Escapology

by Ren Warom

  Feeling helpless, utterly hopeless, Shock looks down at Puss. She needs somewhere to go, and there’s nowhere for him to take her. There hasn’t been anywhere for the longest time, only the idea of somewhere. Ideas are ephemeral. Easily lost. And his was lost to him long before he realized it. All he’s left with is this feeling, a hollowing combination of humiliation and profound shame over time lost, life wasted and potential squandered. But, as always, there’s no way to articulate any of this to anyone. Not even to her. So he keeps on walking.

  Puss tightens her tentacles on his chest, enough to grind his broken ribs together.

  Wait, she says.

  What for? he asks, still moving.

  Our friends are coming for us. Not just Volk and Petrie. Amiga will come too.

  The urgency in her voice, the plea, stops him in his tracks.

  You want to wait?

  I don’t think alone will work. You tried it for a long time, and it wasn’t good. I’d like to try something different.

  This was not what he expected to hear. Everything’s changed so much. Before today he was Shock alone, hanging on by virtue of chemicals and delusions. Then he was Shock, Puss and Shark. Now just Shock and Puss, someone who is and is not him, with different ideas, different needs. Needs it would seem he has to give the same consideration he gives his own, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t know how to cope with her difference. The thought is terrifying as much as it is liberating.

  I’m scared.

  I’m not.

  Then can we be you today? Shock’s trying to be flippant but it comes out more seriously than he’d intended, unnerving him.

  Puss slides a little further up his chest to look him directly in the eyes.

  We’re me every day from now on, she says. We’re you and me. We’re us.

  You’re not me. He wants to take it back as soon as it pops out, but it’s true.

  Because I’m female, right? her tone is acidic, and filled with hurt. Did you ever stop to consider that I’m not male? That you might therefore be alien to me?

  Guilt keeps on coming today, and never feels any less awful. The thought hadn’t even occurred to try to see himself from her viewpoint. And it’s no excuse for him to say he only knew she had one this morning. Here he is, apparently wanting to protect her, and he hasn’t even paid her the common courtesy of trying to know her beyond the abstract concept of Puss, and all because she comes with a different personal pronoun. Talk about being an arsehole. He just won the prize.

  Am I never going to stop feeling like an absolute shit around you?

  Not if you continue to be one.

  Sorry. The word is inadequate, but he says it nonetheless.

  Don’t apologize to me again, we’ve been there and it changed nothing. Tell me.

  It’s a demand, not a request and, in the wake of guilt, takes him off-guard. He’s answering before he realizes the words are out, when it’s too late to take them back.

  How can you be female? It’s like a betrayal. I feel like people will think I could have made a different choice, when I couldn’t have.

  To his endless surprise, she doesn’t hate him. Instead he gets that tiny squeeze of reassurance.

  I know, and you have to trust me when I say my choice does nothing to trivialize yours. I was created from you when you were barely formed. Parts of us overlap, and parts developed separately, yours IRL, mine in Slip. We are different. Now I have a question for you. Fairly important.

  What?

  You asked if we could be me today. You didn’t want to mean it but you did, because you’re scared of change. What scares you more, Shock? The difference between us, or going back to how you were?

  Well that’s easy. Or rather, it’s not. It’s just that he’s been reduced to only one possible answer.

  I can’t go back.

  Then you need to stop holding me out. We can’t do this without each other. You aren’t strong enough, and neither am I. Not even Shark was that strong.

  I know.

  So stop it, stop holding yourself back from me. I promise the only difference will be that this gets easier to cope with.

  Shock’s still not sure about that, but there was a question he had whilst walking away from the gold gathering in Josef’s eyes. How much of himself does he control? It would seem he has his answer: everything. Puss can’t force him to accept her, to begin to take the final emotional steps toward full integration. It’s up to him. He has absolute autonomy to heal or to hurt them both. His is the key turned in the lock.

  And so he unlocks it.

  * * *

  So what happens in the end?

  An ex-Haunt and his Puss sit on a seat by a fountain waiting for their friends, holding on tight to one another. The sea is everywhere, within and without, endless and wide open. And on the avenue crowds of shell-shocked people sit side by side on blood-soaked ground, staring upward.

  Watching their avis dance.

  About the Author

  Ren Warom lives in the West Midlands with her three children, innumerable cats, a very friendly corn snake, and far, far too many books. She haunts Twitter as @RenWarom, and can be found on her YouTube channel, talking about mental health issues and, of course, books.

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks go out to my agent, Jennifer Udden, without whom none of this would be possible. I’m also endlessly grateful to the team at Titan Books for championing my work, especially my patient and exacting editor, Cath Trechman.

  I want to send out a huge ‘you rock’ to Colin Barnes, who beta read the heck out of this and gave great feedback as usual. And to Stephen Godden, sadly no longer with us. The best friend, finest writer, and most incisive beta reader a lady could wish for. Miss you, buddy. I’d also like to thank the rest of what was once the Writerlot crew for keeping me writing when I was about to give up, I count Writerlot’s four years as some of the most fun writing I’ve ever had. Finally I need to thank my children, whose mother invariably has her nose in a book, whether she’s reading or writing it. I’m sorry, kids, and we’re totally going to leave the house this weekend, I promise. I just have to finish this one last paragraph…