Kizzy and Me

The thing about passing out under your bed with a bottle of vodka, straight razor, and an over-the-counter sleeping aid, is that it will really freak your parents out.

I would tell you that the razor wasn’t for me, but I’ve learned that people—more specifically my parents, rush to judgment without a second thought.

So I was hanging off my bed, one arm on the floor, curled under the bed. I’m not sure what time it was because my eyes were blinking in time with the flashing alarm clock. I rubbed my face, not knowing the exact time but it was that part of the night when the sky was at its blackest and the night seemed to be pulling the sounds out of the earth.

For a while I’d been having this weird, dark, twisted dream involving demons and beasts out for revenge. The medication (not sleeping pills), had seemed to leave my mind with a rampant disregard for all things sane, and I’d been fake swallowing and ditching them behind my nightstand where I kept a rose in a vase filled with vodka. A girl has her ways…

I saw his spiked, patchy hair at the window. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

It was him all right, sitting patiently at the window, the metal bars bent and mangled so that he could peek in while I’m on the freaking commode. I wondered how he hadn’t woken me. Oh wait, Vodka.

“Look what you’ve done, Kizzy!” I flung a sandal at the wall, narrowly missing one of his horns. The other one was caught in the white curtain and I couldn’t help but to snort because it looked like a veil on the world’s most grotesque bride.

“Kizzy, I’m serious. Leave.” I’m sixteen years old. Tossed a psyche ward sixty miles from town and the monster from under my bed wanted to chat. Have you ever just wished you could like, take a vacation from your own head?

“Jesus, Kizzy. How’d you get here, hitchhiking?”

He held up his drooping, Marfan-like hand.

“Yes, I know, you don’t have thumbs,” I said, flushing the toilet. I fell to my knees at the window, my voice softening even though I wanted to punch him in his spikey head. “Look, we’ve talked about this. No one would understand your being here.”

Reaching out, I stroked his snout. Bumpy and scaly. When he cranked up the purring it reminded me of my bedroom. Of my parents.

“Am I really the only girl you’ve never ripped apart and eaten?” I asked. It was kind of like our “I love you”. His fangs hung over his lips and I kissed his nose—part of me still hoping that he’d suddenly turn into a prince. He didn’t, and yes, I know he never will. But his breaths were raspy little moans. God, sometimes he could be so adorable.

“Look, if all goes well I’ll be home for thanksgiving,” I said and Kizzy grumbled. “Yes, I’ll save you the innards. I know you like that.” Down the hall I heard the faint plod of the 3 am check. I jumped to my feet. “But if they catch you here, we’re both screwed.”

Excited, his tail swooshed, hitting the brick wall with a thud, nearly knocking my books to the floor.

“Kizzy!”

He winced, crouching low. A shadow lingered in front of my door. We both froze for what felt like a lifetime. Then slowly, it slid past.
“Now go!” I whispered and he dipped his head, looking back once more before slinking off into the night.

When I could no longer see his tail I rushed to my bed, diving in and snuggling tight under my covers, letting my arm out so that it could dangle off the side of the bed as I whispered.

“Good night Kizzy.”