Page 76 of Nine-Tenths

And then somehow, it's been five weeks.

Then six.

It takes a few weeks for me to catch on, because I'm so cocooned in misery, but one morning I leave my house, I realize with a sudden-fog-clearing fury that I have a stalker.

There's some goddamned dragon following me around. Or at least, I assume he'shomo draconisbecause he’s a mountain of muscle with avibethat frazzles my short-hairs when I walk by his vehicle-du-jour. Maybe he thinks he's being inconspicuous, but hanging out in different cars outside of my apartment and my place of work only functions in movies. Especially with a neck like that—you don't get a neck like that just being a driver.

Is he security?

Or am I being tailed to make sure I don’t do anything naughty?

Fuck 'em.

Fuck every single one of the split-tongued, scaly-assed bastards keeping me and Dav apart.

So I…

I don't know why I do it. Except that I'm angry. I want them to know that no matter where he is and what they're doing to him, Dav is mine. I am his, and he is mine.

So, on the morning of the forty-sixth day, I step out of my apartment, stare the security dude straight in the face, and put on the little rose-and-laurels lapel pin. I stick it right on my Henley, directly over my heart.

The guy's face goes ashen. His car peels out of the parking spot.

And three hours later, Onatah calls me for the first time.

Alright, so you remember what I said about the Inciting Incident? That it’s the tripwire that sends the protagonist hurtling towards the first major obstacle in their path? Well, if I can stretch the already thin metaphor, the protagonist then fetches up against the wall of the first landing. Getting their feet under them, they can either head back up the stairs, and the story is over, or they can peek around the corner and see what comes next.

You know, if they haven't already broken their necks.

After that comes something called the "pinch point". At the top of act two, the hero is squeezed, and either they slither out and go home, or stay there while the pressure becomes unbearable, forcing them to make difficult decisions that affect the rest of their lives.

"The Vice," my English professor had called it.

Of course, most protagonists aren't dumbfuck enough to sit in the chompy part of their own volition, let alone reach around the machine to turn the crank themselves.

But hey, whoever said I was smart?

I put on that pin. And okay, I didn't know what it meant at the time, but the thing is… when I found out? I didn't take it off.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

Phone call. Blocked number. I ignore it. I'm at work and I have better things to do than listen to fake-ass shit-stirring ‘reporters’ asking me invasive questions. It's not until a few hours later, when I’m heading off on my break, that I realize someone left a voicemail.

I schlump to the back deck. There's no shade from the late-August sun. I could stay inside with the air conditioning, butthat defeats the purpose of having a break, because I'll just end up puttering. And it's too damn hot to go for a walk.And, and I don't want to go to any of the restaurants around us on St. Paul because every single one of them is somewhere Dav and I once had a meal and Ihatethat it's all I can think about.

With nothing better to do, I decide to give the voice mail a listen before deleting it.

"Hey, so, listen," the message says. The speaker sounds like a woman, voice resonant. I can tell English isn't her first language, but her accent is nothing I’ve heard before. "Man, you gotta knock it off."

Anger flares hard and fast under my skin.How dare they try to intimidate me!

There's a silence, and I expect the speaker to hang up. Instead, she sighs. "Dav says I'm supposed to tell you he's sorry and this is bullshit, although we both know he'd never actually use that word, and he's fine, but you gotta knock it off because the wrong people are paying attention and he doesn't want that, okay? He's a noble fuckwit and you're giving him heart attacks on the daily." There's another deep sigh and then, quietly, almost like I wasn't supposed to hear it: "Shit, man. Youhadto don the token."

The message ends and I sit there, wide-eyed and gawp-mouthed.

Dav's fine. It's all I can think, the two words crashing around the inside of my skull.Dav's fine. Dav's fine. He's fine, and he's worried about me.

Before my brain catches up with my fingers, I've already hit redial. The annoying bleeping reminds me the number is blocked, and Ican'tcall her back. Whoeverheris.

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