#riverlight82

But it’s like I said. I don’t sleep well when I’m not at home. Every little thing wakes me up. Cars going past outside. Dogs barking. People talking.

This time, it’s Eames talking that wakes me up.

I’m ready to grab a pillow, roll over, and put it over my head (maybe tell Eames to shut the fuck up before I do), until I realise exactly who he’s talking to.

"Really, Arthur, the resemblance is uncanny. It’s like looking at a slightly imperfect forgery of you."

Slightly imperfect? Fuck off. I mean, have you seen these guns? Imperfect my ass.

Arthur snorts. “Yeah. People used to gossip about our parents being in some kind of fucked up foursome.”

Fucking Arthur, man. Hasn’t been answering my calls since the whole Rebecca thing, but here he is, talking to Eames on Skype like nothing’s the matter.

The fuck have you been, man? I wanna say, but if I say anything, Arthur will clam up tighter than a frigid virgin. So I keep quiet instead, listen in.

Eames tsks. “There is nothing fucked up about consenting adults doing what consenting adults do. Perhaps they were all in a foursome.”

Arthur makes a grossed out sound. (I want to as well). “Shut up. And no, they really weren’t. You haven’t met them, Eames. You ever want to see a model of perfect, boring New Jersey suburbia, my family will have you covered.”

Well, la-dee-fucking-da, Arthur. Try sounding a little more fucking condescending while you’re at it.

"You know very well what people do behind closed doors can be vastly different from their public facade," Eames replies. (Jesus, why is he still talking about this?) "Perhaps the propensity for multiple partners has a genetic basis."

Arthur laughs. “Threesomes and being spitroasted are your fantasies, not mine.”

Oh. Okay. That’s why Eames won’t stop talking about it.

I make a face at the ceiling. I’m not so sure now that finding out what Arthur’s been up to is worth listening to this shit.

Eames clears his throat after a while. “Will you be bringing the PASIV along, when you arrive?” He asks, all careful.

There’s a small silence. “Eames,” Arthur says, sounding like he doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or throw up. “No.”

"It’s not like you to reject a kink out of hand."

"I will totally reject a kink out of hand if it involves you trying to create a projection of me.” What? “Knowing how your subconscious works, the projection will turn into Johnny halfway through.”

Seriously, what?

"That might not be so terrible," Eames says, thoughtful, and yeah, no, that’s it. I’ve still got no idea what’s going on, but I’m bailing.