The Visible Filth Read Online Free Page B

a snarl of tangled roots, until it was hard for him to think about anything else whenever she was around.
    He’d always figured it was just a matter of time, and he was content to wait until the moment was right – when Carrie was gone, or when they were just drunk enough that it didn’t matter. But then Jeffrey happened along, and all of a sudden things were different. He’d known it the first time she pushed back at him when he started wondering aloud if hipsters could only have sex with an ironic attachment, and whether that attachment required batteries.
    “Leave him alone,” she’d said.
    “Who?”
    “Don’t be an asshole. I know you’re talking about Jeffrey. Lay off the kid. He’s okay.”
    “Just okay? Maybe you do need batteries.”
    “Fuck off, Will.”
    He’d like to say that was the last time he’d taken a cheap shot at Jeffrey, but it wasn’t. Sometimes he just couldn’t resist. Alicia started to ignore it, until it wasn’t much fun anymore. He contented himself with knowing that Jeffrey couldn’t last much longer, that Alicia’s appetite and her impatience with ridiculous men would spell his doom at any moment. But he’d been waiting for a while now, and he suspected Jeffrey’s unlikely heroics last night had given him an extended lease.
    He pulled out his phone and dialed Alicia.
    “Get a beer with me,” he said when she answered.
    “Fuck, dude, what time is it?”
    “Are you still asleep? It’s like ten o’clock.”
    “I didn’t get to sleep until sunrise.”
    Well, that was the last thing he wanted to hear. “So are you going to come get a beer with me?”
    “No, asshole, I am not. I’m going back to sleep.”
    “When did you turn into a pussy?”
    “That is so wrong. And so are you. Maybe I’ll see you tonight. Have one for me, okay?”
    She hung up.
    He pocketed the phone again and kept walking, a cold gulf opening in his chest. Nothing he felt made any sense, and he knew that. He knew he was skirting dangerously close to infidelity, was practically inviting it, but he didn’t feel the pang of guilt he knew he should. There was just a need, and he had to answer it.
    The thought of going in and having a beer without Alicia with him was too depressing to countenance, so he maintained his heading, resigned to checking in on Eric instead.
    His apartment was located above the bar, with a metal staircase affixed to the side of the building, terminating in a small balcony and a front door. You could access the place without being noticed from inside the bar, for which he was grateful. Rosie herself worked the morning shift, and if she saw him, she’d call him in and fill his head with her outrageous opinions. Will crept up the stairs and knocked on Eric’s door.
    Will found himself hoping that he wouldn’t answer. He was having a hard time remembering the impulse that drove him here. They’d never been close – hell, they barely qualified as friends – and standing here in the heat of a bright Wednesday morning, Will felt mother-hennish and ridiculous.
    But the thunk of a deadbolt retracting into the doorframe scuttled any hope he had of leaving unnoticed. The door swung open into a cool darkness, and Eric was standing there in his underwear, his hair matted with sweat despite the air conditioner Will could hear clattering away somewhere in the depths of the apartment. The right side of Eric’s face was a Technicolor nightmare of scabbed and torn flesh. Dried blood speckled his face and shoulders.
    “Holy shit, Eric.”
    Eric spoke without moving his jaw. He was clearly in vast pain. “What is it?”
    “I came to check on you. You need to go to the hospital, man. I’m calling an ambulance.”
    “No.”
    “Fuck that. Yes.” He reached for his pocket.
    Eric took his elbow and brought him inside, shutting the door against the heat. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
    “Dude, you can barely talk.”
    He made a vague gesture toward his face. “Swollen. That’s