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was alone, and he wasn’t going to be David Carradine with anyone else around either. He rubbed his neck.
    “Okay,” Dylan said.
    “No handcuffs on my wrists. The risk of nerve damage is too high. It’s okay to use them to lock other things together.”
    “Yeah, I saw that.”
    Silence grew roots between their phones. He couldn’t think of anything else. He listened to Dylan take another drag off his cigarette. Wondered where he was, actually, but knew if he asked, he’d just get the name of a city, maybe . Maybe just a state. If he asked what Dylan was doing, he’d get another variation of “this and that” and “such and such.” He’d always suspected it was flings with girls Dylan met on tour. Dylan was weird about girls, relationships. Brian had forced Dylan into a blind double date once, a long time ago. That had been awkward.
    “Hey, Dyl?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Just…try not to kill or maim me, okay?”
    “Yeah, right. I can see trying to explain that to the police. Or your mother. Or my mother, for Christ’s sake.”
    Brian smiled at the thought of Aunt Patty’s reaction to Dylan accidentally killing him. You did what? What made you think that would be a good idea? What was it, a bet or something? For cryin’ out loud, did your brain fall out your ears when you were taking a shower this morning?
    “Anything else?” Dylan asked.
    “No. Not that I can think of.” His brain was completely unable to think at the moment.
    “All right. Just one more thing, then,” Dylan said.
    Oh God, what now? Brian spread his hand over his eyes again. “Yeah?”
    “We need a safe word. I don’t care what, just something easy to remember and obvious.”
    He struggled between thinking it was pointless because he wasn’t going to use it anyway…and worrying that with someone else in control, he’d actually freak out and need it. God, what if he freaked out five minutes into it, blubbering the safe word and having to live with that awkwardness forever?
    “So?” Dylan said.
    Shit . Brian rubbed his eyes. Shit shit.
    “Do you want me to come up with it?”
    “Fuck. Banana split, okay?” It was the first thing to pop into his head. Not least because he’d been thinking about banana splits when Dylan called. Banana splits and other comforting dessert foods he shouldn’t be eating.
    “Works for me. So. What’d you say—ice cream Tuesday evening?”
    Three days away. How many times would he change his mind between now and then? He managed to get out, “I’ll be here,” his voice as thin as tissue paper.
    There was no answer. Maybe that was it, then? He was lowering the phone from his ear when Dylan said, “One more thing.”
    “Yeah?”
    “I’m gonna start as soon as I get there, okay? Just, you know, be prepared for that.” A short pause, then, “Is that okay?”
    “Yeah. I’ll be here.” He hung up before he could change his mind.
    With the edge of the phone pressed against his forehead, he took slow, deep breaths to stave off the light-headedness trying to overtake him.

Chapter Ten
    He opened his eyes to a ceiling veiled with shadows despite it being somewhere around late morning, early afternoon.
    On Tuesday.
    Another lock snapping shut. He swallowed against tightening throat muscles. Lying on his back, his palms turned upward like offerings to the ceiling, he tried not to think. The sheet lay puddled at his waist. A crease of fabric skimmed his thigh with each breath he took.
    It wasn’t too late. One phone call. One text . He could call it off.
    Call it off, get out his bag of rope, and do it himself.
    It would have been a million times easier if, on that day Dylan had let himself into Brian’s apartment, he’d just dragged a chair into the bathroom, sat down, and smoked half a pack of cigarettes while the ice water dripped slowly from the bottom of the sock. Flicking his ashes on the floor. Reading a paper. Ignoring Brian’s requests to please not smoke in the apartment, to get him the