Chapter Six

                                    

                                          
Michael
{Wednesday 1:12 pm}
Max and I have been in the garage for about an hour now with me running on the treadmill and Max currently chewing an old pair of shoe of mine on top of an old couch of ours. I've been listening to Lovely by Billie Eilish and Khalid on repeat since. It's been stuck in my head for quite a while.
"So that she-beast is going to be staying, not only in your house, not only in your room but in your bed? I thought Gina and Robbie were Christians, didn't know they allowed Satan to stay in their home," Emily scoffs.
Pausing my music, I slow the tread down to a small jog.
"No need to be so melodramatic, Em. It's only for two weeks. Besides, the poor girl passed out during school. She needs someone to take care of her," Ben says as he takes a seat next to Max.
"Bullshit. Whenever I got sick, I took care of me and no one else."
"Em," I slow it down to a walk, "whenever you got sick, I came over your house, made you my grandmother's Sana soup, and kept you in bed till you felt better-" I look back at her. She lies like a thief, but who am I to judge?
"Your grandma's Sana soup taste like alien butthole," Emily crashes down on the couch on the other side of Max who sits upward with my shoe in his mouth. He tilts his head with his ears up.
"Pumzika," I wave Max off and he immediately lies back down and tears the shoes apart.
"My grandmother's Sana soup may taste...bad," I replace her words, "but it takes care of any cold, fever, or sinus infection. That's why it's called her Sana soup. It's Latin for Heal. Heals anything, I guarantee it," I stop the machine and grab my towel.
Placing it around my neck, I hop off the machine and walk over to the pull-up bar. Beginning my pull-ups to work out my triceps, I can't stop my thoughts from swimming back to Alma.
There's are things that no one knows about me - duh. One thing is the fact that I have a superior autobiographical memory, I can recall any memory in clear definition and in detail. Then again, I think I had that when I was a child instead of me developing it due to brain trauma. It's just speculation.
Images of Alma helpless in my arms won't escape my mind. The feeling of pure panic erupted in me...pure panic...
Panic.
"Butthole soup will never be anything more than butthole soup. You're the only person I know who's willing to eat that shi-"
"Michael?" Her fucking voice sends chills down my back.
I drop down to my feet and turn around to see Alma standing in front of the open garage door with a baby blue blanket around her shoulders. She has a bowl in her hands, I know exactly what she's here for.
"I was wondering if I can have some more of the Sana soup?" her small voice was hard to pick up on but I still heard her.
With a nod of my head, I make my way over to her.
"You two wait here and don't bother Max. I'm letting him have a good couple of days before I get him neutered," I grab the bowl from her.
Max barks.
"Don't test me, or I swear to God I'll go grab the scissors, thread, and needle and get the job done myself, you mole rat," I turn my head to him. He growls but continues to chew on the shoes. Ben raises his eyebrows and Emily chuckles.
"Try not to catch the airborne STD's from Satan's whore," Emily shouts as Alma and I make our way to the front of my house. No doubt that Alma heard but she doesn't show signs of if she did.