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Male ducks have weird penises that stretch up to eight inches in an anticlockwise spiral. Females have vaginas twisting in the opposite direction. In fact, evolution has made it exponentially more difficult for a boy duck to get a girl duck pregnant without her consent. Too bad human vaginas aren’t as superior. I close my laptop when the credits roll and stare up at the ceiling, my hands cushioning my head on top of my pillow. It’s not that the thing isn’t comfy, but I like stroking my hair when I think. It’s soothing.
That was the fourth documentary I watched today, and I gotta say, duck rape is real, and somehow way creepier than serial killers. But nothing’s worse than the US healthcare system, which is just depressing. I hope one day I won’t have to choose which finger to reattach if I ever chop off more than one. By accident of course.
I turn to my side and glance at the clock on the nightstand; it’s only two in the afternoon. Dad was supposed to have the day off, and he and I had plans to spend the day doing absolutely nothing and ordering Chinese for dinner. But murderers have no regard for other people’s weekend plans, and now dad’s probably drawing chalk outlines around some poor bastard whose head got bashed in. I understand that as the country sheriff, he’s got his plate full. I was just really kind of looking forward to not spending today by myself.
Scott was supposed to come by, but Kira showed up at his place unannounced. That was two hours ago, and I haven’t heard anything from him since that last garbled text riddled with typos. It looked like he typed it one-handed. I don’t really want to know what his other hand was doing while he sent that message.
My stomach gurgles, reminding me that I haven’t left the bed since I woke up. Rolling onto my feet, I proceed to have a life and death battle with the left leg of my pyjama bottoms before heading down the hall to the kitchen. There’s leftover pizza in the fridge, it was dad’s turn to cook last night, and after working two doubles trying to catch some asshole that was responsible for a bunch of break-ins, he was beat.
Mom was always giving dad a hard time about his fast-food habit, but c’mon, the guy barely has time to take a piss while chasing deranged criminals. Dad used to roll his eyes whenever she laid into him; now he eats a salad for lunch every day. Religiously. I try to do the same, the healthy eating thing because that’s what mom would have wanted.
I look down at the three slices of cold pizza on my plate and sigh dramatically before dumping them back into the greasy cardboard box. The house groans and I jump. I never realized how loud empty rooms are before. My phone buzzes and I fish it out of my pocket; it’s a message from Lydia telling me her mom’s got her on lockdown. She forgot to kick Aiden out, and her mom found them cuddled together and asleep this morning. Not the worst thing she’s done, but Mrs. Martin doesn’t need to know that. So much for a movie tonight, and I’ll be damned if I go alone.
I grab the pizza box and shove a slice in my mouth before I can start feeling guilty. The cheese is hard, and pizza sauce drips down the front of my shirt, and I shrug; not like anyone’s coming over. I turn on the TV and flop down on the couch, and try to drown out the whispering voices in my head. They always get so loud when I’m alone. Sometimes TV helps, but today they seem extra vigilant on being heard.
I reach for a second slice and chew mechanically, the sound of teeth gnashing gives me a moment of peace. The house creaks again, but I force myself to ignore it, reminding myself that there is no one else here but me. Because Stiles Stilinski is too much of a loser to have plans on a Saturday.
“You got any more pizza left?”
“What the hell—” I jump at the voice and fall off the couch with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, my hip hitting the living room table hard enough to bruise. For a second, blind panic seizes me, and I freeze. A mop of tousled black hair bob into view and familiar gray eyes look down at me, amused. “Derek? What the hell, how did you get in here?”
“Your bedroom window was unlocked.” Derek shrugs and yanks me off the floor. I’m no Arnold, but I’m not that scrawny either, it’s just Derek’s got superhuman strength.
“We talked about this!” I straighten my t-shirt and glare at him, but he just smiles at me, all wolfish.
“Yet you still keep it unlocked. It’s like you’re just asking for trouble.”
“Well, trouble found me.” I roll my eyes and flop back onto the couch. “There’s more pizza in the fridge. I hope you like pepperoni.”
I watch Derek walk into the kitchen, watch him open the fridge and lean over for the second pizza box, and the voices quiet in my head. Maybe I won’t have to spend today by myself, eating cold pizza and watching reruns of Friends.
“Is there such a thing as a wereduck?”
“What?” Derek comes back with the pizza box and two sodas. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Good, cuz ducks are crazy.” I ignore the quizzical twitch of Derek’s extremely expressive eyebrows and crack open my soda and reach for a third slice of pizza.