Читать книгу Lolito - Ben Brooks - Страница 13

5

I wake up and sit up and shake my head. There are tiger cubs inside of it. Last night’s dream is still hanging around my eyes. Something about a bear and a basement. And Drake. Or Paul Rudd. A river. I don’t remember. For a second, nothing happens. My head is a tomb. And it’s one of the best feelings, next to paying with exact change and narrowly escaping rain. When you wake up and the people in your head sit still.

Then it starts.

Everything hurts.

I want to vomit.

I imagine never moving. I imagine a camera filming my body as it decomposes and the footage being sped up so that it looks like I’m being eaten by the air. Alice. Alice and Aaron Mathews. Aaron Mathew’s hand inside Alice. Aaron Mathew’s dick inside Alice’s mouth.

Amundsen’s moved and is asleep at the bottom of my bed. His whole body is expanding and contracting like a slowly beating heart. It’s raining. It’s raining a lot. I push the duvet away and Amundsen flounders, appears momentarily confused, then gets to his feet and jumps onto the carpet. We stand at the window. I groan. I press my nose against the glass. Someone is hurling buckets of water against it, over and over. Amundsen licks my hand. I scratch behind his ear.

I’m dizzy.

I shiver.

I go into the bathroom and run my face under the cold tap.

‘Up,’ I say. ‘Breakfast.’ Amundsen follows me downstairs and waits next to the kettle as it boils. Nesquik tea can upset my stomach so I have normal tea. Amundsen has tripe. I try to eat a Ryvita but it’s too dry, forming small bricks in my cheeks that refuse to shift. I eat a cherry yogurt. My phone rings and I have to answer. It’s Mum.

‘Etgar?’ she says. ‘Etgar, it’s Mum.’

‘I know. I’m here.’

‘Are you okay? Is everything fine? Is Amundsen alive?’ I look at Amundsen. Drops of water and saliva are hanging from his muzzle like icicles from a rooftop.

‘He’s alive,’ I say. ‘Everything’s fine.’

‘Are you eating okay? Did we leave enough?’

‘Everything’s fine. How’s Russia?’

‘Oh, it’s wonderful. Your Uncle Michael is very happy and Alena is lovely.’

‘Have they done it yet?’

‘Done what?’

‘The marrying.’

‘The ceremony’s tomorrow. It’s going to be in this gorgeous little church surrounded by beautiful fields and all sorts.’

‘Great. That sounds great.’

‘I’d better go. This is expensive and we’ve got to go shopping for a present. Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘I’m okay. Say hi to Dad. You should buy them a dog for when she runs away.’

‘Etgar, be nice.’

‘Sorry. Bye, Mum.’

‘I love you.’

‘You too.’

I sit on the sofa and feel like I’m the Titanic. Amundsen gets up next to me and puts his head in my lap. He dribbles onto my leg and saliva soaks through my trousers. I try to play At Least. Here:

– At least I’m not dead (How good is this? Maybe being dead is good. Maybe all of the religions are real and when you die you go somewhere fun and infinite).

– At least I’m not old (I’m older than yesterday).

– At least I don’t have cancer (I might have cancer. I cough all the time).

– At least I don’t have to do anything (I have to walk Amundsen).

I don’t remember all of last night. There are gaps. I remember Marie. I remember Aaron. My phone’s flashing. One new message.

Alice to me: What? U drnk? Miss you txt mexx

I check my sent messages.

Me to Alice: fjkyyyyyyuuuuuuuuuuuuu

Upstairs, I pick up my laptop. The plastic casing has come open and circuit boards are peeking out. It’s blank. Last night it showed a tiny nightmare. I don’t know what I want it to show any more. I scratch my balls. I want it to show naked women who aren’t Alice.

I go to get Mum’s laptop. She won’t know, as long as I delete everything. I close my bedroom door and climb into bed and pull the duvet over my head. Amundsen paws at the door. I decide to find out if chatrooms still exist. Adult sex ones. The ones I used to play on in ICT lessons at school when there was nothing else to do. Ones filled with people bored of work and of sitting at home and of being alone. Where people don’t really say anything, they just type because what else.

They still exist.

There’s one called chatworld.

There’s one called adultchatlife.

There’s one called battychat.

Battychat doesn’t sound like something I would be interested in. I click on adultchatlife and select the ‘adult chat’ category. Lines of words and emoticons and laughter flash and scroll up as quickly as numbers in a matrix. If people laughed and smiled that often in real life then real life would be markedly more bearable. If the whole of real life was one big chatroom then everyone would have to be honest with everyone else and no one would secretly sort of fuck Aaron Mathews and no one would be alone. I think, don’t think about that. I give myself the name Herman441.

Missyeti: lol @ Sammy

Overandouty: frog = Corinne

Stud40: frog would be too small

Corin19: fuck off over

Macyl: lol cor

Sweetballs: anyone ever fuked a animal

Biggybigbig: lol

Homealone002: lol

Mistymale: haha

I don’t understand. I scroll up and there’s a link to a video. I click. The video is of a chimp sat on a flat, dirty island of straw in its zoo enclosure. It’s holding a frog in its hands and raping the frog’s mouth. Me and Alice watched this video two years ago. It was Alice’s fourth favourite, after zombie prank, haunted toaster and 24-hour Nyan Cat.

Entropy: how u make dog suck ur dick

Sweetballs: put sugar on

77ACE77: this vid is sick

I try to think of a joke that will endear me to the group. A simple, bad joke that will make a woman think I’m the kind of person worth pressing her tits against a camera for.

Herman441: froggy style

Stud40: lol

Corin19: haha

Macy1: hahahahahaha

Missyeti: skullfuck

Macy1: I am laughing

I type more things and other people type more things. We talk about sexual positions and types of porn and types of tea and how to record audio from YouTube videos. We are bored people with nowhere to be and nothing to do. It is fun and it means I don’t have to think. I play Gold Panda in the background to make myself go calm. Alice sends me a text and I turn off my phone.

Macy1: Herman I’m pming you my gmail

Tinybearo: does anyone got legit zooey deschanel nudes is that exist

Stud40: macy add me I’m chachaman@yahoo.com Herman441: okay

Macy1 to Herman441: my gmail is macyishiding@gmail.com add me so we can chat properly. I think you’re funny.

Herman441 to Macy1: You’re nice too. I’m at work right now and I have some stuff to do. I’ll add you when I get home so we can chat. Hi.

Amundsen’s still pawing at the door, so I open it and let him in. He bounds in circles around the room, comes to a stop and tries to make me stroke him by assaulting my hand with his face. He wants to go for a walk. The rain has almost stopped. There are only tiny flecks of water settling on my window now. Leaving the house is scary. I’m worried the sky will get too heavy and I’ll fall over. I think about Aaron Mathews pumping his hand backwards and forwards inside of Alice’s vag. I think about Alice’s mouth being open as wide as a mouth can be open, so wide that it cracks and splits at the corners. I think about her asking him to choke her.

I should go for a walk.

People like walks.

I don’t like walks.

We go downstairs and I attach Amundsen’s lead. I put on Mum’s purple waterproof, Dad’s bucket hat, and my old wellies. I look like a paedophile.