Elvissey Read Online Free Page B

was bottled. I clenched; lifted my scissors.
Bringing them down, I realized I'd grasped them widdershins, as if to safely present them to another, who might then
with ease stab me with my own gift. Feeling the points sharp
within my hand, closing my eyes, imagining myself as a child
again, I struck the mouse with the rounded handles; hit it
repeatedly, allowing myself sight enough only to certify my
strikes, that I didn't overdraw another's pain overlong, regardless of my own.
    Done, then: the mouse lay fetuscurled upon the darkened
carpet as if sleeping, its nostrils crimsoned. Cringing from
sight of my handiwork, feeling no satisfaction of artistic
accomplishment, I saw John rub his face sweatless against
our sheets; wondered for whom I felt sorriest, feeling possessed with numbness I hadn't remembered I could so easily
summon.
    "It's doornailed," I said. My eyes were wet as the mouse's
nose, as our sheets, as John's hair. "Angel?"
    "Sorry," he said. "Forgive."
    "No," I said. "Forgive me." No response. IfJohn cried, his
tears streamed unseen within. Standing, feeling my own
head light of blood, I tore open two dusty condoms taken
from the drawer and rolled them over my fingers; grasped
the mouse's tail and ran with it to the bathroom, to jet it
down the toilet. I watched the pink water swirl away; washed
and rewashed and rewashed my hands, feeling as Lady M herself. Then I returned to our room, bedding again beside
my husband. He lay wide-eyed; some nights, lately, he only
halfslept, thrashing through undreamt dreams, recalling
none at morningside.

    "I've done unforgivables," I said. "I have."
    "You weren't trained for such, even streetways-"
    "No, John. With you, I mean."
    "Nada," he said; I stared at his back. "Guilt undeserved
scars spirit and soul, Iz. Never know guilt sans reason."
    "You do constant," I said.
    "Sans reason, said."
    "You're lying, not truthing," I said; sighed. "Saming, not
changing." I fit myself anew into my spot alongside him,
touching his skin; he couldn't stop shaking, and I wondered
if this was a hitherto undetected side-effect. "Better or
worse, John. Love. You slay me."
    "Never!" he shouted, rising as if to slap me down. "Never.
Disallowed."
    "Not literal, John. Misinterpreted. I'll demetaform-"
    "Never hurt," he said. "Not you," he added. "No one," he
sighed. "None."
    "You're abandoning you, John," I said. "And me. Without fault of yours-"
    "With fault."
    "No. Oh, John, it hurts-"
    "Mutualities," he whispered, "best unsaid."
    "Least said soonest known."
    "Over there," he said. "Difference will become us again as
it did. I know it'll be so, over there."
    "So hoped," I said. Pressing closer, I felt him warm: again
glimpsed the shimmers, our bright reflections, the heatshine
above the highway; imagined for an instant that Godness
might indulge our prayers. He shifted, as if to face me;
suddenly reached downward, his face wrinkling as if at once
he showed a hundred years, each unwanted.
    "What hurts, John?" I asked. "What-?"

    "Leg-!"
    Asiding our damp sheets, he flailed and pounded his knee
with his fist, reslotting his joint. Since the ninth operation
the implants never quite took, and rarely responded as desired, however much he concentrated when guiding their
action. Guards, heretofore, forever required refitting; artificialities had merits but permanence was not among
them. John's add-on leg would suffice several months to a
year sans problems: then fluid dried, the marrow-channels
bubbled, the cables knotted; down to the clinic he'd hobble,
knowing well inevitable obsolescence's inescapable pain. He
stilled anew, pillowing his head, gasping for breath.
    "Are you AO?" I asked. He nodded. "I love you. I'm
sorry."
    "For loving?"
    "Sometimes," I said.
    His lips downturned, as if they'd been pinned. "Known,"
he said. "Understood. I love, too. Overmuch contained
within. Overmuch to bear."
    "Overmuch inexpressible?"
    He nodded. "Spillage unavoidable,