Szachor

Tulip wakes up, hurting all over, and drags herself out of bed to half-crawl, half-stagger to the bathroom. In the mirror, her eyes are almost normal, though their colour still flickers catlike yellow if she stares too hard.

Last night. Jane's birthday party. She remembers — shots? Karaoke. And Jane's sketchy friend passing around an inhaler; the stuff that makes you temporarily open to recreational demon possession—

"Fuck," Tulip says to the mirror. "Szachor? Is that you?" and watches her own eyes shift yellow, her own lips bend in a smile.

"Hello, Tulip," Szachor says, with Tulip's mouth. "Long time, no see."

"I've been clean since college," Tulip says miserably, and closes her eyes. It doesn't help; Szachor opens them again, Tulip's own eyes boring into herself in the mirror.

"I know," Szachor says. "I'm the one who got you to hospital with your wrists open, remember?"

Tulip doesn't remember that stretch. She'll never remember it; that was the point of taking that last dose.

"Honey," Szachor says, more gently, "I worried about you. How are things?"

"Better." Tulip dredges the word up. "I mean. Hard. Some days I don't — still don't want to be here. Wish you'd let me leave. But better."

"Hmm," Szachor says neutrally, and reaches for Tulip's toothbrush.

"What are you—"

There's a moment of tongue-tied confusion over which of them gets to talk.

"I always tried to take care of you a little," Szachor says. "As much as I could, anyway. Let me?"

"Brush my teeth?"

"Well, you know." Szachor shrugs Tulip's shoulders. "I already did you some exercise."

"I thought I was hung over," Tulip says slowly, with dawning, horrible suspicions about the way everything hurts, and her lips smile at her in the mirror.

"Oh, I had all that for you, don't worry," Szachor says. "Then we did a workout — you're out of shape ­— went for a little jog. Your neighbour said hi."

"Which neighbour?!"

"You know which one," Szachor says. "The cute one. Her number's on your fridge."

"What!"

"And I did grocery shopping. Eat a vegetable sometimes, Tulip."

"You used to do fun things with my body," Tulip says, struggling with some kind of feeling. It's huge and stormy and she doesn't quite know what it is. It feels too big to come out of her without breaking her, and it wants out, and she doesn't want to be crying on the floor.

"So did you," Szachor says gently. "Want a bath, before I fade out completely?"

Tulip twitches at the memory of other baths with Szachor in her head; half-drunk and laughing and touching herself. She involuntarily looks at the tub.

"Did you clean in here?" she says raggedly, then narrows her eyes at Szachor's pause. "Did you clean my whole house?"

"You might want the bath," Szachor says. "And painkillers. And a nap later."

"Couldn't you just have made a mess of things like the old days by getting into my neighbour's pants?" Tulip puts her hands over her face and slowly slides down the wall until she's sitting on the floor. Szachor takers pity on her and leaves her hands where they are.

"Yes, Tulip," she says, very softly. "I could have."