"Simon, wake up. I need to talk to you."
"Hmm, wassup?" the man grunted, and then continued snoring, lost in his dreams.
The woman’s brow furrowed and she elbowed the sleeping man in the ribs.
"Eh! What? Who?"
"Oh good, you’re awake. As I was saying, we need to talk."
The man looked at the illuminated digits on the alarm clock. 2:30 am. He groaned and pulled the duvet back over his head.
"It’s the middle of the night, Susan – can’t this wait until tomorrow?"
"No, I’m afraid it can’t. I’m leaving you ,Simon. I’ve met someone else and I can’t live this lie anymore."
"What? Are you serious? Who is he?"
"Derek? Derek my brother?"
"Derek, my two foot tall conjoined twin? That Derek?"
"Yes, how many other brothers do you have called Derek."
"Derek? The little guy attached to my side that eats raw meat and any stray animals that get too close?"
"For God’s Sake, Simon, yes! And be quiet or you’ll wake him up."
"Wake him up? I’ll wake him up alright. Hey you little bastard! Rise and shine," said Simon, punching the lump under the duvet.
The lump groaned and pulled back the covers.
"What the hell do you want fat boy?"
"Derek…he knows…I told him."
"Is that all you have to say? Oh? Well, I have a couple of things I want to know. First of all – how did this happen?"
Susan and Derek looked at each other, and she took Derek’s tiny shrivelled hand in hers.
"Well, you always go to bed quite early, but Derek is more of a night person. We would stay awake for hours, talking and making love."
"You did what? With me in the bed? Oh my god that’s disgusting!"
"No more disgusting than you jiggling up and down with me attached," said Derek. "Did you know he used to put a pillow case over me when he was getting busy with his ex?"
"Simon, you utter bastard!"
"Look, this isn’t about me – can we get back to the point please? How long has this being going on?"
"About six months."
"Six fucking months! You’ve been screwing the growth on my side for six months! What kind of a perverted bitch are you!"
"Derek is more of a man than you’ll ever be. He understands my needs."
"He ate the neighbour’s cat! What the hell does he know about a woman’s needs?"
"You would be surprised at what I know about a woman’s needs," said Derek, winking at Susan. " Anyway, you’re the one that needs my internal organs to survive. I look on you as my parasite," he added.
"Your parasite! I can’t believe I am hearing this. So basically you just expect me to carry on living here, while you two get it on, right in front of me?"
"erm... not exactly," said Susan.
"Well," said Derek, "we talked about it and decided that it would be quite awkward if you were to stick around, moaning all the time."
"We don’t have a hell of a lot of choice in the matter. In case you hadn’t noticed, we are literally joined at the hip."
"We know Simon, we aren’t stupid," said Susan. "We’ll have to get you removed."
"You can’t remove me. I’ll die. There isn’t a surgeon on the planet that would perform the operation."
"We don’t need a surgeon," said Derek. "You are the one that needs my organs to survive, so all we really need to do is cut enough of you away that it doesn’t affect me and then cauterise the wound. We can sell what’s left of your internal organs on the black market, and anything we can’t sell, I’ll just eat."
"What? Well fuck you both! You know what Susan – I’m leaving you – I’m walking out and I am taking my treacherous little shit of a brother with me," said Simon, throwing back the duvet and getting to his feet.
A sharp pain flared under Simon’s ribcage, and his legs buckled beneath him. Simon fell to the floor. He looked down to see Derek holding a syringe.
"We thought you might feel like that," Derek said, "so I took the precaution of getting some clinical muscle relaxant before we broke the news."
Simon tried to move, but his limbs refused to respond as the drug flooded through his system. He tried to speak, to cry out in outrage and defiance, but only managed to drool across his chin.
"We tried to get some painkillers too, but they are a lot harder to get hold of – the good ones anyway," said Susan.
"Don’t worry bro – this will all be over in a moment. Susan, would you be a sweetheart and pass me the hacksaw?"
Copyright: © 2010 Graeme Reynolds
Copyright: © 2010 Graeme Reynolds
Graeme Reynolds has been called many things over the years, most of which are unprintable. By day, he breaks computer programs for a living, but when the sun goes down he hunches over a laptop and thinks of new and interesting ways to offend people with delicate sensibilities.
He lives somewhere in England with two cats, three delinquent chickens and a girlfriend that is beginning to suspect that there is something deeply wrong with him. Visit him at http://www.graemereynolds.com