helpless (Lams)

There's Something Called Chewing

. . .

JOHN LAURENS

SATURDAY, JULY 2

I sat up in my bed upon hearing a loud crash. I looked around my room, and then let out a breath. I flopped back against my mattress and stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to wake up.

"Holy shit, it's on fire!" I heard someone yell.

I jumped out of bed and quickly pulled on a shirt, hurrying out of the room. I jogged downstairs and slid into the kitchen.

There was smoke, but it seemed like Hercules had it all under control. Alex was coughing and waving the smoke from his face. I sighed and leaned in the entrance way. "You ain't gonna burn my kitchen down, yeah?"

"Hey! Morning!" Peggy beamed. "Laf set the eggs he was making on fire, but it's out now."

"Alex, your waffles are almost done," Laf said, peering into the toaster. "I think," he added. I walked over to the couch and sat down, not really interested in eating whatever charred eggs Laf had managed to salvage.

I'm usually much more polite, but when I'm faced with sucking down campfire ash, I think I'd rather die, no offence.

Alex wrinkled his freckled nose and shook his head. "Yeah, no thanks," he mumbled. Laf narrowed his eyes and stalked over to him, with some sort of evil ass grin tugging on his lips.

"I'll call Mom," he threatened.

"You always do that!" Alex groaned, flopping his head over to the side. "I hate you," he grumbled. "I really do."

Laf grabbed a paper towel and pulled Alex's waffles from the toaster, setting them down on a plate.

"Here you are, mon ami!" he slid the plate across the counter with a smile. Alex picked up a waffle with his hands–Jesus Christ this kid is insane–and took a bite. He cleared his throat and brought a hand to his throat, and it's then I realised that he's not clearing his throat at all; he's choking. Everyone else was just staring, except for Hercules, who I gathered was the 'dad' of the group. He'd started to perform some sort of botched attempt at infant CPR that probably won't help at all.

In a flurry of panic, I leapt over the coffee table and bounded to the table, where he was sitting, shoving Hercules out of the way. Amatuer. I peered around his shoulder, talking to him softly. "Do you think you can spit it out for me, sweets?" He shook his head. And he can't talk–great. Fan-fucking-tastic. I was not planning on giving someone CPR this morning, but it's whatever, I guess. I snaked my hand under his arm, placing it gently on his chest and leaning him forward. I couldn't really think of a less scary way to tell him that I was going to start whacking him in the back, so I raised my hand and delivered a sharp blow between his shoulder blades. After a couple more hits, his airway unblocked and a half-eaten piece of waffle fell onto his plate.

"Well," Herc said. "That was eventful."

"Here, let me get you some water," I said, and walked over to the fridge. I poured Alex a glass of water and slid it over to him.

It was awkwardly quiet as no one really knew what to say or do. I just stood there, staring at the counter, biting my nails.

"That was fucking awesome," Peggy said. "I'm gonna go tell Ria." She drummed her hands on the counter, and then walked away.

I glanced over at Alex, who was slowly sipping his water, staring into space. "Hey, you alright?"

He didn't answer, and just shrugged. Laf walked over to him and set his hand on Alex's shoulder. "Alex, choking can be very traumatic. Do you want to talk about it—"