his thick gold hair. He looks disoriented.
“Everything okay?” I ask carefully.
“Hm? Yeah.”
I’m not entirely convinced. I don’t want to push it.
“Hey,” I start again. “Jude?”
On cue, he snickers. The Beatles, right—it’s really not that funny—
“Jude.” I lift my left hand; my dominant hand. “Wasn’t I… I mean, I was burned, wasn’t I?”
Jude looks at me, stark, curious. “You had a couple burns. Some smoke inhalation.”
“But this hand? Weren’t there skin grafts?” Wasn’t it red?
Jude shakes his head slowly, his mouth a little slack.
“Oh.” I drop my hand. My heart sinks.
“Kiddo. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I mean—I imagined it, right? It’s okay. Nothing.”
Now he’s the one who looks unconvinced.
I stifle a sigh. “This brain damage stuff,” I explain. “Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“You’re not,” he tells me. “There’s only one sane person standing in this room. It’s not me.”
Can’t help but smile at a proclamation like that. “Sometimes,” I tell him, “you’re just nice.”
“Your crazy axe murderer of a brother?”
“I’m done trying to see things in black and white.”
Judas ruffles my hair when he walks past me. What little hair I have, that is. “Always preferred purple myself.”
5
Black-Eyed Susan
I’m running down glass hallways, rain beating outside the walls. Nothing-flavored shadows chase after me. Something wet, something putrid, catches under my shoes. I stumble to my knees. I’m covered in paint, gray-and-gray paint. It smells like rain.
I know I can get out of here. If I can just find the car, I can get out of here.
Someone left her smile in the paint on the floor. I sift through paint carefully, my fingers dripping wet. I feel myself shuddering. Teeth. Sharp. They belong to a shark. I scramble backwards. I scramble away. The shark is going to eat me alive.
—An engine guns, roaring, blazing to life—
—Glass shatters, piercing the silence, drowning out screams—
—The alarm clock jolts me awake. I sit up in bed, gasping for air. I smack the clock with a numb hand, my eyes blurry with the aftertaste of nightmares.
School , says the calendar at my side. Take your pills , says the post-it note on top of it.
I down my meds with half a bottle of water. I tear the post-it note off the calendar, crumpling it in my hand.
The smoke detector outside bleats loudly, piercing through my thoughts.
In Neon City pajamas, I leap out of bed. I dash out the door, skidding in my socks.
I find Judas in the kitchen, cluelessly brandishing black pieces of bread. He looks baffled, too, like he never heard of toast burning before.
He looks my way. “You watch Neon City?”
I pull a dish towel out of the drawer. I stand on a chair and wave the towel at the smoke alarm. “Morning,” I grumble.
“Morning.” He drops the ruined toast in the sink.
Later—but only later , when I’m dressed and awake and positive Judas won’t go anywhere near the appliances—I manage to laugh. I pour cereal for the both of us while Judas sits down.
“You’re definitely Mom’s son,” I tell him.
He raises his head. Suddenly he looks as I’ve never seen him. Mouth sagging, eyes frozen, the only word that comes to mind is: devastated.
And then something occurs to me, something I should have realized months ago—
Mom and Dad weren’t just my Mom and Dad. They were Jude’s Mom and Dad.
I put the cereal down. Reluctantly, I put my hand on his shoulder. His shoulders—why are they so big? His shoulder dwarfs my palm.
“Christ,” Judas mutters; and then his face goes dim.
My mouth’s gone dry. I swallow. “They loved you,” I tell him. And I know that’s true. The way they hushed each other whenever his name came up in conversation—they were anguished hushes.
“Everything okay?” I ask carefully.
“Hm? Yeah.”
I’m not entirely convinced. I don’t want to push it.
“Hey,” I start again. “Jude?”
On cue, he snickers. The Beatles, right—it’s really not that funny—
“Jude.” I lift my left hand; my dominant hand. “Wasn’t I… I mean, I was burned, wasn’t I?”
Jude looks at me, stark, curious. “You had a couple burns. Some smoke inhalation.”
“But this hand? Weren’t there skin grafts?” Wasn’t it red?
Jude shakes his head slowly, his mouth a little slack.
“Oh.” I drop my hand. My heart sinks.
“Kiddo. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I mean—I imagined it, right? It’s okay. Nothing.”
Now he’s the one who looks unconvinced.
I stifle a sigh. “This brain damage stuff,” I explain. “Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“You’re not,” he tells me. “There’s only one sane person standing in this room. It’s not me.”
Can’t help but smile at a proclamation like that. “Sometimes,” I tell him, “you’re just nice.”
“Your crazy axe murderer of a brother?”
“I’m done trying to see things in black and white.”
Judas ruffles my hair when he walks past me. What little hair I have, that is. “Always preferred purple myself.”
5
Black-Eyed Susan
I’m running down glass hallways, rain beating outside the walls. Nothing-flavored shadows chase after me. Something wet, something putrid, catches under my shoes. I stumble to my knees. I’m covered in paint, gray-and-gray paint. It smells like rain.
I know I can get out of here. If I can just find the car, I can get out of here.
Someone left her smile in the paint on the floor. I sift through paint carefully, my fingers dripping wet. I feel myself shuddering. Teeth. Sharp. They belong to a shark. I scramble backwards. I scramble away. The shark is going to eat me alive.
—An engine guns, roaring, blazing to life—
—Glass shatters, piercing the silence, drowning out screams—
—The alarm clock jolts me awake. I sit up in bed, gasping for air. I smack the clock with a numb hand, my eyes blurry with the aftertaste of nightmares.
School , says the calendar at my side. Take your pills , says the post-it note on top of it.
I down my meds with half a bottle of water. I tear the post-it note off the calendar, crumpling it in my hand.
The smoke detector outside bleats loudly, piercing through my thoughts.
In Neon City pajamas, I leap out of bed. I dash out the door, skidding in my socks.
I find Judas in the kitchen, cluelessly brandishing black pieces of bread. He looks baffled, too, like he never heard of toast burning before.
He looks my way. “You watch Neon City?”
I pull a dish towel out of the drawer. I stand on a chair and wave the towel at the smoke alarm. “Morning,” I grumble.
“Morning.” He drops the ruined toast in the sink.
Later—but only later , when I’m dressed and awake and positive Judas won’t go anywhere near the appliances—I manage to laugh. I pour cereal for the both of us while Judas sits down.
“You’re definitely Mom’s son,” I tell him.
He raises his head. Suddenly he looks as I’ve never seen him. Mouth sagging, eyes frozen, the only word that comes to mind is: devastated.
And then something occurs to me, something I should have realized months ago—
Mom and Dad weren’t just my Mom and Dad. They were Jude’s Mom and Dad.
I put the cereal down. Reluctantly, I put my hand on his shoulder. His shoulders—why are they so big? His shoulder dwarfs my palm.
“Christ,” Judas mutters; and then his face goes dim.
My mouth’s gone dry. I swallow. “They loved you,” I tell him. And I know that’s true. The way they hushed each other whenever his name came up in conversation—they were anguished hushes.
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