PostApoc: Chapter 4 flashback

About a month ago I was coming out of a brutally busy stretch of time and decided I needed to take a step back from working on my novel, still called PostApoc for now, and just hang out and relax a bit.

But then what happened was my break got hijacked with more stuff to do, and for a few weeks I was sidetracked yet again, taking way more time away from my writing (and my blog, and other things...) than I'd originally planned.

This week I'll be back at it again, but to make up for some lost time on this I thought I'd share another little excerpt from PostApoc, in the hopes of giving it some added momentum this week by getting a bit of feedback on how it's feeling.

If you missed the first round, you can take a look here.

This piece here is from the same character's perspective, Ang. It's alternating between different voices, but so far Ang's feels the most ready to be heard.

Chapter 4. Ang

Jessie showed up here two nights ago. She’s looked at me but hasn’t seen me yet, her eyes swimming for focus, face all grin. The rest of her is legless, muscles tenderized as if someone’s kneaded powdered valium right into the meat of her.

The last time we made out was a while ago, back when we still got winter, snow. It was eight in the morning on a Sunday. We’d spent the night at a friend’s place, tripping on acid and then crashing out in the bottom bunk on a twin mattress. I’d woken up with sweat coming through my clothes, Jessie’s body tight against mine and practically unconscious.

I’d crawled over her to get to the bathroom. Waiting for the tap water to run cold I lit a cigarette and felt a trickle of acid still working its way through the back of my neck, running up to my brain. The shit we used to get back then would stick around in your system for days sometimes. It was dirty but it was cheap and that’s all that mattered.

I needed an extra breath when the cold water got against my face. I leaned over the sink, elbows propped on the porcelain, and breathed once, twice, three times. My cigarette was making me sick but I was almost down to my last and nothing would be open for another three hours. I sucked back the smoke and swallowed against the nausea. Not like I hadn’t started a hundred other mornings with a little puke climbing through my chest.

Back in the room Jessie was digging through someone else’s jeans, looking for a lighter. I handed her my smoke to get hers going.

A quarter of the party from the night before was crashed out in the living room, on the kitchen table. We were the only ones up.

“Wanna get out of here?” I asked. Jessie nodded. “Just give me a minute to get my shoes, k?”

I’d slept with my boots on, again. Jessie draped my jacket across my shoulders and I eased backwards into it. “Ready?” she asked.

It had snowed all night but the sun was out that morning and the streets were a glaring neon wash that spilled into every vein in my eyes, fractured my vision.

“FUCK,” Jessie said, and then laughed. “It’s actually kind of pretty. Like there’s no one else but us.”

There was not one boot print or drag of a leg in the snow that morning, just stark white streets and the lazy roll of a slow wind. I’d wanted to walk with my jacket open but my shirt was so damp from sleep-sweat that I kept it shut.

Jessie lit another cigarette, took a few drags, offered to split it. The outside air was clean enough to take the feeling of sick away and I accepted the smoke, took it deep as if the cold that came with it could clean me out.

I was still staying with my parents then. Jessie had just gotten kicked out of her place a month before. She’d been staying with her grandmother’s. She’d be in shit when she got there; the old lady didn’t like it when Jessie stayed out all night.

“You wanna come to my place for a bit?” I’d asked at the top of my street. “You can take a shower, eat or something.”

“S’alright,” she’d said. “I’m not worried.”

Jessie held the cigarette between her fingers, filter towards my mouth. “Want one more puff?” I stepped forward and sucked while she held it for me.

We exhaled at the same time, stood between the hiss of the cigarette’s heater as it hit the snow.

“Too bad this won’t last,” Jessie said. “Everyone’ll be out walking their dogs soon, going to the store, shoveling their driveways. They won’t see that it’s actually supposed to be like this. That this is perfect right now.”

I kissed her then. We’d done it before, drunk in a bathroom stall and another time when some guy at a show offered us five bucks if we’d make out for one minute. The top of her lip was a vinegar sting and her mouth was full of the spice of fresh smoke. Her lips relaxed and breathed out a soft promise of heat when her tongue pushed through.

My eyes were closed my eyes and everything had gone green, sun on snow inverted and trapped inside my head. I had holes in both of my socks and the cold was coming through to the inside of the steel toe of my boots. I curled my toes while my tongue curved against Jessie’s cheek.

We pulled and Jessie took a small step back. The snow might have started to soak through my boots by then. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?” she asked.

I did, a week before. “It was casual,” I told her. So casual I’d already started forgetting about him, losing the features of his face in exchange for the soft melt of a girl’s mouth.

It’s kind of funny now, though, how all the people I’d forgotten are all rushing back to me along with every detail of every minute, even things I’d thought I’d let loose forever are back in my head now.

Funny how a year ago I didn’t even try to remember anyone’s name most of the time but now, everyone’s rushing back to me, their names and faces, every boy that ever crossed my hips and every word that left my lips and every look I gave and every one I got back.

And you might not expect that it would matter as much now, all those little things, but the thing is there are just so many people who aren’t around anymore that you try to hold on to every memory that surfaces because it might be all that’s left.