"Hey guys." I crouched and reached for the chicks. They swarmed away from me, making me laugh. "You little jerks. You're all fat. You're all going to be ugly in about a month, all scrawny and gray. Come here."
The tiny endless peeping of the chicks was breaking my fucking heart. I would probably cry when I got into the barn. That's what I usually did.
Finally, I captured one of the chicks. I cupped its body to my chest.
Little bird, I thought. Soft warm little bird.
I wandered around visiting the animals and talking to them. I fed the goats and looked into their weird rectangular pupils. I stroked my hand down a pig's leathery back.
In the barn, a tabby darted away from me.
I glanced around. There was no one in sight, just me and the old black Percheron in his stall. I drifted over and he came to the edge of the stall. He knew this routine. He lowered his lumbering head toward me and I hugged him around the neck.
"Hey pal," I said, my voice thick. I wasn't sad or anything. Mike said that crying is a cathartic release and sometimes it has nothing to do with sorrow.
The horse's huge body made the stall door creak. His neck was pure muscle. I ran my hand down his snout.
"You're big and strong," I whispered.
Even in the cool morning, the barn was warm. The smells of hay and feed permeated the air. I pressed my face into the horse's neck and tears began to slip from my eyes.
"Matt?"
I whirled.
Ah, fuck. Wendy's daughter stood in the doorway smiling at me. I could never remember her name. Hope? Grace? Something wholesome and forgettable.
"Mm. Fucking hay allergies," I muttered, rubbing my eyes.
"Oh, yeah, those'll get you." She lifted an empty bottle. "We've got a new baby cow. You ought to see him."
I shoved my hands into my pockets and looked away as the girl came closer. She looked twentyish and was very striking—black silky hair, freckles, blue eyes. She wore her hair in a long braid down her spine. I saw her pretty much every time I came to The Patch, but it never dawned on me that she might be seeking me out.
"Yeah, I will," I said. "I'm making my rounds."
"Mom's already working on your typing. You know, she really loves doing that. She won't let me read it, though."
The girl came to stand before me. She seemed too close, but then again, I was drunk—lost to that space-time shit.
"Well, yeah," I mumbled. "It's kind of private."
"No big deal." The girl chuckled. She rose onto her toes and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Her breasts brushed my chest. "Matt?" she whispered.
I didn't move. I felt like a lump of clay. Her arms were cool and slender and I was aware of her pressing closer. Her breath tickled my neck. How strange. I felt nothing. I stood there listlessly and stared at the barn wall.
"Why are you so sad?" the girl said. "You're so sad. Let me try to make you happy."
A cold, familiar smirk distorted my lips.
"You think you can?" I said.
"I know I can. I'll take care of you." The girl's hands moved down my back. No fire sprang up in their wake. I only became aware of my pronounced ribs and the ridge of my spine. Huh. I'd have to pick up some eggs while I was here. More fat, more protein.
The girl began to undo my jeans. I let her, gazing down impassively as she worked. She gripped my soft cock and I saw her brows knit. My smirk twitched.
After massaging me ineffectually for a minute, the girl dropped to her knees. I had to hand it to her—she was determined. She licked along the soft organ and sucked at the tip. When she glanced up at me, confusion flashed through her eyes.
My cock had zero interest.
I shrugged, and then started to laugh helplessly. The girl turned red.
"Nice try, kid," I said.
I tucked my member away, did up my jeans, and strolled out of the barn. Turns out laughter works as well as tears.
I made two scrambled eggs when I got back to the cabin. I pushed them around on my plate, washing down small bites with bourbon. Somehow, the booze and pharmaceuticals kept my stomach full. I tried to eat throughout the day, but most nights I ended up puking.