White Fuyūrei

4/14/20. 10:55 p.m.

BRRRRNNNNGG

“What. The. Fuck.”

Roger opened his eyes. He hadn’t been asleep, but still.

BRRRRNNNNGG

He jumped up angrily, knocking into things, switching on lights, stomping around. If Beth was honestly going to play at being asleep through all this, fine. But he wasn’t going to make it easy.

Then he remembered that Beth had taken to sleeping in the other bedroom.

Roger strode over to the intercom, cursing all the way.

Fuck Beth and her permanent state of ennui and neverending existential crisis and whatever else was wrong with her–

BRRRRNNNNGG

–and fuck food delivery guys who ring every bell–

What. The. Fuuuuuck.

There on the intercom camera, apparently on his building’s doorstep, was Deb. His ex. Who died from leukemia. In Australia.

She’d been living there for work the last few years. Roger hadn’t spoken to her in over five. But friends had given him periodic updates on the salient things, like the move to Australia. And the cancer. And the beating of cancer, followed a year later by the dying from cancer.

Deb gazed upwards, as though expecting something to appear. Roger watched, transfixed, as she lifted her right hand to tuck some loose hair behind her ear, then repeated the motion on her left, where there was no loose hair to tuck. His favorite Deb tic. He felt a flood of warm familiar affection for Deb, a thing he hadn’t felt in years.

Silently, with no change in expression, Deb’s eyes settled directly on the camera and seemed to bore into his. Roger urged his body to move, to do something; it offered up a frightened fart.

After a few moments, Deb drifted laterally, so she was no longer visible on camera.

Heart pounding, Roger drifted back to bed.

#

4/21/20. 10:52 p.m.

BRRRRNNNNGG

“I’ll get it, don’t worry! You stay in bed!” Roger shouted through the wall. Beth couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. She didn’t care.

Not that she would ever tell Roger, but the late-night buzzing was new, and it was starting to irritate even her. Beth had to summon what strength she had left in order to ignore it.

It didn’t disturb her sleep, of course. Sleep had become an Everest-sized challenge years before all this.

Beth’s focus returned to the laptop perched on her stomach, where she was watching Beethoven. Concurrently, she used her iphone to scour IMDB for behind-the-scenes factoids. She didn’t give the intercom or Roger another thought.

#

Meanwhile

Open-mouthed, Roger gaped at the camera. Nothing.

Every night for the last week, without fail, the buzzer went off around 11. Without fail, the camera revealed Deb, silent and staring. Without fail, Roger stood there watching, never buzzing her in, or trying to speak to her over the intercom, or going downstairs to see if she was really there.

But tonight? Same buzzer, same time, but no Deb. Roger waited another minute, then trudged back to his bedroom.

He froze in the doorway. Deb was standing by the bed, hands hanging down by her sides. She lifted her head, her expression puzzled.

“Deb?” Roger croaked. “Deb, are you really here? Can you hear me?”

“Roger? Roger, what’s going on, why are you looking at me like that?” The voice shaky, but unquestionably Deb’s. “I feel so … so strange, so cold! Where ARE we, what is all this … this hideous furniture, and shitty art, plants just … everywhere WHY, these aren’t our things–”

“Oh god.” Roger instinctively started towards her. “Deb–”

Deb thrust her hands out to block him. “Roger, WHO is that woman in the other bedroom?!”

Roger swallowed. “Deb, listen to me, I don’t know how to explain this, but … uhh … Deb? I’m pretty sure you … died. A few months back. I–”

Roger left off stammering as he watched Deb’s tearful, frightened expression give way to a toothy grin. She began shaking. With laughter.

“Psych! You should have seen your face, you fucking pussy!” She punched him in the shoulder, hard. “Of course I know I’m dead, idiot! It’s not the sort of thing you forget.”

Deb sat down on the bed and looked up at him expectantly.

“Well? Aren’t you going to sit down? C’mon, let’s catch up for a bit.”

#

Ten Minutes Later

“I like that, that’s good. Yeah, uhhhh, oh god, keep going, you piece of shit, just like that, don’t change a thing–uhhhh, uhhhh–wait. I want you to use your mouth, get off me, get the fuck out of me, yeah, now get down on your knees, get on your motherfucking knees, just DO it already, stop looking around for padding for your knees, GOD! You’re such a fucking idiot, you’re killing the momentum, you dumb shit–

“Yeah, that’s right, get on down there … it’s better down where it’s wetter, as a wise crab once said … uh-huh, mmmmm, ohhh yeah, get allll up in there … Oh under the sea, unnderrr the seeeeeeaaaaaaaa–the fuck?! Don’t stop! Jesus, fuck–”

#

After

“I think I’m a Fuyūrei, but that feels like cultural appropriation.”

“Fuyūrei?”

“It’s a subset of Japanese ghost, a kind of wandering spirit with no purpose. There’s no way to adequately describe it in English.”

Roger wondered how Deb knew this. Was that where she was, when she wasn’t here? Haunting a library, doing research? Or had she acquired supreme earthly knowledge upon dying?

Did she know Japanese? Had she been to Japan? Had she encountered Fuyūrei in her ghostly existence, maybe made some friends? Was she having an easier time making friends now?

This was crazy. Roger buried his face in his hands. “I just … I really need to get some sleep.”

#

5/7/20. 9:12 a.m.

“Roger? You still in there? The fuck are you doing?!”

Roger nearly jumped off the toilet at the sound of Beth’s voice. “Just a minute!”

Beth unleashed a tremendous sigh, encapsulating all the frustration and revulsion from a lifetime of bathroom-sharing with another human.

Roger and Beth had been cohabitating for under 3 years.

Roger made a last, hopeless attempt. He hadn’t taken a shit in over 2 weeks, since Deb first appeared in his room. He couldn’t shake the fear that she was watching him at all times. He didn’t really understand how Deb’s situation worked, and he was afraid to ask.

Nope. No way could he coax his sphincter into relaxing now, between a pissed-off Beth prowling outside and Deb’s Japanese-spirit-thingy possibly floating unseen within.

Roger gave a defeated groan and dropped his head down into his hands.

#

That Evening

“Soooo, where are you when you’re not here? Are you … always here?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Do you ever go back to Australia?”

“I don’t think so. It’s hard to describe.” Deb frowned and drew away.

Roger sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m tired. I had a long day.”

“So did I, asshole.”

“Really? What uh, happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, and anyway you wouldn’t understand. You had to be there.”

“I guess … yeah. That makes sense.”

Roger waited a minute, then tried again.

“Deb? Can I ask you something?”

“Ask away.”

“Do you ever … watch … when I’m in the bathroom?”

“Jesus, no! You think that’s how I’m spending my eternity, you idiot? Watching you take your morning shit?”

“No! I mean, I didn’t think you wanted to, or anything–”

Deb was laughing. “You’ve been holding it in all this time because you were afraid–”

“No! No, but also, it’s not funny!” Roger clamped the pillow over his ears to drown out her cackles.

#

5/9/20. 12:47 a.m.

“Roll over, I want to be on top. No–wait–not like that–[sigh of disgust]–fucking idiot, hold on–[grunt]–ok, back in business. Just–wait, give me a sec–can you NOT fucking move, for one second! Jesus.

“Ok, now prop yourself up on your forearms…. Really? Huh. I thought that would give you the illusion, at least, of well-developed shoulders [pants] and pecs–uhhh–because it does for most men–let’s try something else–

“Ok, OK, hold off on that for a moment, and listen, sit up, sit allll the way up–jesus find a fucking ab muscle somewhere and USE IT TO SIT. THE. FUCK. UP.–good. Now I’m going to wrap my legs around you–wait, stop–[groans]–oh COME ON! Alright, wait while I fix it, again—[grimaces]–ugh god I hate you, you stupid fuck, so stupid–okay, there, got it.

“Now swing your legs around, get your feet on the ground, good, now stand up and fuck me standing–c’mon, try again–just [gasping] stand–seriously? How are you so WEAK, literally how is it possible–[grunt]–to be so–ugh–so very fucking weak–[pants]–like a veal–

“FINALLY. Ok, really give it to me, you piece of shit–what–no don’t use the wall for support, stop using your hands on things for support [slaps hand away] and hold onto my ass–uhhh–good, but more, faster … DON’T make that face, like it’s so much effort! That’s not hot! Ew, make it look effortless! Change that face, change–[grunts]–your fucking face–”

Roger’s legs gave out and he toppled over, taking Deb with him.

#

After

“Deb? What are you working on?”

Deb was seated on her side of the bed, balancing a legal pad on her knees and twirling a pen. Roger had no idea where she’d gotten the legal pad.

“I’m devising a comprehensive fitness plan for you. Meals, exercise, mobility drills, the works. We start at the ass-crack of dawn.”

“What … no … tomorrow’s Sunday … and anyway, no--”

“It won’t be easy. It’s gonna hurt like hell, because you’ve let yourself go for so long. Also because you have zero willpower, like none whatsoever. Your whole life you’ve been a lazy piece of shit, just wallowing around in your male privilege. No more. I am going to see to it that you get fucking shredded. Beyond your wildest dreams, babe. We’re talking visible cumgutters.”

“Seriously?! There’s no way I’ll ever have … those, no matter how hard I work! That’s not my body type, Deb. We all distribute fat differently–”

“Like you’ve ever tried. We’ll have to give your diet a massive overhaul, you’re not going to do it by exercise alone. Cumgutters are made in the kitchen.”

“Ew.”

“Oh, did that visual put you off eating? GOOD. And so it begins.”

#

5/12/20. 10 p.m.

Roger hobbled into his bedroom, balancing aspirin bottles atop a pizza box.

“The fuck is this?!” Deb rose from the bed.

“Just over-the-counter painkillers, Deb; literally every part of my body–”

“Not those, idiot.” Deb snatched the box from Roger’s hands, dumped the pills onto the bed, and proceeded to the bedroom window.

“Deb, do not–AHHH, MOTHERFUCKER!!!” Roger screamed as Deb tossed his pizza out the window. It was unclear if his rage was over the lost dinner, or the pain encountered in his accelerated hobble towards Deb.

Before Roger could give words to his fury, he heard the toilet flushing. Horrified, he realized he’d left his bedroom door open.

Beth, wrapped head to toe in bedding, slumped by without pause. A sad defeated blanket slug with a human face just barely peeking out, trailing duvet behind her.

Roger only breathed again when he heard the door to Beth’s bedroom close.

“Is she … hot, your wife? I can’t discern her shape. Like, at all … it’s impossible to tell where she ends and the blankets begin.”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up, Deb!” Roger hissed, angrily yet quietly. “Christ, she almost saw you! This is crazy, she’s going to find out–”

“Oh, please–”

“–she’ll hear something, she’ll wonder why I’m being weird–”

“She neither knows nor cares.”

#

5/15/20. Late Friday Afternoon

Roger was in his new-normal spot on his bed, computer propped atop several pillows. He toggled between his biweekly departmental Zoom meeting, and his own furtive off-the-clock research.

“The easiest way to exorcise a yūrei is to help it fulfill its purpose. When the reason for the strong emotion binding the spirit to Earth is gone, the yūrei is satisfied and can move on.”

Roger’s shoulders slumped. Deb felt strong emotions regarding just about everything.

“Traditionally, this is accomplished by loved ones enacting revenge upon the yūrei’s slayer–”

How was he supposed to enact revenge upon cancer?! Find a cure? Would a cure for Deb’s kind suffice, or did it need to be a universal cancer cure?

Did he need to find the cure himself, or could he just make substantial financial contributions to cancer research?

“–or when the ghost consummates its passion/love with its intended lover–”

Roger’s dick trembled in fear. It was rubbed raw in several spots from all the recent consummating.

“Right. Onto bullet point 5, the updated internal HR handbook. Roger, I believe you’re on top of that? How’s it looking?”

Roger hastily toggled back to his Zoom meeting. “Hi everyone, uh yes that’s me. It’s going well, I’ve gathered and integrated everyone’s comments and proposed revisions, and I’m just proofreading the near-final draft for your approval–”

“Awesome. Roger, can you circulate that draft after this call? No rush, it’s ok if you don’t get it out until later this evening. Or even first thing tomorrow morning. But preferably tonight.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Thanks Rog. Okay, I think we might be nearing the end here troops! Let’s turn to bullet point six–”

Roger switched back to his wiki reading.

“–or when its remains are discovered and given a proper burial with all rites performed.”

#

That Night

Roger stared up at the ceiling, Deb’s head resting on his chest, hands working away at his terrorised penis.

In desperation, he tried to shift her focus elsewhere: “Were your, uh, remains … not laid to rest to your liking, perhaps?”

Deb shrugged. “Who cares? Anyway, I didn’t go. You know I hate all that shit–funerals, weddings, birthday parties–”

“How the fuck are all those things the same?!”

But Deb was preoccupied with her pumping. Roger could feel her frowning disapproval. “What’s wrong with your dick?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, it just needs a break! I’m exhausted, Deb! I can’t do this anymore, night after night–”

“What, so I should come during the day when you’re working? I was trying to be considerate, asshole.”

“I need to sleep at night, Deb! Don’t you remember sleep?!”

“You think I wouldn’t like to get some sleep?!”

“I–I didn’t know you wanted that, I didn’t know you couldn’t, I’m sorry–”

“Even when I was alive, I struggled with sleep, or have you forgotten?”

“I know, I know and I’m sorry Deb, it’s horrible, I’m so sorry for what happened to you,” Roger was blubbering now, tears of delirium and exhaustion, “but I can’t … I need to sleep, please, please–”

But Deb had turned away, thankfully releasing his member from her grasp. “You didn’t remember. You never thought about me after you ended things, did you. Not once.”

“That’s not true, Deb. I swear.”

“You were out in the world, fucking new girls within days, you think I don’t know?! And when you were ready again for a relationship, bam! Along comes Beth!”

“That isn’t fair, it wasn’t like that–”

“It is so.fucking.easy for men! I was alone, I was all alone after you left me! Dying. I was scared and in pain and you didn’t care. You had moved on, you were happy with your friends, and your one-night stands, and your job and then your new girlfriend–”

“Deb please. Please,” Roger snivelled, crying uncontrollably. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say but I can’t live like this, dealing for years with Beth and her … issues, and now you, this … Ethan Frome existence, I can’t–”

“Did you seriously just compare yourself to Ethan Frome?! You self-pitying shit!”

“I didn’t mean it like that–”

“What the fuck then? You’re contemplating suicide by sledding? Idiot.”

Roger, too tired to protest, sobbed for several minutes while Deb glared off into the darkness.

Later, when the tears had subsided enough for him to speak: “Maybe that’s what you’re here to, uh, fulfill? Like, maybe you just need a really good night’s sleep?”

“That’s what you think my unfinished business is? To get some sleep?!”

Roger began to stammer out a reply, but she cut him off, clamping her hand over his mouth and straddling him. “Just shut up, ok? Put your mouth to some actual use, since your dick is worthless.”

She sat on his face.

#

5/17/20. 1:31 a.m.

“Ugh, this again? What’s wrong this time?” A scowling Deb flicked at Roger’s flaccid shriveled penis.

“It’s frightened, Deb! It’s overworked and traumatized. I think it’s trying to get away from you by, like, tucking back up into my body. Leave it alone for a night or two, please.” Roger cupped his genitals and rolled onto his side.

“Huh. Guess you’re not as young as you used to be, amirite? Well, that’s not a difficult problem to solve. Just contact your guy and get some boner pills.”

“What?”

“Your guy. Your drug guy. Don’t pretend like you haven’t kept in touch.”

“Not since the pandemic.”

“You think drug dealers aren’t open for business at a time like this?!”

“It isn’t that … I’d have to go over there, and I’m trying to avoid unnecessary risks–”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Nobody your age dies from this thing unless they’ve got one foot in the grave already.”

“It isn’t just about dying, Deb. You can get Long Covid, apparently–”

“Oooh, Long Covid. The fuck’s that? How can it even be long, when this virus has only been around a few months?”

“People–young, healthy people, sometimes!–they’re tired and weak, they can’t taste or smell–”

“Are you kidding? That’s it?! You wanna hear about Long Cancer?! Do you have any clue what that’s like?! What the bullshit worthless treatments were like?! I was exhausted, I was weak, I couldn’t taste or smell or eat, and all that was the very least of it–”

Roger opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say.

“–and then, after 2 years, more actually, I fucking died. At 30.”

“I’m so sorry Deb … do you want to talk about it?”

“Lost their sense of smell, are you fucking kidding me. Who would even WANT a sense of smell anymore, with everyone using ‘natural’ deodorant, give me a break. Riding around on their bikes all day, showing up to work, dates like that, all sweaty and gross. Only washing their hair once a fucking fortnight, reducing their shower time to 2 minutes. Because that is really going to save the planet, sure. Everyone reeks of self-righteousness and B.O. Fuck everyone …”

She did not.

#

5/18/20. 9:37 p.m.

Roger cracked his bedroom door, peered out.

He had agreed to meet with his dealer at 10 p.m. It now occurred to Roger how suspicious stepping out at this hour would look to Beth. Even shops permitted to operate closed by 7 p.m.

Roger listened for any sound coming from Beth’s room.

Silence, and then a cacophony of barking. His shoulders relaxed. He could tell from the tenor of the barks that Beethoven was still just a puppy. She was 15 minutes into the film, tops. He had time.

#

5/19/20. 3 a.m.

After a gruelling, Cialis-fuelled endurance test:

“Deb? Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“When you were first buzzing at the intercom, those first few nights. Did you need to, uh … build up strength to eventually enter, like you were figuring out how to do things in your new … situation? Or was it like a vampire thing–you know, with rules you need to follow, to gain entry?”

Deb rolled over to face him, grinning. “Nah. I didn’t need to do any of that. I was just fucking with you.”

“Ah.”

“You know, cuz you were always such a pussy about horror movies and stuff. I thought it would be funny … are you crying again?”

“I think I’m too dehydrated to cry.”

#

5/22/20. 8:27 p.m.

Brow furrowed, Roger stared at his portion of the inter-departmental Powerpoint presentation.

Out of nowhere, a hiss in his right ear: “ASS TO ASSSSSSS!!!”

Roger shrieked and jerked away, instinctively curling his upper body over the laptop.

Laughter. Deb’s. When Roger looked up she was standing there, leering.

“Pretty cool, huh? I just figured that shit out a couple days ago. The talking while invisible thing, I mean. The ‘ass to ass’ thing is from that movie, remember? Where the chick is at the gross sex party with the Wall Street dudes, cuz she’s desperate for drugs? You know, with the double-headed dildo–”

“I remember the fucking movie, Deb! But what the fuck?! You cannot do that, not ever again, I almost had a heart attack–”

“Oh please. Such a drama queen.”

“–I’m serious, you nearly killed me! NOT cool, NOT ok, do not EVER do that again, Deb, please….” Roger’s anger turned to shaky tears as he realized he had no way of stopping Deb from doing that again.

He had no way of stopping her from doing anything.

Roger fell to the floor, carefully placing his laptop on the nightstand as he did so, and commenced keening.

#

5/26/20. 1:33 a.m.

“I give up. What is up with that stupid face you keep making, dickwad?”

“I’m in pain, Deb! Seriously, I feel like shit, my stomach hurts all the time–”

“That’s just all the core work. You’ve never used your abs before, so the sensation is alien to you. Probably all that body-racking sobbing isn’t helping either.”

Before he could respond, sudden cries of “My god! BEETHOVEN, STOP! NOOOOO!!!” pierced the wall. Deb paused, then turned her gaze back to Roger, while Roger lowered his to the ground.

”You know, when I first got here, I thought your wife was the sort of imbecilic adult female fanatically devoted to all the kiddie films of her childhood, Disney and Pixar and Harry Potter shit, plus the kiddie films that came out long AFTER–”

“People do that, it’s not weird! Also, Pixar films, there’s a lot to unpack–”

“–BUT what I was going to say is, I was wrong. I’m sorry. Your wife is another order of fucked-up magnitude entirely. It’s just the one movie she’s watching in there, isn’t it? Just Beethoven. The St Bernard.”

“You don’t know the first thing about her, Deb. You think it’s fair to judge someone from some things you hear through a wall when she’s at her lowest, when everyone on the planet is at their lowest?!”

“That’s it. I’ve just failed to appreciate her infinite variety. My bad.”

#

5/28/20. 11:47 p.m.

Roger settled back onto the pillows and tried communicating honestly with Deb.

“I don’t like myself when I’m with you. You bring out the worst in me, I’m sorry. I’d forgotten how dark you are.”

“Because your wife is a nonstop laugh factory. Pure sunshine, that one.”

“That’s different, you don’t know her! But you, you’re just so … determined to only see the bad in everything. I guess you always had that side but … I don’t remember it like this.”

“… And you thought leaving me to die alone was going to improve my outlook on life?”

“You didn’t have cancer when we broke up–”

“I died at 30, fucktard. 30! Do you know how horrible that is?”

“I don’t, I know, I’m so sorry–”

“I died alone in a strange land! You knew I was sick, you could have come to see me!”

“You moved to Australia! No one told you to do that! You could have moved back!”

“Are you seriously putting this on me?! I should have been the one flying back, sick as I was?”

“It’s a crazy long flight, Deb, there was no way I could afford a business class seat, and doing it in economy at my height? It’s just, you know, just murder on–”

Deb struck him across the face, not in a sexy way. Before he could react she had him straddled, his arms pinned down.

“You’re a miserable cumstain on the face of this earth, you know that? Enough talking. Get that thing you call a dick hard, because it’s go time again, bitch.”

#

Meanwhile

On the other side of the wall, ensconced deep within her bed, Beth heard the sounds of Roger’s porn mingled with the sound of Roger crying. He’d been getting into some weird shit lately.

Beth shook her head. It couldn’t be all on her. If Roger was cracking up, he’d picked a really bad time to do it.

She made a great effort to direct her thoughts somewhere positive, and refreshed IMDB:

“Seven dogs played Beethoven.”

Cradling laptop and phone, Beth journeyed further into the bedding’s recesses. No. She couldn’t keep giving of herself. Selfish prick.

#

6/3/20. 2:11 a.m.

Still gasping, clad only in the strap-on, Deb collapsed back onto the bed beside Roger. He too was panting for air, chest heaving. Each heave disturbed innumerable aching muscles.

Eventually he’d breathed through the worst. He rose, went to his dresser for a fresh t-shirt. With his back turned, Roger launched into the subject he’d been meaning to raise for weeks.

“Deb? Do you think you’re getting, uhh, whatever it is you, um, wanted, out of our time together? I mean, I’ve gotten a lot out of it. It’s been really … special. But do you feel like you’ve gotten the … closure, maybe, that you wanted out of our relationship and somehow didn’t get from me the first time around?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. This is more just, like, running through a forgotten Pinterest board of sex stuff I always wanted to try. It’s like that Thai restaurant you’re always hearing great things about, and you make a mental note to go but you keep forgetting.”

“What? What Thai restaurant?”

“Not a specific one, dumbass. I just meant as a hypothetical, like, that restaurant you always mean to check out, you know? The sex with you is on that level of insignificance, is what I’m saying. It’s not some agonizing deathbed wish.”

“I see.”

“Not that it’s a great example, because I can’t actually eat in this … whatever state. That was rough, when I learned that! Actually, I found out when I went to the local Thai restaurant everyone was always raving about, but I never got around to trying when I was alive. Well, technically, I did get take-out from there this one time, and it was fine I guess, but nothing special, and I was like ‘Wait–is this what everyone’s been going on about? Cuz I don’t get the hype at all.’ But after some time passed, I started thinking ‘I should really give that Thai place another try, it’s not fair to judge it off one take-away, everyone knows restaurant food isn’t the same when you’re getting it to go, I should go to the restaurant and do it right, actually eat there, before I write it off’. But then I got cancer, and before I knew it I was dying, my appetite went to shit, and I just never got around to it.

“That was the first place I went, in fact. After I died, and, you know, ‘woke up like this’, haha! I was like, ‘might as well go check out that Thai place now, nothing stopping me now’. Except it turned out I couldn’t eat, so there was, unfortunately, still something stopping me. Then I started wondering if I could fuck, and that’s when I got to thinking about you, and after I’d tried eating at a few more restaurants–to make absolutely certain there was really no way I could eat food anymore–once I had definitively ruled that out, that was when I came here to see you and–lucky you–I can still fuck!”

With a grin, she pounced on Roger and tore his t-shirt off. It was his favorite t-shirt, from the band’s earliest tour, very difficult to find.

#

6/6/20. 4:04 a.m.

“That was another thing I hated about Australia. Every day, there are all these stupid whales beaching themselves. No one knows why, but everyone freaks out like it’s the end of the fucking world, and they drop everything to undertake these massive rescue efforts to push these dumb fucks back out into the ocean–”

Roger continued cleaning the recently used sex toys in silence.

“–WHY? These whales obviously want to die, they can’t possibly not be noticing that the water is getting awfully shallow for their fucking whale body–”

With difficulty, Roger gathered all the toys in his arms and carried them to the dresser.

“Everyone says ‘save the whales!’ But are we running low? How many whales are in all the oceans, and how many are there *supposed* to be? I’ve got no clue, do you? If someone said to me ‘great news, the global whale population is now 80,000 strong!’ or ‘oh no, there are only 80,000 whales left in the entire world!’ I wouldn’t know the difference, and I bet most people wouldn’t.”

Roger methodically opened and closed drawers, tucking each toy into its respective place.

“How long has someone been monitoring the size of the whale population, anyway? For all we know, the first time they did a survey, there was a crazy high number that year, WAY more than usual, just an assload of whales, fucking with all the ocean’s fragile ecosystems and shit, and ever since we’ve been using that number to determine whether we have enough whales, and getting freaked out over nothing!

“How does anyone even count the number of motherfucking whales lurking in the ocean, anyway. I call bullshit on those statistics.

“I don’t think I’d miss them. I mean, whales aren’t one of those things I actively hate, I wouldn’t expend effort Ahab-ing around the world, hunting them down. They’re free to go about their business. But I’m not breaking out my violin every time one of them commits suicide-by-beaching. Whales are overrated. They’re fat. Famously so. Obesity is a problem worldwide, and here we are glorifying these blubbery bible-monsters–”

Roger stumbled to the bed, lifted the comforter, wordlessly got in.

“–what kind of message does that send to kids. Remind me why I’m supposed to care about whales more than all the other gross things that live in the ocean? Is it the mammal thing? Is that it? Big fucking deal. There’s all kinds of freaky stuff in the ‘mammal’ category I don’t care about. Also: what a dumb way to categorize things. You’ve got one category that’s, what? Frogs and turtles, and that’s IT. Why the actual fuck would we give them a whole category to themselves?! And then 90% of real stuff–not like, sponges and fish and amoebas and dumb shit like that, I’m not counting any of that–it’s all lumped together under ‘mammal’, because they’ve got tits. Pretty obvious that a bunch of men designed this categorization system, amirite?”

Roger pulled the covers over his head, and drew his limbs into a tight fetal position.

“Every time I was headed to the beach in Australia, I’d be thinking, ‘I am going to be so fucking pissed if I get there on my day off, ready to lie out in the sun and relax, and there’s some huge dumb smelly whale taking up half the beach, blocking the views, singing its shitty whale-death dirge’–

“Are you crying? Are you crying for the fucking whales?!”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. All of it. Everything. It’s all so terrible, it’s terrible,” Roger moaned, hugging his knees to his chest.

“No shit. I’ve been trying to tell your Pollyanna ass that since the day we met. This world’s a massive garbage fire. The whales are the least of it.”

Roger, face buried in his knees, continued rocking and whispering “all of it. All of it.”

#

6/14/20. 10:59 p.m.

They were both sitting up in bed, working: Roger on his work, Deb on Roger’s meal plan. From the other side of the wall, the movie’s volume suddenly increased, concurrent with an unmistakable humming sound.

“What do you reckon? Do you think she turns up the movie volume to drown out the sound of the vibrator, or does she turn it up because she is now actively masturbating to the film Beethoven?”

“No! That isn’t … none of that is happening, she–you–shut up, Deb!”

#

6/15/20. Dawn’s Ass-Crack

Roger trudged to the sink for a glass of water, then began counting out various vitamins and supplements. He tried in vain to steady his trembling hands.

“Hola, fuckface! We ready to crank out an assload of push-ups? And by ‘we’ I mean ‘you’.”

Startled by Deb’s sudden appearance, Roger knocked over a bottle. Wordlessly, he sank to all fours, and began crawling around to retrieve the scattered pills.

“Dude, look at your hands! I’ve never seen them shaking that bad before. Who would suck harder in a Jenga match, you or Back To The Future guy, amirite? Hahahaha!”

“You’re a horrible person.” Roger whispered hoarsely, without looking up.

“I don’t think I am anymore. A person.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Enough of this shit, get up. You can pick those up later. We’ve got cumgutters to make, boo-yah!”

#

Two Hours Later

“Alright dickwad, good workout sesh, until this evening then. I’ve got some new ideas for us to explore, some hawt nurse-patient scenarios, some sounding play, ever try that? You should probably take some time today and google it, you know, to prepare yourself.”

Deb had her back to Roger as she spoke; now she heard a heavy crumpling of something to the ground. She turned, and gazed down in disgust at the spot where Roger lay amidst the tatters of various ruined t-shirts, hugging himself and whimpering, “no, please, I don’t want it.”

“Relax, I was fucking with you … you do know it’s fucked up to yuck someone’s yum, though, right?”

“I wasn’t, I swear!”

“I don’t judge you for watching the most conventional, heteronormative, boring-ass mainstream porn possible, do I?”

“You do, actually!” Roger snarled. “This is fucked, what you’re doing, it’s evil. It’s assault, it’s abuse, it’s every kind of violation of privacy imaginable!”

“Okay, now you sound like *that* white guy who thinks the term ‘cracker’ is just as bad as the N-word–”

“No! I don’t! It’s not like that, at all! None of this is consensual! Not the role-play, not the compulsory fitness regimen, I mean, seriously?! Do you really think this is your purpose? To be a–a fucking ghost personal trainer?!”

“Ugh, enough about the fucking purpose! Who said anything about fulfilling a purpose? You’re obsessed with that idea, not me. All I said was, I need to see cumgutters.”

“WHAT. THE. FUCK. What the fuck, Deb? The fuck are you even talking about, this is ridiculous, you don’t mean that! You don’t seriously care about that! You just like torturing me, and saying ‘cumgutters’–”

“You don’t get it, do you? This is bigger than cumgutters, asshole. We’re doing this for FEMINISM. This is about every woman who starves herself, and pushes herself through brutal exercise regimens, and gets up at the ass-crack of dawn so she can spend an inordinate amount of time on her grooming just so she’ll be deemed presentable to the outside world, and wastes a fortune on painful treatments and surgeries and clothes and cosmetics, and is constantly worrying if she’s doing enough to be deemed fuckable by the likes of you, who does NONE OF THAT. AT. ALL. And what is her reward? Well, if she’s really lucky and has done enough to impress you–but NOT so much that she comes across as ‘full of herself’, which is to say, possessing awareness of her own attractiveness; that sort of thing just makes you roll your eyes and go ‘ugh, get over yourself already’, I know–if she gets the balance just right, she might be rewarded with a night of garbage sex under your arrhythmic ass, and a UTI.

“So yeah, you’re going to starve yourself, and physically push yourself to the brink, and get up crazy fucking early so you can push yourself some more, and take dodgy supplements, and spend tragic amounts of your waking life hyperfocused on your looks, until you sprout cumgutters or die trying.”

Deb stared down at him, panting, her face deranged.

It took Roger a while to think of anything to say.

“But–if I do that, are you saying … you promise–”

Deb yawned, then disappeared.

#

6/24/20. 3 p.m.

Roger sat on his bed, struggling to focus. Or at least stay awake.

He couldn’t hold off much longer. He felt his eyelids growing heavy, was dimly aware of his body slumping forward–

A purr in his ear: “ass to asssssssss…”

Roger started up with a cry, clutching laptop to chest. His head jerked this way and that, eyes wild: nothing. Nothing but reverberating peals of laughter.

#

6/25/20. 1 a.m.

“Hola, sorry I’m late. How was your day, asswipe?”

Roger trembled with rage. Rage and amphetamines. And sleep deprivation.

Roger trembled.

“One thing, Deb. The only request I’ve made. Please don’t creep up on me when you’re invisible, and shout stuff in my ear, and especially not while I’m working, and especially not ‘ass to ass’–”

“Dude, that’s like, three or four things.”

“My JOB, Deb! I finally have a job that I love. Can’t you respect–”

“Ohhhh, my god, please do not talk to me again about your stupid, boring, meaningless job! Hearing you drone on about that is probably what sent your wife over the edge, ‘ole Chuckles–”

“ENOUGH. I have HAD IT with your bullshit–”

“Oh? Are you going to do something about it? Because as far as I can tell, you can’t do shit about it. I, on the other hand, am more than capable of making things worse for you. You seriously think things can’t get any worse? Are you THAT lacking in imagination?! Yeah, now you’re afraid, now you turn on the waterworks.

“All this time I’ve been super respectful of your workday, I’ve gone out of my way … maybe next time you’re on your Zoom, I’ll just be dancing around stark naked, mmmkay? Would your colleagues like that, me jumping up and down, tits shimmying, strap-on waggling–”

But Roger was balled up tight on the floor, mewling. “No. Please. Don’t take my job from me. It’s all that’s left. Please. Please.”

#

7/9/20. 8:23 a.m.

Roger wandered out to the kitchen, clad only in boxers. He was down to two t-shirts, and he was trying to protect them from Deb by not wearing them.

“Ahem.”

Roger turned and saw his wife’s face peering out from its massive blanket cocoon.

“Nice cumgutters. V-e-r-y impressive. Who are they for, may I ask? Because I know you didn’t put in all that effort for me, you selfish fuck.”

“What? Beth, no I–”

“Do you think I’m stupid?! OBVIOUSLY you’re planning to ditch me the second all this is over, just LOOK at you, strutting around showing off this new body, desperate to attract a new mate, someone without any problems! You … you d-don’t even have the decency to try and hide it from me, put a shirt on or something, y-you don’t even care enough about me to d-do thaaaaat, bwaaaah-aaaahhaaaa….”

Roger gazed dumbly after Beth as she burst into tears and scurried back to her bedroom. She tried slamming the door, but was thwarted by trailing blankets. She squatted awkwardly and made several attempts at scooping them up, bawling all the while. At last, she rose and slammed it shut, to diminished effect.

He could still hear her anguished sobs, joined now with those of the children as they saw their father standing in the doorway–not with their beloved Beethoven, but with Beethoven’s empty collar. The children’s worst fear, realized: their own father had taken Beethoven to the vet to be put down.

#

8/3/20. 6:11 a.m.

Roger returned from his morning run red-faced and panting. Sweat continued coursing down his cumgutters as he prepared an aeropress. While he waited for the coffee, he toggled between run stats and work emails.

“ASS TO ASSSSSSSSSS, MOTHERFUCKERRRR–”

Deb halted as Roger keeled over. She bent down to confirm: dead as a doornail. Heart attack, probably. Some combination of stress, lack of sleep, dehydration, extreme exercise, extreme sex, abuse of boner pills, abuse of amphetamine-based dietary aids, months of sustained fear and anxiety … who could say.

Deb shrugged, and decamped to Sweden.

Hours later, Beth slumped in and found Roger. Her swaddling fell to the floor as she crouched beside him. Wordlessly, she straightened back up, retrieved a knife from the drawer, returned to the ground, and cut at her throat for as long as she was able.

From Beth’s bedroom, the evil vet laughed.