Page 16 of Johnny

I raise my fist, pound it on the button faucet, and… and…

I laugh.

I laugh so loud.

Because there’s no water.

It’s so fucking funny.

So fucking appropriate.

And then I fall. Bang my head on the concrete and decide… fuck it.

Somewhere off in the distance I hear crashing.

I open my eyes and see only darkness.

More noise.

Someone is coming.

Someone remembered me. Probably came to kill me. They forgot about me and now they’ve

remembered. They remembered why I’m here and they came back to make sure I deliver on that

promise I made.

Footsteps.

Boots, I think.

Whoever it is takes their time. They are slow, methodical steps.

“Here,” I say. “I’m here.” But it’s not even a whisper.

“Fuck you,” he says, coming into my cell. “Just fuck you.”

Fuck you, too, buddy. But of course I can’t say it. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.

I give up. I really do.

I give in.

I’m picked up. Like one picks up a child they’re taking to bed. I try to remember if I’ve ever

actually been picked up in this manner. Or is it just something I’ve seen in movies?

Movies, I decide.

“I’m gonna regret this,” he says, carrying me. And then the next thing I know we are going up.

We are leaving.

The brightness outside makes me wince, even though my eyes are closed. “Water,” I mumble.

But it’s incomprehensible. Just… sounds that make no sense.

“Do I look like a fucking drinking fountain? I’ll get you fucking water once we’re on the yacht.”