When She Was Bad

2

Alone now in the attic, Lyssy searched wildly for his leg, which proved to be under the bed.

Yeah, like that’s going to do a lot of fucking good, said the voice in his head.

“Max?”

No shit, Sherlock. Now be a good little boy and go to sleep-I’ll take it from here.

“I’m not a little boy anymore.”

You’ll always be a little boy to me.

Lyssy clapped his hands over his ears. Max chuckled slyly. I’m not out there, sonny, I’m in here. Now you know what you have to do-don’t make it any harder on yourself than it has to be.

“Never,” said Lyssy. “Never, never, never again.”

Okay, buddy-bud, you asked for it.

Lyssy heard the crackling sound, saw angry orange flames leaping up all around him. To fight them, he pictured Lilith-her hair the color of rich dark chocolate, her eyes big and dark in her sweet round face, her sweetly curved lips, her soft white rosy-tipped breasts, her velvet-soft belly, her creamy thighs and the dark mystery between them, her dimpled knees, strong calves, her toes arching in ecstasy. Then he worked his way back up, past her calves, thighs, bush, belly, breasts, and back up to her face, and he held her face there, he made himself see it, ten times larger than life, back-lighted by the leaping flames. Which weren’t leaping quite as high now, or burning quite as hot.

You’re making a mistake, said the voice, sounding less sure of itself. You’re nothing without me. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing….

The flames were gone. Lyssy found himself alone in the tiny attic room, sitting on the edge of the bed with his prosthetic leg in his hands. “Who’s nothing now?” he said aloud. But for all his bravura, he couldn’t help cocking his head to the side and listening, as if he weren’t at all sure there wouldn’t be an answer.