Page 26 of Riot Act

I regard him with disdain. “Is this a game ofpoint-out-the-obviousfor one or can anyone play?”

He grimaces. I think it’s supposed to be an amused smile, but he just looks pained. I’ve seen the same expression onsomany faces before.Interacting with Pax Davis: may cause sudden bouts of frustration, annoyance, hurt feelings and anger. Proceed at own peril.Most people choose to cut contact with me short—the ideal outcome, and my preferred conclusion to social interactions with strangers—but Remy doesn’t know what’s good for him. He squints at me out of one eye, pointing at me as he swallows.

“You’re a lot like her, y’know. Your mother.”

Oh,fuck that.“I’ll stop you right there, thanks.”

“What? You have something against being compared to a family member?” He laughs coldly.

“Meredith isn’t a family member. She incubated me. That’s it.”

Remy angles his head to one side, watching me closely. “Incubating a child for nine months is no mean feat, man. Don’t you think that alone means you owe—”

“No, I don’t. I don’t owe her anything. And just for the record, she only managed to cook me foreightmonths. She had me taken out a month early because I was crushing her sciatic nerve.My lungs weren’t even properly formed. I needed anactualincubator for weeks. So, go on. Keep telling me what a stellar mother she is.”

He shrugs. “S’pose thatispretty fucked up. Looks like you turned out just fine, though.”

I am spattered with blood, have more ink that your average prison inmate, I shave my hair down to the root, and I haven’t smiled without a heavy dose of malice in the past three years. Sounds like ‘turned out just fine’ is a subjective term to Remy. Then again, he deals with sick people every day. All of my body parts function. I have all of my limbs. I can breathe without assistance. When you see people come through the hospital in literal and metaphorical pieces, a person in my state of beingwouldbe considered in peak physical fitness.

“If you’ve come over here to tell me not to go yell at her, you can forget it. The moment the clock strikes one, I’m heading straight up there. And you won’t be here to fucking stop me.”

“It’s hard when someone you love is so sick, huh?”

I nearly choke on my own tongue. “I donotcare about that woman.”

“Oh? Not many people I know will lurk outside a hospital for twelve hours, save someone’s life, get covered in blood and not go home to change, becausethey don’t care.”

“Ahh, fuck off, Remy.” I pull out my pack of smokes for the first time since the Evo nearly ran me over. I pinch one between my lips, scowling as I light the thing, waiting for him to take the hint and leave.

“I s’pose it’d be a waste of time to remind you that you’re poisoning yourself in front of a hospital full of sick people, then?” he says.

I pull on the cigarette, relishing the burn as smoke pours into my lungs. “You would be correct.”

“And you’re not even going to ask about her?”

I side-eye him, picking an imaginary piece of tobacco from the tip of my tongue. “Meredith?”

“No. The girl you saved.”

“You mean the girl who nearly died ’cause you were too busy fucking around on Grindr to find out why I was screaming for help?”

Remy looks like he just bit into something foul. “Is that supposed to be offensive? By implying that I was on Grindr, are you also implying that I’m gay? And expecting me to be upset by that?”

“I’m not implying anything. I don’t give a shit if you’re gay, straight or sexually ambivalent. You heard me yelling and you were too busy with your phone to find out why. I’m calling you onthat.”

I expect him to argue but he shrugs. “Ishouldhave come out. You were behaving like a little bitch, but that’s no excuse. I should have come and checked what the fuck was going on. Luckily, the girl didn’t die—”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Seriously? She didn’t?”

“Like I said. You saved her life. She’s got a long road ahead of her. Recovery won’t be easy. But she’s breathing because of you.”

I process this silently for a second. I’m relieved, I think. I’ve been doing everything in my power not to think about it, about Presley, since I came out here, but that was as impossible as trying not to breathe. “Doubt I’ll be getting a thank you card in the mail any time soon, but whatever,” I mumble.

“What does that mean?”

I roll my eyes. “You saw her wrists. She made her wishes pretty clear when she opened up her veins like that. She didn’twantto be saved, man.”

Vertical. The wounds were vertical. My older cousin used to cut herself for show. Hers were horizontal cuts. Cries for help, or attention, or release, depending on what day of the week it was. Presley meant it when she took that blade to her skin. It's a fucking miracle that she made it.