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wasn’t really looking. You feel a little different. That usually happens after a breakup.”
    I pull the clit pump from under the couch where I keep it. It looks intense and medical, with a hand pump and a dial to indicate how much suction is being created. But when I pull it out, something else comes tumbling onto the floor: a prescription bottle half-full of OxyContin, with someone else’s name on it. He grabs it before I can push it back into hiding.
    His face falls. His eyebrows scrunch up, and he shakes his head. “Are you shitting me?”
    â€œI’ve been in a lot of pain.”
    â€œWhy don’t you go to a doctor?”
    â€œYou know how I feel about doctors.”
    â€œYeah, and you know how I feel about fucking around with this kind of shit. This is an opiate.” Josiah is protective of the work he’s done to get sober, which I respect. I’ve never done opiates before, but my dealer told me this is the best painkiller there is, and my knee has been killing me lately. It’s been helping.
    â€œI really don’t like the way you’re talking to me.” We stare hard at each other, our eyes meeting in combat.
    â€œIt looks like it’s time for me to leave.” He sighs and gets up off the couch, grabbing his coat and scarf.
    â€œFine.” We never know how to get through moments like this. We’re both too proud, too righteous about our beliefs. That was originally what drew us to each other, but ultimately it was the reason we weren’t compatible.
    â€œDo you need anything else before I—”
    â€œNope,” I interrupt. He grabs his bag and leaves in a huff, making a big deal out of not slamming the door on his way out, which I find even more annoying than if he’d slammed it.
    I busily shuffle the piles of yellow envelopes around on my coffee table, separating them into addressed and non-addressed, priority and non-priority. I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to afford to send all these zines out anyway. Fuck the government.
    Fuck the world. Fuck Josiah.
    My hands stop at an empty envelope, addressed to Alex Ass-hole in Pittsburgh, PA . I remember stuffing this envelope because I was pressing down too hard on the anarchy symbol in “Asshole,” and broke through the thick yellow paper, making a mark on the zine. The hole is still there. The zine is not.
    The phone rings, and my body fills with dread. Did I turn the ringer back on? I pick up the receiver and hold it to my ear, saying nothing.
    â€œIt’s me,” says Josiah. “I turned the ringer back on while you were still sleeping. Sorry if I scared you.”
    â€œOh.” I start to breathe again.
    â€œI didn’t want to leave before talking about your plan for tonight. Are you still planning on working?”
    â€œI don’t know.” I hadn’t even thought about it yet. The past twenty-four hours is a blur. “You know, it’s okay if you want one of my zines, but I wish you had asked instead of just taking one.”
    â€œWhat zine?”
    My stomach drops. “ Conspiracy of Fuckers. The new issue. I made the exact number I needed, but I didn’t think I would see you.”
    â€œI didn’t even know you made a new issue.”
    â€œBut …” My head is going to explode. “There’s one missing.”
    â€œYou probably did something with it.”
    â€œNo, I remember.”
    â€œReggie, we both know your memory isn’t as good as you think it is.”
    I can’t believe he would question my sanity at a time like this. This means my fears are true. I’m being watched, I’m being tracked. Someone came in here while I was sleeping and stole a copy of my zine. I tell him this, trying not to yell.
    I hear him take a deep breath to steady himself. “If you really think that’s what happened, then you should come over to my place, at least for the night.”
    â€œCan I