Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs

Chapter 29

Alex showed up right after Damián got home and changed into comfy clothes. He stood over Damián with a critical look. Thankfully, he didn't bring up anything from the night before. He seemed totally absorbed in the present.

"You do look a little pale," he said.

"I'm fine. Also, pot calling the kettle black much? You're pale."

"I'm always pale. I'm white."

"You got me there."

Alex crossed his arms. "Why did you almost faint?"

"I just got a little light-headed."

"Okay, why did you get light-headed?"

"I don't know."

"Have you eaten enough today?"

Damián had a lie ready to go. He was going to tell Alex yes, he had had enough to eat. On the way home, he had made up three meals. Egg over rice for breakfast, salad for lunch, and Diego's fun little pasta for dinner. But staring at Alex, he shook his head.

He couldn't do this anymore.

His body ached. His mind was slow. He was cold.

"I don't think I have," he said.

"That must have been it then. Do you have anything here you feel like eating?"

The honest answer was no. There was nothing Damián wanted to eat. But he just stared at Alex until Alex took it upon himself to go into his kitchen. Damián followed.

"You have avocados," Alex said, "I can make you avocado toast if you have bread."

It was easy to accept food from Alex, and Damián told himself that he was getting dangerously close to associating Alex with his better mental health moments.

They ate avocado toast in silence.

"Thanks, by the way," Damián said. "I should know better than to have a doctor as a client."

"I think he did the right thing."

"Yeah, but he was annoying about it."

Alex took his empty plate and rinsed it off.

"I'm fine now," Damián said. "You can go home if you want."

"No, I'm staying here until Leo gets back."

They sat together in silence as Damián scrolled through true crime documentaries. They were all so brutal. So grizzly. Abducted children, murdered mothers, gaslit wives.

The avocado and sourdough bread sat so heavily in Damián's stomach, he felt nauseous. His throat ached. His tongue felt slimy and the roof of his mouth was scratched from the hard crust.

He had never purged before, but he could see the appeal. There was a reason people had to do it—to feel empty again, the erase mistakes. Making yourself vomit had to feel like a reward, Damián thought. Exercising that level of control.

Purge was such a nice word. It was beautiful. Purging yourself of impurities. Ridding your body of food that you crammed down your throat. The abuse had to feel so good. The aches, the swelling, the burning.

Damián looked to Alex. There was no way he knew what Damián could be thinking. He just sat there, trying really hard to keep facing forward.

There was tension left over and when neither of them acknowledged it, Damián's anxiety climbed until he had to say something.

"Can I ask why you wanted to leave last night?" Damián asked.

"Um. You mean when I wanted to leave the museum?"