Some People Are Batshit Crazy, by Rider Sullivan
Nathan and Serge are going for a beer run, but run into something far darker and more insane. Between vampiric Satanists, a baby doll dress, UFO freaks, and Serge himself… the two men might not make it home in one piece.
Excerpt from Some People Are Batshit Crazy
Nathan’s cell rang out Eva’s song. Something about being worth it. He answered. The car was still just down the street, shrieking in rage. Serge kept trying to jump up and hurl insults.
It was a Mexican standoff between drunk men and assholes in a sports car. Serge and Nathan had brought beer to a car fight. Wasn’t pretty. Wouldn’t end well.
“Nathan?” Eva whispered.
“Yeah?” Nathan whispered back.
Eva breathed heavily for a while. It seemed like a really long time. He began to think she’d forgotten why she’d called.
“This is a bad time, Eva.”
“People,” she breathed. “Men trying to get in the house. Come home, Nathan. Save me!” Up the street, the car’s motor purred. On the phone, Eva moaned, “Come home, Nathan! Save me!” The call ended abruptly with a strangled sob like muffled laughter that gave Nathan the shivers.
Slowly, like a vicious dog being called home, the car reversed back into the shadowy street. After a short time, the withdrawing car shifted into drive, red tail lights fading into the distance like embers dying.
“What the fuck?” both Serge and Nathan asked.
Nathan shoved the phone back into his pocket, snagged Serge by his jacket collar and started running back to the apartment. Serge stumbled. Nathan lifted him back up, never losing stride. “Whah?”
“Eva’s in trouble,” Nathan snarled.
Eva. Beautiful, damaged, fuck-fox Eva. Petite and delicate as a lily; long dark hair; blood-red lipstick and nails. She was forever needing to be needed. She was eternal helplessness. She had to be saved. She could barely take this life as it was. Nathan was nothing if not protective. He might fail a bit as provider. But protector? That had his name all over it.
They’d met in a bar. A complete dive. She went home with him and never left. In fact, until he bought her clothes, she’d worn his. She’d only ate when he fed her. Only drank when he passed her the glass or kissed her with wine in his mouth. The only thing Eva had ever done on her own, in the very beginning of their relationship, was dance. The girl could dance. To anything, anytime, all the time.
It’d been a long time since Eva had danced, he realized. He flinched. All he wanted—all he needed was for Eva to dance. He had to get home NOW, dragging Serge along the entire way if he had to.