agitation until I find a big enough spark that I explode.
And there it is.
We’re sitting watching the halftime show when Fortune puts a pepperoni on the floor, calls the cat over, and then reaches down to put his cigarette out on its back. With pepperoni in its mouth, the cat screeches in response and takes off.
“What the fuck?” I yell, jumping to my feet, watching the cat scurry away down the hall. “What the fuck was that?”
Fortune looks up at me. “What? What?”
“What did you just do?”
He laughs, realizing now what my freak-out is about.“Relax. We do it all the time. Butt is used to it. AJ’s been using Butt as an ashtray for years. That’s how he got his name. Butt Out.” Everyone starts laughing.
“Holy shit!” I look at him like he’s the Devil.
“What?” The smile disappears from his face and suddenly he gets all angry. “Why you looking at me like that? It’s a fuckin’ cat.”
I go to look for the cat, who’s hiding somewhere, terrified. I find him in the back bedroom, under the bed. I grab a blanket, shoo him out, and throw it over him before he can get away. Predictably, he freaks out, gets all tangled up, and I wrap him tight so he can’t move. Almost immediately, I feel him relax in my arms. “Shhhhh …” I comfort him. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
I reappear in the hallway, the bundle in my arms.
“Where are you going?” Fortune demands.
“Home.”
“You can’t take AJ’s cat.”
“I’m taking him.”
“You can’t steal someone’s fuckin’ cat.”
“I’m not stealing him. I’m rescuing him.”
He laughs, glancing at his friends, who seem to be rather amused by the whole thing—even AJ, who clearly doesn’t care about his cat.
“Take the mothafuckin’ pussy,” Fortune says. “Who the hell cares.”
“Exactly. No one cares.” I turn and walk away, wondering if he’ll yell or come after me. But he doesn’t. There’s just collective, male, stupid-ass laughter. “You’re all fucking morons,” I mumble.
I bring the cat home and put him in our washroom. Cats like little places. Having been traumatized, he’ll lay low for a few days. I wish Michael were here—he’d know exactly what to do. I leave the blanket on the floor so he can disentangle himself. I get the cat food I bought at the corner store, and a water dish. Then I get the recycling blue box, lay it on its side, and stuff it next to the toilet. He’ll need somewhere to hide when we go in there. I put a sign on the door for my mom and Scott.
BEWARE! POST-TRAUMATIC STRESSED CAT INSIDE.
WON’T HURT YOU, BUT DON’T TOUCH.
I go to bed early, feeling totally sorry for myself and my pathetic life. The cat’s desperate meow meow meow from inside the washroom echoes throughout the apartment. His scratchy, desperate cries make me feel all the sadder and more pathetic. Just when I try to like someone, to get over Michael, I fall for an asshole.
Then the cat’s meows get louder and uglier, changing from sad to annoying. I eventually become so pissed off that I have to get up out of bed. “You’re an idiot,” I scold him when I open the bathroom door and see his scared face peeking out from inside the box. I get down on my knees and reach in, soothing him with my now gentle voice. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe now—”
Hssss. He lashes out with his paw.
“Owww!” I scream, pulling my hand away, two long streaks of blood already pooling. I punch the top of the container. “Shithead!” Then I run my hand under cold water, staring at the stinging, swelling skin.
Afterward, I bend back down to look inside. The cat peers out with shiny green eyes. “It’s okay … I know you’re just scared.”
I head back to my room, my hand now wrapped in toilet paper and carrying the recycling box. I put the box down on the floor beside the bed, figuring the cat will probably go under there at some point during the night.
Little does he realize, I think before I go off to sleep, how similar we are. He’s more scared in this safe place than he is in his familiar home of tortured hell. He’s so fucked up, he only feels good when he feels bad.
Thirty-Nine
I drag my ass to my regularly scheduled appointment every Monday with Eric. As soon as I go through the door, I’m Echo. There’s so much I don’t tell him now, about my mom and Fortune and