Dark Chocolate Cherry

SUCCOR

Nolan left a long time ago, maybe ten minutes, and that whole time I've just been sitting in the grass crying, trying to make some sense of what just happened and trying to find the cigarette I dropped when I was fighting Nolan. I eventually discover it's been starting a fire in some grass a few feet away from me, but it's so burned up I can barely get a drag out of it. Kneeling in the grass sucking on a tiny cigarette butt makes me feel desperate, so I just stand up after a little bit and walk home, which I can barely find. The sky is grey and cloudy, which makes me feel even gloomier than I already do.

When I get home, my father is sitting on the couch—which now sits in our white living room—looking ticked. He put a tarp over the door that I have to step through, which is sort of a pain since I have to push it open to get inside, but I don't mind too much. Besides, I'm still fumed from godforsaken Nolan.

"You're not allowed out of my sight anymore, Inge Tamara Von Dwyer, you understand? If I see you step one foot through that hole in the door, you're going to a treatment facility, because I can barely deal with this on my own."

"Oh, but someone else would."

My father's face turns to horror. "Don't."

"Oh, but it's true. You just want the problem out of the way, don't you? I'm just another drop of rain on your parade, aren't I? There goes Inge, with her bands and her cigarettes, ruining everything as always. Isn't that right? You know, I bet you wish Mom would've taken custody, don't you?"

My father stands up suddenly and grabs my wrist, and I shriek. His glass eye looks straight into mine, for once, so calm and sad they send chills through my blood like never before.

"Inge, you know your mother--"

I wrench my wrist free and run upstairs. I don't want to hear the rest.

"Get up."

"No."

"If you don't get up, I'm sending you to Bedlam."

"Bedlam isn't open anymore."

"Well, then I'll turn you over to the police for smoking marijuana illegally in the state of Maryland."

I stand up and push past my father down the stairs. He doesn't yell after me or anything. When I reach the kitchen, there's a box of Chinese takeout on the table. I realize I haven't eaten in at least a day, which kind of sucks, and my stomach suddenly collapses and feels empty. The takeout smells like the warmth of China, and my mouth begins to water.

"The Chicken Chow Mein is yours," my father says, but I'm already opening my chopsticks. "Never mind."

I dig into the Chow Mein with my chopsticks quickly, suddenly remembering how hungry I was. My father takes the fortune cookie out of the bottom and opens it. I shudder at the crinkle of the wrapping, because for some reason it sounds like the crushing of bones.

"'A friend will be important to you and your forthcoming success,'" he reads while chewing thoughtfully on his fortune cookie. "That's not a surprise. Sam Docherty—"

I stop listening and wonder how they get the little slips of paper inside the fortune cookie without burning it. They could fold it and then cook it, but wouldn't that burn the paper? They could slip the paper in a tiny slot; wherever the slot may be. Yeah, that's probably it.

"What does your fortune say, Inge?" my father says suddenly.

I shrug.

"Go on, open it," he persists. "It would be a waste not to. And you know how your mother feels about—"