"GOD DOESN'T WATCH THIS FAR OUT" experimental story "

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 “And Cain said unto the Lord, My punishment is greater than I can bear.”

Genesis 4:13

The gas station was abandoned. Not closed—abandoned. The roof sagged like it had secrets. Weeds grew through the concrete. A single streetlight buzzed faintly overhead, spitting white noise into the dark.

Harley leaned against the rusting ice chest, her lighter clicking again and again with no cigarette. Just the ritual. Her nails were chipped black, and her eyes had that faraway gleam. The one she wore when she was somewhere else, someplace only she could see.

Dylan sat on the curb, arms draped over his knees. His hoodie sleeves were dirty at the cuffs. He wasn’t cold, just tired. Bone-tired. From school, from home, from Harley. From Eden.

She crouched beside him. Her hair fell in a curtain that smelled like someone else’s perfume. Her fingers brushed his. He almost said her name. The real one. Eden. The one that only slipped out when he was dreaming or bleeding.

Instead, he stood up and started walking toward the car. She followed.

They didn’t speak until they were back on the road, the radio playing some forgotten gospel song slowed down on a static-crackling tape. She had her feet on the dashboard again. One of his flannels was draped over her knees. Not for warmth, but because she liked how it smelled. Like him. Like detergent and gasoline and worn-out sin.

“Do you still believe in anything?” she asked. 

“Used to believe in my mom’s prayers” he said. “Until I saw what they didn’t fix.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“Did you ever believe in me?”

Dylan exhaled hard through his nose, like he was trying not to cry or laugh or scream. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

Later, parked under a collapsing barn out past the highway, Dylan kissed her. It wasn’t romantic. It was desperate. Her lips tasted like blood and orange soda. She didn’t kiss him back, not really. Just let it happen. She was too sharp at the edges. Too loud in the wrong places. She didn’t walk, she prowled. Dylan watched her sleep sometimes. Even in dreams, she furrowed her brows like something was chasing her. And maybe something was. He wanted to be the thing that caught her before it did. Or maybe just the thing that caught her. Period.

Did God exile Cain because he killed his brother? Or because he loved him more than he ever loved God? 

She had a way of crawling inside him. Not with physical intimacy, not at first. With silence. With those long, glassy stares like she was measuring the width of his ribs, wondering how easily she could climb inside and make a home. 

Harley once wrote in the notebook:“If God won’t have me, maybe you will. You’re more terrifying anyway.”

And he would. Every part of her. He didn't want her to be his girlfriend. He wanted her in his bloodstream. He wanted her between his molars. He wanted her name to replace the Lord’s.

She’s gone now. Or maybe just scattered across his teeth, under his nails, behind his eyelids.



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