That voice. That fuckin' voice keeps on echoing in my head as Julia glares at me, expecting me to burst outta this sorta shell shocked state I'm in and answer with some smart ass, douchebag retort. I recognize it; it's on the tip of my tongue but I just can't quite put a face to the voice though I feel I should. It seems like it should be easy; just pull my head outta my ass for a second and get a second of clarity, a shining beacon of light in the muddled confusion of my brain. If only I could dig deep and pull out something, but I can't. It's just, there. Mocking me. Just like Raymond, Julia's handpicked replacement for my fucking narrator. Sheesh, what's that bitch know about hiring a good narrator, anyway? Then again, what do I know about that? Fuck, I killed the last narrator because he was too annoying and Rutabaga's shaping up the same way, if not worse. Might wanna get my gun ready in advance. Shit, where's that at, anyway? Fuck, fuck fuck! Everything is fucked up already and I just rolled outta bed what, like fifteen minutes ago?

"Yeah, a ghost. Sounds about right."

I shake my head and look over at Julia, who jumps back a bit before sighing in relief and laughing just a little bit, covering her mouth with three fingers.

"Good, thought you slipped into a coma or something."

"You'd never be lucky enough to get rid of me that easily."

"You ever think about that though? Like, what would happen if you really did OD and no one was around? Scary shit there, man."

"Well yeah, now I'm gonna be thinking about it. Thanks for that mental image."

I'd be lying if I said I never thought about it. Ergo, I'm lying through my teeth to Julia right now, but the way she's nodding and simultaneously dismissing everything I just said, I'm pretty sure she knows how I'd answer that if I were to be honest. Seriously, how could she not already know that? It's something I'm pretty sure everyone thinks either before or during a coke buffet. I look across the room over to the recliner by the door where Ryland the Narrator's sitting with his left ankle resting on his left knee. He's a tall, skinny fuck. Scraggly ass beard and long, thin black hair. He smells like he doesn't even know showers exist, though he's still not the worst thing in this apartment in the smell department. That'd be the spoiled ground beef in the fridge. Probably should throw that away. I'll do it when I'm sober. I push myself off the splotched, totally wrecked carpet and fall backwards onto the couch, laid out spread eagle fashion, eyes staring a hole in the ceiling. Julia lurches backwards into the couch, at the perfect angle to drive the back of her head into my side and it collides with my ribs, forcing a bit of air outta me. I start to cough, covering my mouth with the crook of my elbow and sitting up in the process. In the few split seconds that it takes for me to do this, she hops up, back onto the couch. Back right next to me. That's her thing. Always next to me. I wonder how her boyfriend would like that. Probably why this is the first I've heard of the fucker, lest I do anything that'd fuck up her cushy little relationship.

With a fuckin' pizza delivery boy.

Whose voice for some reason has flipped a lightswitch on in my head. Now, if only I could find the bulb to which the switch was wired to.

"He should fuckin' be here by now," Julia says with an exasperated sigh, letting her arms fall to her sides. Keeping my eyes pressed on the spot of wall that they'd been on since I found myself sitting up, resting my back on her left shoulder, I reach over to the table and grab the bottle of Jack. Forming what little saliva I have left in my mouth into a little puddle on the center of my tongue, I bring the bottle to my lips and tilt it up, grinning as the bitter liquid falls through my teeth and floods over the tasteless mess and throughout my mouth. I swish it around my cheeks for a couple of seconds before swallowing it down and following up with a second, smaller gulp and passing it over behind me to the seventeen year old girl who's been treating my place like a second home of sorts for the last week or so. I'm pretty sure that in most circles, this would be seen as really fuckin' weird and would be cause for like an investigation or some shit. Luckily, I tend to avoid those circles.

"I'm starving."

"I know, you refuse to shut the fuck up about it."

"Fuck off. You do the same thing when you go a couple days without stickin' your dick in some trashy broad because you're thirstier than a fucking Ethiopian child in the middle of a drought."

"Isn't that just an Ethiopian child?"

"Point stands."

"Actually," I say with the first genuine smile I've had in the longest time. "Objection."

"On what grounds?" Julia asks, suddenly playing the judge in this fake little courtroom scene we're conjuring in our heads.

"On the grounds that the Attorney for the Prosecution is a massive cunt."

"Objection! Relevance?"

"I don't think you can object to an objection."

"Yeah, well I object to you objecting to my objection to the grounds of your initial objection!" she exclaims, half confused herself as to whether or not her little rant actually made any goddamn sense. Spoiler alert; it didn't.

"What the fuck are you even talking about?"

"I, I don't even know either."

"A woman being confused. Color me surprised."

"Luca Arzegotti being misogynistic. Shocking."

I chuckle and punch her lightly on the arm, which is her cue to smack me upside the head and more precisely right on the ear. I yelp in shock and pain and cradle my ear in my right hand, leaning over onto that side and almost falling off the couch. Looking at me in my current state is apparently a funny sight, as both Julia and Rohypnol start laughing like absolute maniacs as I continue to wince every time I put any kind of pressure onto the now raw spot where she hit me.

"Seriously, what's the deal with that? Did you mom touch you as a kid or what?"

"I wish, I mean uh..."

Shit, did I actually say something that stupid aloud? Fuck man, there was no recovering from that bullshit. Even though I don't actually mean that shit, there's no way I can take that back convincingly. So instead I just start laughing like a loon and scan the coffee table hoping for another line of coke to magically appear in front of us. Just waiting. Waiting for her to put away the shocked eyes and make the jokes I'm expecting outta her.

"Slow it down there Oedipus!" she says, laughing. Meanwhile Randy just kinda sits there confused. I don't think he caught that one. Not surprising, since he seems like he dropped outta school in sixth grade if he even made it that far.

"Yeah yeah, least I ain't putting out to some delivery boy."

"Hey! I have not put out! Wendell's a perfect gentleman!"

Wait.

"Wendell? Are you fucking kidding me?!" I say as I burst into laughter. Holy shit! Wendell! What a fucking name! As if her boyfriend couldn't become any more of a fucking she finds a way to top it and make my stupid fuckin' (literally) gaffe look like child's play. Didn't expect that one.

"Dude, your name's Luca. You have no right to talk about names."

"Dude, Luca's a badass name. Wendell's a dickass name. As in he takes all the dicks in his ass."

"I kinda figured that's what you meant. You aren't exactly subtle, y'know."

Just then, a knock came on the door. Well, three knocks. Each one louder than the last, though none pounding on the door the way I always expect of polive officers, so at least it isn't them. No, if I had to guess, I'd guess that it's Wendell, name gets me everytime holy shit, with whatever pizza Julia ordered. I start to stand, but Julia pushes me back against the couch and hops up, damn near sprinting over to the door. I shake my head and lean over, so that I can barely see between her and the door at Wendell. I catch one peek at his face, and I instantly recognize him.

The creepy guy at the scene. The one who paid attention to my name.

Everything around me goes silent as I keep my eyes locked on the ensuing exchange. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a twenty dollar bill, handing it over to him in exchange for a stained on the bottom white box and a kiss on the lips. He nods his head towards me, turns around on one heel and makes his way down the hall. She lightly closes the door before almost waltzing over to the coffee table and placing the box down atop it.

"That's Wendell?" I ask, voice sounding about as distant as I actually am.

"Yeah, problem?"

"Isn't he a bit, older?"

"He's only a couple years older than you. Gah, you're acting like my mom. Shut up and eat, asshole."

---

I'll never claim to understand professional wrestling; and I'll never claim to understand the inner workings of Julia Underwood's head. So, by association, I don't think I'll ever understand why her, Luca, and I are currently sitting in Luca's car, dressed in all black and sliding on black ski masks. Well, I guess I do know why we're doing that; to not get caught of course. But as for why we're planning on robbing a fucking convenience store? That's beyond me. Probably because she's a little psycho and wants any excuse to be armed even though I'd trust Hitler with a gun near my Jewish ass than her.

"No one cares what you're thinking Ron. Stick to narrating shit that matters."

Bitch. She took the gun in her lap and aimed it right at me for that last little outburst, but that doesn't stop me from smiling as she pulled it away and placed it back in the spot it had been just a few seconds prior. Finishing the ever so difficult task of sliding a mask on over her face, she slid the gun into the waistband of her pants and pushed passenger's side door open, closely followed by Luca. The pair took a few steps toward the building, before turning around and gesturing for me to follow them. I guess they think I need to be right next to them to narrate. Why did I take this job?

"Because you're desperate."

Right.

The walk though the parking lot wasn't very eventful. No firefights, yet. Though considering the fact that two nutcases were packing with intent to rob some poor shop owner, violence was gonna be inevitable in this situation. As we made our way across the lot and into the shop, the first thing my eyes fell upon was a streak of red up by the tobacco section. Like dried blood. Weird. Figured that would be cleaned up. Doesn't really make me feel safe shopping here.

"Good thing we ain't shopping then," Luca whispered as he made his way up to the clerk by the register and pulled out his gun. "Money. Bag. Now."

"Oh shit! Look man, I don't want no trouble, you don't have to off me like the other guy!"

"Other guy?"

"Yeah man, you don't gotta play me like that!"

Frantically, the clerk emptied the register, unloading all its contents into a plastic back and shoving it across the counter towards Luca and Julia, the latter of which snatched it up in one hand while aiming her pistol at the man behind the counter with the other.

"You're gonna forget this ever happened?"

"Shit man I already did."

"Good."

Turning away from the counter and back to Julia, Luca whispered under his breath and out of earshot of the clerk: "What the fuck does this have to do with training for a wrestling match?"

"Endurance training. Also, I spent all the money in your wallet to maintain my subscription to a glass alpaca statue. Now run!"