The Degenerate (TO BE REWRITTEN...SOON)

CHAPTER 5: The Desert Speaks

CHAPTER 5- THE DESERT SPEAKS

The next morning was just as awkward as I had anticipated it to be. And somehow, deep down inside, I knew that day would suck infinitely as worse as the day before had.

As soon as I resurfaced into consciousness, my first murky view of the world was of two snuggling lumps in a sleeping bag. I felt like throwing up- public sex? This was not the place! And anyways, if they did do it, why couldn't they have done it outside or in a dark corner, far away?

I shuddered. Yawning, I stood and cracked my back, the popping of spinal columns the only sound in the warehouse besides snores and deep breathing.

"Pete?" I whispered, poking his blanket-sheathed shoulder. My stomach growled in sync with Pete's groan.

"Pete!" I said with harshness, shaking him. He and grabbed my arm, whipping out a pocket knife, bloodshot eyes wider than ping pong balls. When he saw it was me, he loosened his horizontal stance.

"Oh. It's you." He grunted and slowly got to his feet. "What is it?"

"Breakfast. What's for breakfast?" My stomach gurgled. Pete stretched his thin but lean biceps and walked to a cooler under a broken window. I followed and watched as he pulled out a honey bun and water bottle and held them out to me.

 I took food and ripped open the plastic with my teeth, screwing the cap off of the bottle. "Thanks," I muttered. I was used to a quick, non-nutritional breakfast, being so that no one in my family ever had the time to cook.

Pete took a honey bun as well as I feasted on the sticky sweet goodness. After I finished I broke the silence, "are Anthony and Phoebe together?" I hated to ask and make it obvious I had had a small crush on the guy.

"Yeah," Pete shrugged and ripped another chunk out of his food. My shoulders dropped, relieved for some reason. The question of whether or not there was...indecent practice last night remained unanswered. Though I really did not even want to think about it, it kept chaffing against the sides of my consciousness. That last thought brought on nausea again- I needed a brain scrubbing.

"So...what's it like being a degenerate?" I asked curiously.

Pete's brows knotted together in concentration, shading tree bark textured irises. "Most of the time, it sucks. Though I guess you get used to life on the run after a while. I've always been chased- just like most of the kids here," he waved an arm towards the horde of sleeping degenerates, "and I've never known otherwise. Consider yourself lucky that you got a piece of normalcy when you could, Kido. It gets pretty harsh; baths in gas station sinks, eating a granola bar a day, smelling like BO most of the time…it’s all part of the job description." He swallowed the rest of his honeybun whole, wiping the back of his brown hand against his lips. I wondered if he had had that speech planned for a while.

He scrutinized me in a way that made me uncomfortable. "You'll probably have trouble adjusting. But with a little training, we might be able to whip you into shape." His hand caressed his cheek stubble. I looked down to my body, a grossly skinny, long, and pale thing; totally unfit for any kind of exposure.

I looked back to the patch of sleeping bundles. "What exactly do I do around here? Do you just handover a katana and let me kick ass?"

Pete laughed. “For now, you can just organize food and take it easy. Stick around me.”

I bit a fingernail. We remained silent until tousled heads started to sprout from the crop of sleeping people, stretching and walking in my direction like dried drool-ridden zombies for what I assumed was breakfast.

A particular pair of heads raised last, a pair that was fully clothed as they pulled from a sleeping bag- Phoebe and Anthony. Thank God!

As Anthony neared, I noticed the dark crescents under his eyes were now lilac, the former grimace transformed into a small, content smile. It his time, as he passed, there wasn't ice air surrounding me, nor a feeling of unsettlement residing in my chest.