Emergency Contact

by Mary H.K. Choi

Her breath tasted of green peppers and cigarettes and her confidence was mind-blowing. His mother used to say you shouldn’t marry anyone you wouldn’t want to divorce, and he understood that now. Lorraine was the emotional equivalent of a hollow-point round; the exit wound was a shit show.

What the hell was “Call me”? Only sadists left that message. Sadists and bullies. She might as well have written: “Gnaw off your hand.”

The first time he’d spent the night and took a shower at her house, Sam spotted the price sticker left on her shampoo—$38. He’d put it back and used soap on his head.

If she was going to break up with the guy, she wanted to look good. Maybe her best. Humans were garbage like that.

God. Sam would be almost thirty by then. Disgusting.