Devil Next Door

by Alex Jane

It was hard to trust when the most reliable thing about people was that they proved themselves untrustworthy on a pretty reliable basis.

He'd learned early on in life that the only thing more important than feeling comfortable with yourself was making sure everyone else felt comfortable around you.

When he went to the bathroom, the sound of the guys laughing at the joke he'd told still ringing in his ears, he took a moment to root through the hamper, fishing out a stinking tee shirt that he held to his face, breathing in the odor, getting heady from the bitter scent. Pushing the fabric into his mouth, he sucked at it just for a second, tasting the sweat and skin and stink, not daring to risk any more than that, not wanting to have to explain how he came in his shorts when he was supposed to be washing his hands.

That and the chemical smell of a soft rag being clamped over his mouth and nose and a soft voice in his ear as the world went black. "Don't fight it, sweetheart. It's worse if you fight it."

Murder husbands, Luis called them, and it made Reuben smile whenever he thought about it.