This Is How I Disappear

Red-head does indeed make a mean omelet. But when I say mean, I mean that it seems to be throwing punches at my stomach. It’s half an hour after I ingested the runny egg and now I am kneeling over the toilet groaning.

“I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of it,” red-head is saying with a shrug.

“You could have at least told me there were marshmallows in it,” I grumble bitterly.

“Who doesn’t like marshmallows?” red-head protests.

“In an omelet?” I retort, before upchucking into the bowl.

“I have it all the time!” he exclaims.

“I don’t think that was cooked enough,” I mumble.

Red-head scratches his head. “Well…” he intones. “It’s a blackout, so….”

I look up in astonishment. “You didn’t cook it?!”

He holds up his hands defensively. “How am I supposed to cook in a blackout?”

“How the hell did I not realize this?” I mutter miserably.

“I thought you would,” he chuckled. “This is priceless.”

I throw up a drizzle of stomach acid and flush the toilet. He tosses a towel at me, and I wipe my mouth. “Oh!” he shouts suddenly, like he’s had a great epiphany.

“What?” I ask hoarsely.

He smiles genuinely. “I went to the dentist last week. So I have a spare toothbrush for once. Good timing, huh?”

I can’t help but smile back at him getting so excited over nothing. He does remember killing three people recently, right? my brain has the gall to interrupt. Oh, shut up, I respond exasperatedly.

Red-head goes off to retrieve the toothbrush with a slight bounce in his step, which makes me snort and shake my head. What a…strange, and wondrous human being, that he can commit murder, get away with it, and be excited about toothbrushes a few hours later.

“Aha!” red-head yells, jumping back into the bathroom wielding the toothbrush. I jump, startled. “Here you go,” he says cheerfully, handing it over. “Toothpaste is right there on the counter. Mouthwash is…somewhere….” He starts rifling through drawers. “Ah! Found it!” He hands me the Listerine as well, and leaves me to rinse the acrid taste from my mouth.

“What the hell…?” I mutter to myself, staring after the red-head. That is the very definition of psychopathic, my brain declares.

Hey, now, I chastise, don’t be an ass. He’s just…weird.

Did you just defend a murderer from being accused a psychopath?

STOP MESSING WITH MY HEAD! I yell in frustration.

My brain shuts up, but I can feel its scrutiny.

I swish some Listerine around in my mouth. What? I ask finally.

I am your head, Frank. We’re the same person. Don’t forget that.

I spit the mouthwash into the sink. I know that, obviously, I reply sulkily.

If you want me to go away, you just have to stop talking to me, my brain further adds.

I clench my teeth. I know.

Do you want me to go away, Frank? my brain asks seriously.

I work my jaw for a moment, letting the question hang there. Then I take a deep breath and blow all the air from my lungs. “No,” I whisper.

“No, what?” I voice behind me asks.

I whirl around to find red-head leaning on the doorframe. “Nothing,” I say unconvincingly. “I was just thinking.”

He narrows his eyes at me infinitesimally, but doesn’t comment on it further. Instead, he gets down to business. “I only have one pillow.”

I cough on toothpaste briefly. In the mirror, red-head’s mouth twitches. “Okay…” I trail off, not knowing how to proceed on this topic.

“It’s my pillow,” red-head insists, all toothbrush-finding-joy from earlier gone. “And if you even touch it, if you even look at it, I’ll put that pillow over your face and see how you like it then.”

I swallow. “Got it,” I squeak. Told you he was a psychopath, my brain hisses. What, a guy can’t like his pillow? I counter, but I have to agree.

He smiles his menacing smile. “Good.” Then he’s gone again.

I finish brushing my teeth and rinse my mouth with water, when suddenly the bathroom light flickers on.

“Whoo-hoo!” I hear from somewhere else in the basement. “We have THE

POWER!”

I raise my eyebrows at my reflection, before returning to the living room and the eccentric man in it.