat, and soot. He’s exhausted. Eric takes off the bandage covering my arms and pulls out a drawer to his left to get new dressings. My arms are stitched again, and I can see the time and care Eric took to make sure my sutures were perfect. They are clean, tight, and each make a perfect X. “What the hell were you thinking? Do you know what could have happened to you? Why don’t you have any care for your life, Jo? Huh? Don’t get me wrong, I can care for the both of us, but I just want to know.”
“I-I-I stopped caring about myself a long time ago, Eric.” My head sinks into the soft pillow behind me as I press against it. “It’s too long of a