Teeth(35)

Except no, because apparently I still have room for my throat to tighten when I’m around him. Goddamn it, Rudy.

I pull my jacket around myself. “It’s cold.”

“Where have you been all week?”

“My brother’s sick.” I say this with as much meaning as I can. I punch out each word like I’m trying to hit him with it. I don’t know if I can make this statement weigh as much as it really does.

But he looks down. He gets it. And now he doesn’t know what to say. I see all the possible sentences flashing across his face.

He eventually settles on, “Is he okay?”

God. “No. He was up all night puking and he can’t take a single step. He’s f*cked. I can’t even believe we . . . ”

I put my hand against my forehead and rub as hard as I can.

I can’t even believe we.

“But it’s not that many,” Fishboy says, his voice all desperate. “The fishermen will catch a ton more and bring them to market—”

“Teeth, I’m not a f*cking idiot. You’re still slitting nets.”

“A few, okay, maybe, but they’re the ones who bring me to the mar—”

“Teeth, this isn’t a f*cking game, okay?” I charge toward the water, but I don’t let it hit my shoes. “This isn’t f*cking Operation Anything besides Operation Watch Your Brother Die and it f*cking sucks!”

He pushes his chest out. “You think I don’t know that? You think I of all—”

“Fuck you.” I leave him and walk the rest of the way to the marina.

“You didn’t do it for the fish, you did it for me!” he screams, but I can’t tell if he’s trying to comfort me or condemn me. I don’t know what he means. I don’t know why I try to listen to him.

Hanging out with the fishboy has been a horrible life decision. I’m lying to my parents and sneaking out, I’m not spending nearly as much time with Diana as I should be, even if the time I spend with her is time I’d rather be spending with him, but I shouldn’t be spending time with him, because it doesn’t make any sense why I want to be with him, and I shouldn’t . . .

Too many feelings.

If he calls my name one more time, I swear to God I’m going to hit him, and I don’t know if I’ll let him go like the fishermen do. I don’t know if I could.

Except with every exhale, all this anger is leaving me, because there’s really no point in blaming this all on him. I’m not fooling myself, and it isn’t making me feel any better. I was the lookout. I’m as much to blame as he is.

God. Shit.

I ignore the people who need me and latch on to people who don’t. I dive into every other world except my own just because I want something more glamorous than my real life. I do destructive shit so a stupid hypocritical fish will like me.

I fall for fish instead of girls.

Fuck.

I have to stop and hold my head for a minute, but then I charge forward into the marina and get my shit together.

“I need a fish,” I tell the fisherman. “Please.”

The one-eyed fisherman leers at me the best he can. I want to run. “Gave you one yesterday,” he says.

“Please. My brother’s really sick. I can pay. Whatever you need.” I take a handful of bills out of my pocket. They’re all balled together so I don’t have to think about how much it is and how little we will have left. “Please.” Begging you makes me want to kill myself.

“Still working off a loss today. Come back tomorrow.”

I scream. I want to hit him but I know what he’ll do to me, and f*ck it, I don’t care. “This is a little f*cking kid! Give me a f*cking fish!”


The fisherman stares at me, then chuckles a little and turns back to the water.

I want to throw myself into the water, get all caught in his net, do whatever the f*ck it takes to make him listen. Make him reel me in and I will scream at him the whole time. I’ll grab the fishboy and hold a knife to his throat and tell them what I’ll do to their toy if they don’t give me a f*cking fish.

Fuck.

Fuck me.

I start back to the house. A piece of seaweed flies out of the water and hits me in the cheek. He’s not supposed to be here. His dock is ages away.

“Go away,” I say. “Not now.” I wipe off the salty, slimy trail under my eye.

“Look at me,” Teeth says.

I turn around, only because his voice sounds so funny.

He’s just about as close to the shore as he can get, his tail fully visible, curled next to him on the sand like a cat’s. He holds out a big, plump fish, its neck neatly slit.

He’s shaking. His eyes are streaked red. I wasn’t even sure that he could cry. He looks like he can’t catch his breath.

“I’ll get you more if you need,” he says. “Take it. Hurry, please. Take it and go. I’ll get you another one tomorrow. Is that enough?”

I don’t know, but I say “Yes,” and I come to him and hold his head between my hands for just a second, because he’s still going, “Go. Please go. I need to . . . you have to go,” and he’s not taking his eyes off that fish.

That night, the screams. God, the screams. Like they’re pulling out pieces of him.