Heavy hiking boots aside, the woman sort of tiptoes past Lilian as if she wanted to be quiet in her interruption. She was hooded, soaking wet, dripping on the floor and leaving mud where she stepped.
“Please,” Lilian gestured to the bathroom near the backdoor, “let’s get you out of those clothes. I will bring you some.”

Lilian led her into the bathroom and closed the door behind her, grabbed a pair of sweatshirts, clean plain light blue underwea–granny pantiess, gray wool socks, and a hooded sweatshirt and lightly knocked back on the bathroom door without telling anyone a stranger had arrived to their house. She heard them in the kitchen, laughing, talking, not making out any words just jovial sounds. Her instinct was to help, nurture, ground on Earth. She was a Cancer. She was a mother. The woman stood on the bathroom rug dripping and Lilian saw  the rug was ruined; the pale blue now caked in brown. The hardwood leading to the bathroom linoleum was dotted with muddy footprints. They could clean this place before leaving Sunday.

“You can catch pneumonia.”
The stranger took her hood off and stared at Lilian. Shivering, her eyes were wide, a little terror in her stare but glittering. The woman was pallid yet stunning. Even dripping wet, she was the mutt picked first, Lilian thought.
Setting the clothes on the top of the toilet seat, she stated, “Please take a bath or shower. Whatever you prefer.” Lilian opened a small closet next to the towel rack to pull out two big fluffy white towels. “For your hair too.” She set those on top of the toilet seat. “I’m gonna make a pot of lemon tea.”
The woman stayed silent. Is she in some kind of shock?
“I will come check on you if you want. Otherwise, we will be in the living room.”
The woman nodded. Lilian left the bathroom and David was coming towards her.
“What’s up?” he said, half smiling.
“I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some?”
“I have to piss,” he headed towards the door.
“No, go upstairs. There’s a woman in there.”

“What?”
“I let a woman inside from the rain. She was soaking wet and pale. She can catch pneumonia. She must have got caught hiking. She was wearing hiking boots and clothes.”

They heard the shower turn on. David looked at her with surprise.
“You let a strange woman in here without telling us?”
They could hear Marisol and Jack from the other room, still giggling, the tab of a beer opening.
“I am telling you now. She was going to catch pneumonia.”

“Lilian, we are in the middle of the woods,” his eyes moved over the hallway footprints, seeing, believing her.
She shrugged, “Yeah. We are.”
She moved past him without saying another word and he heard her say excuse me and he heard some dishes clanking and he heard the stove click, preparing to light the burner. He looked at the footprints. He listened to the shower run. He let his body undulate with warmth as the acid kicked in.
“You can’t be sure about anything, his friend has said to him the first time he took it. Only a half a tab then too. “When you take psychedelics just find a way to remind yourself  you’re on drugs. Don’t believe everything you hear or see.”
He could see the footprints. Lilian wasn’t lying. He could hear the shower running and feel his stomach churn a little; that first wave of nausea that hits when you ingest a foreign chemical. His guts rumbled. Too much beer. Fuck.
“Guys, he yelled.
He heard more dishes clank and imagined Lilian, preparing the intruder a snack. Fucking dumb bitch. “There’s a stranger showering in our bathroom.”

I wrote you into this book and now you have to beg your way out.

“I will do anything to avoid getting carried away

sleep nightly with coins over my eyes

set fire to an entire zodiac.”

 

-kaveh akbar

“We live in a universe driven by chance,” his father had said once, “but the bullshit artists all want causality.”

“now,” and because I’ve done this before I felt
like I had the authority to be the one to
say it to him, “when they ask what you
are, tell them
humbled.”

 

he brought me the water.

 

“I just feel like an animal.”

 

he sat next to me despite how hot it was in my apartment.

 

“you’re more feral than others.”

 

I shook my head.

 

“I’m virile though. don’t you agree? I hold so much acid
here. caustic.”

he sipped his water.

 

“wouldn’t that prove you’re human not animal? those sensations.”

 

I watched a lot of animal documentaries and videos always choosing the ones that showed attacks.

 

“sometimes I think they enjoy it.”

 

he placed the glass on a coaster as if it mattered.

 

“who is they?”

 

“predators. sometimes I think predators enjoy it.”

 

“do you enjoy it, sarah?”

 

I knew what he meant.

 

 “do you enjoy the kill?”

 

smiles don’t prove malefaction, they exhibit it.

 

“not the kill but the hunt.”

 

we sweat in silence for an instant. the water not cold enough. the apartment ablaze. my shelves sturdy and everything else in motion.

 

–responses from Hecate during meditation

 

the hex begins by posting their names
and watching the likes and shares
proliferate.

I start by slaughtering your brothers
in front of you to see if
you can stand it.

8.

“you’re not a sociopath,” he said to me. “why do you say this all of the time?”

shrugs don’t prove apathy, they exhibit it.

“I have no feelings.”

he was tinkering with the olive colored shelf as I had demanded. I was unsure if my anchor screws were secure.

“they are,” he said. “good job with the shelves. and you do feel. I see it.”

smiles don’t prove light, they exhibit it.

“no, I don’t care about anything.”

he hopped down from my couch and put the hammer down on my coffee table.

“sarah, I don’t see you running around murdering people.”

“sociopaths don’t murder people, they feel nothing for other people. psychopaths murder people.”

walking across slumped bodies doesn’t prove compassion fatigue, it exhibits it. 

 

“want some water?” he asked and headed towards the kitchen.

 

I nodded.

 

“if it were up to me, I would live on a boat in the middle of an ocean without a single thought or issue crossing my mind letting the days wash over me until I was sun beaten.”

I heard the faucet.

“until I was rested and drained.”

I heard the glass clank.

“until I wanted the salt water finally.”

I heard him cough.

“you’re tired. that’s all.”

 

walking the block for hours at a time without talking to a single person doesn’t prove dissociation, it exhibits it. maybe you should spell it for him.

 

n

i

h

i

l

i

s

m

 

father, we can be happy all the time.