Dead Rat Walking

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Present, One Day Before Hell Broke Loose

Cyrus didn’t remember the order in which his sister ruined his sleep: curtains ripping open a hole of white-hot morning light, the aroma of Costa Rica blend coffee drifting into his nose, the cabinets slamming shut as if to spite him awake, or the rock-hard punch in the shoulder that said “Get up.”

He jostled awake, one leg hanging off the couch. He was wrapped in a fleece blanket. An empty bag of cheesy puffs sat on his chest, staring at him like a bass in mid-feeding.

He wiped his face and startled at the sight of his sister, Becca—pony-tail, starry night bandanna, stud in her cheek, dragon tattoo on her shoulder, trademark camo tank top. She was frowning. Hard.

“Jesus, Bec. What’s up with you?”

Becca grabbed the blanket and pulled, unraveling him off the couch and onto the floor. Frowning some more, she moved to the bay window in the living room of one-bedroom apartment and twisted the blinds open, flooding the room with sunlight that might as well have made Cyrus burn out of existence.

She sat at her reclaimed wood kitchen table next to a brick wall and nursed a hot coffee mug.

“Seriously, Bec, what the hell?” Cyrus asked.

When she didn’t answer, he shot to his feet, staring daggers at her.

She gestured to his spot at the two-person table, where a steaming coffee mug and two slices of toast were waiting for him.

“Cy, sit with me.”

Great. She was pulling the big sister card again by talking down to him. He folded his arms.

She pointed at the chair more forcefully this time.

After a moment of hesitation, he slid into it, arms still folded, suppressing a yawn.

Becca studied him for nearly a minute. She sipped her coffee, sighed, and said, “You. Need. To. Move. On. She doesn’t love you anymore.”

Each word was like a slap.

“Geez, how about a side of shade to butter my toast while you’re at it?” he asked.

“I can’t do this any longer,” Becca said. “I let you stay here because I love you and I felt so bad for you after your breakup. But now, every day is like Groundhog Day. You sulk around through the shop, barely talking to my customers, and then you come up here and cry yourself to sleep with Jules’s name on your lips.”

Oh. So she wanted to fight now. Kick him while he was down. No one had any right to mention Jules. No one.

“Jules is my business,” he said.

“Jules is someone else’s business now,” Becca said. “You’re living in a weird alternate universe where every breakup song lyric is somehow true, like she’s going to storm the building calling your name and begging you to come back.”

“Okay, so I listened to a little too much Bee Gees last night,” Cyrus said. “But what’s the harm?”

“The harm is that you’re living inside yourself,” Becca said. “Which is to say you aren’t living at all. And God, the fact that you even listen to the Bee Gees at all is creepy. We weren’t even alive when they were big.”

She set her coffee mug down and stared at him with tough brown eyes. “It’s going to be okay. Life goes on, Cy. I love you, but you need to find somewhere else to live.”

Cyrus’s jaw hung open and he raised his palms in offense. “But I don't have any money.”

“I'm paying you every day at the coffee shop,” Becca said.

The $11-an-hour job at the coffee shop his sister owned was a godsend, but hardly enough to live on. He did some mental math and hung his head.

“It's only been two weeks since I’ve been here, and a month since we broke up,” he said. “I'm still grieving.”

“Jules is alive,” Becca said. “That doesn't qualify as grieving.”

“You're telling me you never had your heart broken?”

“More times than I want to count,” Becca said, rising. “It's not like I want to make you homeless or anything. I'll give you a few weeks.”

She opened a kitchen drawer, pulled out an envelope, and slid it across the table. “Here's a few hundred dollars. This is a loan, got it?”

Becca would rib him every week until he paid it back. He didn’t know which was worse: accepting the money and enduring the pain or being broke. The former was probably better.

“Thanks, Bec,” he said.

“Good. Now I get to tell you what you’re going to do today.”

“I don't have any plans,” Cyrus said, shrugging. “It's my day off.”

Becca smirked. “Day off! That’s cute. Nope. Here's what you're going to do. You are going to go to the new Logan’s Crossing shops that just opened. You are going to buy a nice shirt. Not a hoodie, and not a t-shirt. You're going to buy a button-down shirt, like the ones Dad used to wear. Do you remember what those look like?”

“Screw you.”

“You're going to buy a shirt, brown shoes, and a nice pair of pants that don't have rips in them for a change. You’re going to put those clothes on and wander around the storefronts like a lost puppy until you see a ‘help wanted’ sign. You’re going to apply for a job and use me as a reference. Unfortunately for you, I’m the only one you’ve got.”

She wasn't going to sit here and tell him what to do. Wasn't it his life?

“And one last thing. I wouldn't be upset if you cleaned the bathroom,” she said, grinning.

“I might as well feed you bonbons while I'm at it,” Cyrus said.

“That would be amazing, but you're broke and you're not spending my money on bonbons.”

He slouched and took a bite of his toast. Becca was the only sister in the world who would damn near break his neck by pulling him off the couch to wake him up, destroy him verbally while he was half-asleep, give him money, and then feed him breakfast like nothing ever happened.

He felt guilty, like he was freeloading and taking advantage of her. He didn't know how to say anything that wasn't snarky, but maybe she was right. Getting out of her hair might do them both some good. They just kept snapping at each other lately. On the pissed-off scale of one to ten, Becca was a seven right now. Once she got to around eight, she left scorched earth in her wake.

“And you might want to call Mom too,” Becca said. “She's worried sick about you.”

“I'm not sick and I'm not dying,” he said.

“Why don't you tell her that?” she said. “I'm tired of telling her you're fine.”

She grabbed an apron off the hook near the front door and tied it around her waist. She primped her bandanna and said, “I gotta go back down. I left in the middle of a rush. When you come back, I can't wait to hear all about your new adulting adventures. Welcome to adulthood, kid. It’s a bitch.”

Cyrus shook his head as she slipped out of the apartment.

He finished the toast and then raided the fridge for milk and poured himself a gigantic bowl of Cheerios. He sat on the couch, surrounded by candy wrappers and empty potato chip bags, and he ate in peace while watching anime. At some point, he got a whiff of himself and thought maybe he ought to clean up.

Becca worked long hours at the coffee shop and bar. She had used part of Dad's life insurance settlement to start a business. It had always been her dream. For the first year or so, she almost didn't make it. But now the Wicked Cat Coffee & Brew was a popular and trendy coffee destination in the Logan Square neighborhood on the city’s northwest side—a coffee shop by day and a bar at night. Chicago Magazine even put the Wicked Cat in its top ten coffee shops earlier this year, including an interview with Becca. His sister—tomboy Becca—was running a successful and renowned coffee shop and bar, hiring and firing like a pro, and slinging lattes and martinis with equal skill, all while doing what she did best—telling people what to do. He was proud of her. She had done something with her life.

Him? A college dropout in his senior year, which mortified his mom…a professor at the college. He was twenty-four years old, crashing on his sister's couch, and listening to love songs all day. At least, that’s how it was now, after Jules broke up with him.

He opened the envelope that Becca gave him. It was full of loose twenties. Definitely looked like tip money.

Great. Becca was guilting him even more. A wave of tenderness washed over him. Maybe one day he’d be there for her like she was for him.

He dumped the leftover milk from his cereal into the sink and wiped crumbs off his face.

He’d do everything Becca told him to, but there was one thing he had to do first.

He had to see Jules.