This Is How I Disappear

“Okay, why do your pants keep falling down?” Gerard wonders as my torn jeans slide down from walking. “That’s like the fifth time.”

“I ripped them on the window,” I explain, trying futilely to pull them up again with one hand as I help Gerard along with the other.

“Right,” Gerard replies dryly.

I look sideways at him curiously. “No, really, that’s what happened. Why would I lie about—”

“No,” Gerard insists, leaning into me enough that I stumble, “turn right.”

“Oh,” I say, obeying. We’re taking back streets only, because two guys in sunglasses limping around—one of whom’s pants are constantly falling off—isn’t very discreet. Gerard apparently knows a doctor that owes him a debt, but assuming Gerard’s face is already on TV as a Wanted criminal, and I’m his supposed kidnapped victim, I’m worried the debt will be forgotten in the face of a prison charge for aiding and abetting. But Gerard seems to trust him not to turn us in, and, oddly, I trust Gerard, so to the doctor it is.

At the end of the alley, I have to pinch Gerard’s arm because he’s apparently fallen asleep while walking.

Oh, sure, my brain snarks, you had to pinch him. That wasn’t some excuse to touch him or anything.

I already have my arm around his waist, I point out. It’s not like I pinched his ass. Immediately after this thought, my cheeks redden.

Next time, my brain promises, and I silently curse it before returning my attention to a grumbling Gerard.

“Left?” I ask, trying to understand his mumblings.

“Right,” he corrects, and I take us where directed. “No!” Gerard says, stopping us in our tracks. “Left.”

“Why did you say right, then?” I mutter, turning us around to limp in the other direction.

“I meant,” he replies, barely coherent, “that left was the right way to go.”

“Very helpful when you’re giving directions,” I comment, but Gerard’s so out of it, he doesn’t notice.

“Are you passing out because you’re hurt,” I wonder, “or because you were running around all night?”

Gerard yawns, and mumbles, “Running around all night.”

Brilliant. I roll my eyes.

The alley leads to a mostly empty street, but the few people in it worry me. Will they recognize us? “Gerard,” I say to rouse him, stopping in the shade of the narrow alley.

“Wha’?” he groans, and without warning shifts so that his head lolls on my shoulder. “‘M tired.”

It takes me a moment to reactivate my vocal chords. “Um, we almost there?” I ask in an unnaturally high voice.

Gerard’s eyes remain closed as he waves his hand in no certain direction. “It’s right over there.”

“That’s great,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Could you be a bit more specific?” But my sarcasm is lost as he tries to rest comfortably on my shoulder.

“What street are we on?” he mumbles into my shirt, his breath warming the skin beneath.

I clear my throat a few times, but it doesn’t do much for my ability to speak like a normal human being.

Okay, my brain intercedes, this won’t get you anywhere.

But, I protest breathlessly, he so…adorable. On cue, Gerard hides his face in my shirt.

So are kittens, my brain snaps, but I doubt you’d get all flustered with one of them cuddling on your shoulder.

We can spare a minute, I insist, fingers aching to pet his red-dyed hair. A minute won’t hurt anyone.

Actually, my brain points out, seeing as he’s injured, it could.

Oh, right, I sigh. Forgot that little detail. I gently put my hands on his upper arms and turn him to face me so that his head slides off my shoulder. He jerks awake as his head begins to fall, and looks up in confusion.

“I was sleeping,” he informs me grumpily.

I resist the surprisingly strong urge to rub his arms, laugh, and peck him on his cute nose. In my perfect world, he would smile back lazily, and wrap his arms around my neck for another kiss, and—

But this is not your perfect world, my brain interrupts my fantasizing. So snap out of it.

I cough a little, which apparently is my defense mechanism against embarrassment. “No street signs that I can see,” I tell Gerard, who is starting to slump as I hold him up by his arms.

Nice biceps, my brain distracts me.

You are so fickle, I chide it.

You are, it agrees. I roll my eyes inwardly, then to Gerard I say, “Do you know where to go?”

He lifts his eyes to the street behind me. “Yeah, he’s on this street. His shop’s called DIE.”

I raise my eyebrows. “This guy’s a doctor?” I question dubiously.

“Well,” Gerard amends with a yawn, “a dentist.”

“You’re gonna have a dentist stitch you up?” I exclaim incredulously. “One whose office is labelled DIE?”

“It was DIE last time I saw it,” he mutters, eyelids drooping.

This is insane, I tell my brain, because Gerard doesn’t look up to conversation.

Which is to be expected, my brain retorts, of an insane person.

A dentist, I enforce. With an office entitled DIE.

It’s better than any of your ideas, my brain points out.

I didn’t have any ideas, I deny.

Exactly.

I shake my head and start half-carrying Gerard into the street. Point taken.