asked. “There was blood?”
“Yeah.” I turned the empty cart around and headed for the service elevator. “Well, I mean, not a ton of it. It wasn’t a murder scene or anything. But I don’t think you were terribly careful with the needle jabs there at the end, is what I’m saying.”
“There at the end,” he repeated, his voice going scary soft again.
“Don’t do that,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’ve had a rough day and I really can’t deal with you getting weepy over your entirely preventable death.”
He glared at me. “Thanks for being so supportive and reassuring.”
“You do the smack, you pay the price,” I said. But then I felt sort of bad, because it’s not like addiction means you deserve to die, so I sighed again and continued, “But like I said, lots of people miss you. So I guess there’s that.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s good. You’ll have to show me the fan sites.”
“Oh, I’ll show you the fan sites.” A grin spreading across my face as I remembered coming across extremely interesting fan art of him and Eric. “I will definitely show you the fan sites.”
“What does that creepy little voice mean?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“It means I’m going to show you some very special fan sites,” I said. “Just wait. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”
When my shift was over, I got my coat from the employee closet and put it on, then wrapped a scarf around my neck and pulled on gloves and a knit cap. Chris watched me intently.
“Why are you bundling up like that?” he asked.
“It’s November now.” I headed for the front door, and Chris followed. After pushing open the heavy doors and stepping outside, I immediately shivered and pulled my hat down to cover my ears. Chris stared at me like he was having an epiphany, and I sighed and started walking toward my apartment.
“I’m never going to feel cold again,” he said after following me for a few seconds. “I’m never going to feel hot again, either. I’m never going to sweat. I’m never going to . . .” He stopped walking. “I’m never going to have sex again,” he said, clearly just noticing this problem.
I stopped too and turned to face him, trying to look like I was admiring the buildings instead of staring at nothing on the sidewalk. “You don’t know that,” I said. “You might end up finding a nice ghost lady and settling down to have ghost babies.”
He grimaced. “That sounds even worse than celibacy.”
“What?” I smirked at him. “Not the family-man type?”
“Oh, God no,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “I would be a terrible dad, anyway.”
“Yeah, with the drugs.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You know, I’m more than the drugs, dude. I’m a person.”
“I know you’re a person,” I said, looking down at a candy bar wrapper on the sidewalk at my feet.
“Really? Because so far, you’ve mostly just ragged on me about overdosing and told me that people like my music.”
He had a point. I could have been nicer to him. But truth be told, he wasn’t being terribly awesome himself, and I felt the need to mention that to him. “Well, all you’ve done is distract me at work and tell me I’m an idiot for expecting tips.”
He considered my words then nodded. “All right. Let’s just agree to be nicer to each other while we figure out what to do about this.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said. “I’m not nice to anybody, really. I’m kind of an ass. That’s just me.”
He laughed. “I get that, man.”
I turned around and started walking again. Chris kept pace with me, and we continued in awkward silence for a few minutes, then I cleared my throat. “So, um, where are you from?”
“You don’t know? I thought all the fans knew.”
I did know, honestly, because apparently every sentence of the stupid band biography was burned into my memory banks, but I didn’t really want him to know that I knew even more
“Yeah.” I turned the empty cart around and headed for the service elevator. “Well, I mean, not a ton of it. It wasn’t a murder scene or anything. But I don’t think you were terribly careful with the needle jabs there at the end, is what I’m saying.”
“There at the end,” he repeated, his voice going scary soft again.
“Don’t do that,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’ve had a rough day and I really can’t deal with you getting weepy over your entirely preventable death.”
He glared at me. “Thanks for being so supportive and reassuring.”
“You do the smack, you pay the price,” I said. But then I felt sort of bad, because it’s not like addiction means you deserve to die, so I sighed again and continued, “But like I said, lots of people miss you. So I guess there’s that.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s good. You’ll have to show me the fan sites.”
“Oh, I’ll show you the fan sites.” A grin spreading across my face as I remembered coming across extremely interesting fan art of him and Eric. “I will definitely show you the fan sites.”
“What does that creepy little voice mean?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“It means I’m going to show you some very special fan sites,” I said. “Just wait. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”
When my shift was over, I got my coat from the employee closet and put it on, then wrapped a scarf around my neck and pulled on gloves and a knit cap. Chris watched me intently.
“Why are you bundling up like that?” he asked.
“It’s November now.” I headed for the front door, and Chris followed. After pushing open the heavy doors and stepping outside, I immediately shivered and pulled my hat down to cover my ears. Chris stared at me like he was having an epiphany, and I sighed and started walking toward my apartment.
“I’m never going to feel cold again,” he said after following me for a few seconds. “I’m never going to feel hot again, either. I’m never going to sweat. I’m never going to . . .” He stopped walking. “I’m never going to have sex again,” he said, clearly just noticing this problem.
I stopped too and turned to face him, trying to look like I was admiring the buildings instead of staring at nothing on the sidewalk. “You don’t know that,” I said. “You might end up finding a nice ghost lady and settling down to have ghost babies.”
He grimaced. “That sounds even worse than celibacy.”
“What?” I smirked at him. “Not the family-man type?”
“Oh, God no,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “I would be a terrible dad, anyway.”
“Yeah, with the drugs.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You know, I’m more than the drugs, dude. I’m a person.”
“I know you’re a person,” I said, looking down at a candy bar wrapper on the sidewalk at my feet.
“Really? Because so far, you’ve mostly just ragged on me about overdosing and told me that people like my music.”
He had a point. I could have been nicer to him. But truth be told, he wasn’t being terribly awesome himself, and I felt the need to mention that to him. “Well, all you’ve done is distract me at work and tell me I’m an idiot for expecting tips.”
He considered my words then nodded. “All right. Let’s just agree to be nicer to each other while we figure out what to do about this.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said. “I’m not nice to anybody, really. I’m kind of an ass. That’s just me.”
He laughed. “I get that, man.”
I turned around and started walking again. Chris kept pace with me, and we continued in awkward silence for a few minutes, then I cleared my throat. “So, um, where are you from?”
“You don’t know? I thought all the fans knew.”
I did know, honestly, because apparently every sentence of the stupid band biography was burned into my memory banks, but I didn’t really want him to know that I knew even more
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