Kat flops against the wall next to me, sways once, rights herself. If I focus hard enough, she seems real.
“I had to sit through one of his Powerpoints in a meeting today,” she says. “It sucked.”
We stand there in silence. After five minutes someone comes out with keys, and I follow him to a car.
* * *
I make it home:the back seat, the window open, Kat hovering and careful not to touch me. The sun’s down, finally, and the breeze is cool against my face, my shirt wet against my chest, the ice melting and running down my neck, and all of it feels like it’s happening to someone else.
And then we’re at my house, and we’re going up the steps and Kat’s using my keys to open the door.
“In,” she says as she pushes it open, but at least her voice doesn’t sound like a blade any more.
“You’re not supposed to,” I tell her.
“Supposed to what?”
“Come in. The rules.”
She stands there and looks at me. Blinking. Like she’s sorting through a card catalog of memory, trying to remember what I’m talking about.
“That one doesn’t apply when you’re bleeding,” she finally says, and points at the door, and I go.
Finally, it’s familiar. It’s my entryway first and my kitchen to one side, the bathroom to the left, the living room beyond. It’s Beast thumping off the couch and meowing as she jogs toward me, fluffy tail jerking. It’s nudging my shoes off and leaving them where they are and walking into the kitchen and tossing the ice into the sink, gripping the edge, finally taking a deep breath in the quiet.
I don’t feel like my skin might split apart any more, but I feel the echo of it. The writhing, pent-up feeling is gone but I’m still restless, jerky, still feel like I’m watching my life projected on a far-away wall.
“Thanks,” I tell Kat. “I’m good now, you can go.”
Beast rubs against my ankles, meowing. She’s probably hungry.
“Want me to feed the cat?” Kat asks from the doorway, her words floating through the air, tangling and untangling. It takes me a minute.
“Beast.”
“I’ll feed the beast,” she offers. “Where’s the cat food?”
Kat feeds her, and every clink and clack in the quiet behind me sends shockwaves down my spine, but I don’t turn around because I’m afraid that if I lose my grip on the sink, I’ll lose my grip on everything.
Finally it’s done, only the wet smacking sounds of Beast eating her dinner, and the kitchen goes still again.
“Quit staring at me,” I get out.
“How can I help?”
“I’m fine.”
She says nothing, but I can feel her standing across the kitchen from me. Watching, her eyes sharp and dark behind her glasses, like she can slice me open with a look. Waiting for me to—I don’t know. Fall to my knees, wailing. Have some sort of Rambo-style flashback and paint my face with dish soap and chocolate sauce. Start throwing dishes. Fly into a rage and go after her with a frying pan.
I wish I could be absolutely certain that I won’t.
“I’m gonna shower,” I say, and turn away from Kat and her goddamn eyes.
* * *
There’sa knock on the bathroom door and I twitch. My eyes jerk open. I brace myself but the adrenaline is sluggish by now, like someone holding a lighter to the already-singed ends of frayed nerves. They glow but they don’t catch, and I think if I don’t answer she’ll go away.
Instead, she knocks again, and a moment later the door clicks open.