Page 38 of Molt

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

“Usually.”

“And then what?”

“You finish.”

“And you die.”

“Yes.”

I stare at my hands. “Have I ever tried to stop it?”

Silence.

“August?”

“Every time.”

“Did it work?”

“I’m sitting outside your apartment while my tooth grows inside your mouth.”

Right.

I close my eyes. “Can you stop it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then what the fuck do we do?”

His head rests against the opposite side of the door.

I feel the vibration.

“We don’t make it worse.”

“Meaning?”

“We stay apart.”

My stomach twists.

“Okay.”

“We don’t touch.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t come upstairs.”

“Trust me, your serial-killer jar collection isn’t exactly inviting.”