“You know why I hate you? It’s not just the way you eat pretzels, or your ugly-ass beard, or the way you think everyone wants to hear about your take on craft beer. Nope, the real reason I can’t stand to look at you is how fucking long it takes you to do anything.” Nate didn’t even look at Simon as he berated him.

Simon swallowed and tried to wipe his eye without us noticing. “You know what? I still like the beer selection, even if you think it’s stupid.”

“It is stupid,” Nate shot back as Simon rose from his seat. “You’re stupid. Don’t you dare walk away from this game when it’s your turn.”

Simon scowled while he walked away from his seat in defiance. As he passed Nate on the way to the kitchen, Simon reached out and gave Nate’s ear an aggressive flick.

Nate reacted instantly. He lunged at Simon’s waist, sending him staggering toward the kitchen. Eyes wide, he tripped and fell against the countertop with a crack.

I leapt to my feet. “You okay, man?”

Nate grabbed Simon’s cards and looked them over. “Fuck him, man. He’s such a pain in my ass.” Nate swapped two cards of his own cards with the stolen hand, then placed it back near Simon’s chair, grabbing what I knew to be $19.13 in nickels. “He’s lucky that we put up with him.”

I ran over to where Simon lay and placed my hand on his head. His gaze was glassy. I didn’t see any signs of breathing.

“Nate,” I began in a shaky voice, “Simon’s dead. You killed him.”

For a moment, a thick, heavy silence filled the air.

I slowly pulled the phone from my pocket and dialed 9-1.

The phone disappeared from my hand. I looked up to see Nate looming over me, slipping my phone into his pocket. “You don’t want to do that, man,” he offered in an eerily calm voice.

I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. “Why not?”

He shook his head. “You said it yourself: there’s nothing we can do to save him. Simon’s dead.” He folded his arms. “The only thing that can change now is whether I get blamed for an accident. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

I stared up at Nate. A stoic expression looked down over crossed arms, his bowl cut unmoving as he measured my soul.

Nate had always been a dick, but I had been sure he’d never hurt anyone on purpose. Pretty sure, at least. This was an accident. I tried to quell the oncoming hyperventilation as I reminded myself of the fact. It was an accident. It was an accident.

But as I stared at Nate, I couldn’t be certain that he wouldn’t create another “accident” to cover up the first.

We experience all kinds of fear. But nothing can line up with the unique species of horror that comes with learning to fear a friend. The vulnerability hits deeper than any scare that an unknown attacker might create.

I didn’t attempt to wipe away my tear. “Yeah, man. You’re right. We can’t change the past.”

He offered a hand. I took it and stood.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Nate offered in that soothing voice he does so well. “I’ll take care of everything. Now help me carry Simon into the bathroom.”

I couldn’t free my mind, no matter how desperately I tried to get a five-second break from the overwhelming thoughts. Simon was dead; we were committing a felony by hiding the fact; I would have to lie to his parents.

I couldn’t do it.

I walked from my bedroom to the kitchen, where I’d left Nate after he told me to go lie down. “Look, man,” I began, “you have to think this through and – what’s that smell?”

He flashed be a big smile before opening the oven door.

A tiny burst of vomit hit my mouth.

Simon’s head was on the rack – or at least what was left of it was, dripping fluid into the pan below. Nate had peeled off his hair, eyebrows, eyelids, lips, ears, and nose. Simon’s dead eyes gazed at me over a row of exposed teeth.

I was too shocked to fall down.

“Come have a bite,” Nate insisted as he cut a slice of steak. The meat oozed a shiny crimson.

“Why,” I whispered, “are you cooking and eating Simon?”

“Think about it logically,” he shrugged. “The number one piece of evidence against us is his body. It only makes sense to turn his body into shit.” He held out a fork. “There’s a lot to get through. I suggest you start with his toes.”

My head spun as I backed away. “I… can’t,” I offered in a faint voice.

Nate raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure you want to back away now? Let’s look at the facts,” he countered, placing the fork on a plate and crossing his arms. “Simon died in your apartment, and his DNA is now all over your bathroom, kitchen, and underwear drawer. You passed on the opportunity to call an ambulance, and now several hours have gone by.” He stepped closer. “He’s been cooked in your oven, man.” Nate breathed out through his nose. “Do you really want to put yourself in a position where one of us is testifying against the other?”

I felt the shit petrify in my colon; I didn’t realize this kind of fear could exist.

So I ran through the options in my mind. There only seemed to be two. The first was that I call the cops on Nate; he had a strong case to force a homicide trial that the district attorney would have no trouble pursuing against me.

The other was to do exactly as he said.

Simon tastes like kittens.

FB

BD

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