Page 47 of Lucas

I survey the room, my eyes roaming over the personal touches that mark this space as hers until I find what I’m looking for.

I grasp the birdcage in both hands, meeting the gaze of the parrot inside, who’s bobbing his head in circular motions. He doesn’t look too pleased with the situation, but I don’t have time to deal with that. I need to make him disappear before she gets back.

I head back to my room but pause halfway there. My room will be the first place she looks. Better to hide him in my office. She’s never been in there, doesn’t know where it is, and I’m the only one with the key.

I turn on my heel and stride to my office, slipping inside and placing the cage on my desk, the metal bars clinking against the polished wood.

“Dick face,” Cartman squawks.

“Yeah, I gathered you like to swear,” I mutter, eyeing the bird.

“Like to swear, like to swear,” he mimics.

Maybe I should teach him something a little less...crass. “Lucas the king,” I enunciate clearly.

“Shit ass,” Cartman replies.

“No, say ‘Lucas the king’,” I try to coax him.

“Ahhh. Ahhhh. Ahhhh,” the parrot imitates the sounds of sex moans.

“Fuck.” I shake my head, fighting back a laugh despite myself.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he repeats after me.

“I need a drink.” I walk over to the bar cart and pour myself two fingers of whiskey, holding the glass up and swirling the amber liquid, watching it catch the light. “She’s going to drive me insane.”

“She’s going to drive me insane,” Cartman echoes.

“Oh, that’s what you choose to repeat?” I narrow my eyes and approach the parrot.

He bounces in his cage, up and down, flapping his wings.

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay.” I try to soothe him, but he continues to bounce, and the food dish tips over, scattering its contents all over the cage floor.

“Look what you did. Why are you freaking out? I’m not going to hurt you.” I move closer and open the cage door to flip the dish back over.

I don’t even get to say Mississippi before the parrot is out flying around my office.

“Fuck.” I follow his erratic path as he flaps around the room, colliding with various objects until he settles on the antique globe in the corner, perching on the surface.

I approach him, step by careful step, and then when I’m close enough, I spread my arms and try to grab him.

The parrot screeches and launches himself at me, attacking me with his claws and beak.

“Fuck! Damn it, get off me!” I yell as a sharp pain lances through my neck.

“Fuck! Damn it!” Cartman screams. “Fuck! Damn it!”

I run my fingers over my neck.

Blood. The fucking bird scratched me deep enough to draw blood. I pull a mirror out of my desk drawer and look. Ugly, bleeding gashes mar the skin of my throat.

“You’re going to pay for that. Come here, you little shit.” I stalk back into the room, hands outstretched. I have to catch the bastard.

I find him perched on my liquor cart, his vicious talons gripping the handle of the ice bucket.

“Come to me, Cartman.” I inch closer.