Page 5 of A Really Gay Book
My house was the best option.
If Apple did end up kicking the bucket, there was an excellent chance that one of my roommates would know how to dispose of his body.
You thought I was kidding about the supervillain thing, didn’t you?
Nope.
In the beginning, I’d thought the whole situation was anotherAdam’s shitty luckthing because the only place that would have me was full of weird, creepy people.
The first thing that happened to me when I walked in the door was that a little guy rushed up to me and started measuring me. Like, he measuredeverything. It was weird.
But by the time the interview was over, I realized the whole group was so freaking odd that I wasn’t even going to be a blip on their radar. Me destroying the communal coffee table before I even sat down on the couch didn’t raise an eyebrow. Instead, the tiny measuring tape guy cried out in a happy way, reached into the pile of rubble, pulled out a rusty bolt, and ran out of the room.
The biggest guy, Gareth, who looked like he only allotted himself three smiles per year, gave me a brilliant grin and said, “He’s been looking for that for weeks. Nice job, Adam.” His eyes were fucking purple. Who has purple eyes? Supervillains, obviously.
Shortly after, there was an odd hum in the air that made every hair on my body stand on end.
Gareth waved away my concern with a, “Don’t worry about that. Vix is just putting the finishing touches on his…project. Finding that bolt was all he needed to complete it. You’d be surprised at how rare that particular size is.”
The next day there was a big to-do in the paper about some kind of museum robbery involving mysterious circumstances and a loud humming noise that had everything vibrating within a one-mile radius of the museum. But by then, I had a place to live, so I tried not to think about it too much.
It wasn’t like anyone died or anything.
Anyway… back to Apple.
So I dragged the rotten bastard all the way to my house and chucked him through the front door. Apple wobbled on his feet but didn’t have the decency to fall down again. If it had been me, I would have skidded across the floor and somehow managed to slide all the way through the house and out the back door.
Fucking Apple.
“Sit on the couch.” I pointed at the one all the way across the room. The further from me the better. Even if it was only for a minute, I still wanted as much space from Mister Perfect as I could get.
Apple sauntered off and sat elegantly on the piece of shit sofa I’d directed him to. He looked like a goddamned king on a throne.
I went to the table by the door. Most people put their keys on them, but in my house, it was strictly for medical supplies. They were placed in strategic positions all over the house, but this one was the most important because I usually had at least one injury every time I came home.
Please allow me to present my throbbing head as exhibit A.
I loaded a tray with everything I’d need to fix Apple’s hand and my head and reluctantly made my way over to Apple’s lumpy throne.
“Give it to me,” I said and grabbed his hand before giving him a chance to respond.
Surprisingly, Apple didn’t protest his rough treatment. Instead, he gave me the oddest look. It was half amusement, half fascination, and left me feeling like I was a rare exhibit at a zoo.
I kneeled down in front of him but popped back up because I’d be damned if I’d ever kneel down in front of the guy. Not ever. Not even if the last muffin in town was sitting at his feet.
Not that I eat floor food, okay? Just… shut up.
Instead of kneeling, I sat my ass down on the new coffee table I’d bought, fully expecting it to collapse under my weight because that’s what coffee tables did around me. Sometimes I didn’t even need to touch them. I swear, one time I had one drop dead at the mere sight of me.
I’m pretty sure this phenomenon made me Ikea’s favorite customer. Last year they sent me a Christmas card, and as long as I didn’t enter one of their locations, I would probably continue to receive their love. If I did, the whole place would probably vanish from existence just to get away from me. So I bought furniture online just in case.
I didn’t need a contract out on my life from Ikea.
But our current coffee table defied all logic and held me up. I pretended like that was a normal thing and proceeded to apply the most painful disinfectant I owned to Apple’s hand.
It was a very warm hand.
Soft too.
