Shuggie Bain

by Douglas Stuart

Shug had seen it before, those with least to give always gave the most.

He had long perfected the art of staring through people, leaving conversations to follow his daydreams through the back of their heads and out any open window.

She had loved him, and he had needed to break her completely to leave her for good. Agnes Bain was too rare a thing to let someone else love. It wouldn’t do to leave pieces of her for another man to collect and repair later.

He was always reluctant to leave the protective cocoon of his bed; under the covers his day still had an unspoilt quality to it.

Years of drink made you uncertain. Years of people asking Do you remember the night you did this? made you lose your own sense of truth. The things she had forgotten in blackouts could be small and insignificant, but they could also be epic and they could be wretched.

He could see she wasn’t at home in her own body.