Turning

They finally pick Cotter to watch because he's known me the shortest time, and probably because he's wound so tight they don't want him around the others. He lost his sister on the way here and has since turned into a stone-faced automaton. I feel like we've been staring each other in the eye for over an hour and he isn't blinking, as if he thinks in that millisecond someone might swoop in and do the job for him. And he wants the kill. He's the only one out of us keeping track, cutting them into his forearm with his Swiss army knife. Or maybe he's imagining exactly where on my forehead the entry point should be. Who knows. Like I said, stone-faced.
I'm trying not to hate him for it. I know he's just doing what has to be done and that he's young and lost. It's just irritating. Every time I twitch he raises the rifle a tiny bit. Just a centimeter maybe, but I notice. Despite the obvious distraction of THE FLARING FUCKING PAIN IN MY FUCKING NECK that really didn't seem that bad at first but two days later it's smelling like a dog’s mouth full of gym socks and I still have to apply pressure to it and tilt my head to keep it from drooling on my shirt. I'm tired in a weird way - still aware of everything happening in this small back room (and just outside the door where Heather’s bawling for them to let her patch me up better) but unable to get the word out to my limbs like I used to. Can still make them do what I want, but the signal is dulled, delayed, like a bad echoey cell connection.
To be honesttt I can't really tell how much of the blurry is the turning and how much is the whiskey that they funneled into me when I was thrashing around. Heather couldn't get the skin around the bite to hold on to the dental floss she used to sew me up, and after she'd shredded the whole area she just frantically tried to stop the bleeding and she was afraid I would see the Jim Beam spurts on the bandage and realize how fucked up and deep it really was but I was somehow relieved that she was more scared than me and I tried to gurgle out calm things at her.
Word just came back from my left hand that it wants a divorce and how strange is it to watch your new purplegray skin tone creep up quietly to your knuckles. It's so interesting I almost point it out to Cotter but when he sees me looking down, he thinks my eyes are closing and the gun is up two more inches so NO NO NO he's not invited to the rigor mortis party. Worst part about this shit is that I can't even try for some compassion because everything I say is red bubbly and he might mistake "I loved her too man, you have to believe me" for "mmmmmmmmmmmmeeeeegggghhhhh" the way these fuckers say it all bovine and lethargic when they come for your FUCKING NECK. Her teeth broke on my throat - how weak is that? Where is Darwin in all of this? How is a little 9 year old with only one arm and splintery teeth higher in the food chain than a heavily-armed 28 year old (terrified) man?
Shitfuck at least Cotter could help me hold this shit on so my right arm can rest up for a few... He didn't act so fucking Spock when it was his sister leaking all over herself - No, I recall him being quite considerate of her situation and it's pretty clear that he's holding a grudge here. If he was really so fucking objective, he'd realize that I was just the closest one and she was moving for Heather and I'm not really so aggressive usually but she was a fucking Thing then not a 14 year-old drama queen with an obvious weight problem.
I think he saw my lowering hand because he just oh-so-quietly (you fuck) clicked off the safety and I wasn't really paying attention trying to calm my stomach, God, so gray it's almost not even realistic maybe this is part of it - you go color blind at first and then you just stare to the top left of whatever you’re looking at and then, "mmmmmmmmmmmmeeeeegggghhhhh."
I haffff to use my fucking wrist to hold this thing on now because my hands are completely insubordinate and goodbye legs... sure we may want to bolt from this shitty store and at least out there they'll show a flicker of love for something (even if it’s my dying FUCKING FLESH), show something not like stony McRockhard bitchassbitch vengeful fuckwitface here but my legs have officially peeeeaced out for good so
the rest of us will try
come up with some lasst wordsbubbles. I wish he’d say something so could see if ears are still
involvd intrested in this weird metamorfashit. I don't. even know if
I'm breething I just know
that he
got rifle it
all thewayu p now in
bothh han