Every morning on their way to school at J. Peterman Memorial High, Lyle, Lemy, Lacy, and Lupa stopped at Braun's Cafe on the corner of Main and Pine. It was a tiny place with red and white tiled floors, booths upholstered in red vinyl, and greasy food. Lemy and Lacy insisted on having breakfast there. Lupa didn't care, since all she ever had for breakfast was coffee, but Lyle hated the place. It was entirely beneath him. A tall, shapely boy with long blonde hair and an upturned nose, he was better than everyone else in this redneck town and wasn't afraid to say so. He deserved to be famous and beloved and spent most of his time trying to figure out how to make it big in the year 2041. Twenty years ago you could post movie reviews, reaction videos, and game streams, and people would care, but everyone did those things now and standing out from the pack was hard.
Lyle's other main concern was girls. Lyle liked sex as much as the next guy, but he enjoyed the hunt better. It was sort of like 4D chess, with the prize being a warm, wet mouth or vagina to pound.
If Lyle were completely honest with himself, the thing he liked most about chasing girls was the attention. When he was with a girl and really getting up in there, he was the only thing that mattered in her world. He was her world, everything outside of him ceased to exist. That was the greatest feeling ever and was exactly what he was seeking from the public at large. He wanted to live rent free in people's heads, he wanted to be on every news channel, in every movie; he wanted rappers to compare themselves to him in their songs and to have his own section on FanFictiondotnet. Can you imagine 10,000 sweaty neckbeards so obsessed with him that they drew pictures of him fucking their waifus because they couldn't? Can you imagine fan fiction stories where the author inserted themselves into him because his life was that better than their own? Picture this: idiots fighting about him on 4chan day in and day out for months. "Lyle would fuck this anime character," "no, retard, he'd fuck this one," "you're both wrong and I'm so passionate about my opinion that I'm going to dox you."
Now that would be success. He would give up his dreams of being in big budget movies and staring down at teenage girls from posters on their walls if he could get a fandom to worship him like a god. The power...the control...he would decree something and they would all writhe and fall over one another like bugs to comply.
That was a nice thought, but Lyle was stuck for how to get there. Last night, as he watched a news story about the funeral of Christine Chandler, it struck him.
On the morning of April 29, he and his crew sat at their usual booth in Braun's, Lacy and Lupa shoved up together on one side of the table and he and Lemy on the other. "It's simple," Lyle said. "All I have to do is act like a retard."
Lupa rolled her eyes and Lacy just stared at him.
"No, seriously, think about it. People love laughing at the misfortune of others, right? It's the Trainwreck Principle. They can't look away even if they wanted to."
"That is true," Lupa admitted over the rim of her mug.
"So I create this fictional character and portray him in a series of videos. I rage around, say dumb shit, and react to people trolling me. That's what made Chris Chan so big. He reacted to people on the internet and people on the internet love when you react to them. Most of them are losers with no talent and absolutely no hope of being anything in life but another name on a gravestone. When someone like a Chris Chan validates them, they feel special and come back for more. Sooner or later, it becomes a wildfire that feeds on itself."
He stuck his nose smugly into the air and gave himself a literal pat on the back.
"If you do that, you're gonna ruin your reputation before you even have one," Lupa said.
Lyle's ego was massive and bloated, but Lupa's wasn't much smaller. She fancied herself the group's voice of reason but she often failed because her advice stank. And even when it didn't outright suck, Lyle had no respect for her because she was a slut who'd lay anyone. Sure, he'd lay almost anyone too, but he was better than her, so it was okay. "I'll be portraying a fictional character," Lyle explained with strained patience. "No one will ever know it's me. I'll dress differently. I'll wear something goofy...like a vest, maybe, and a headband. Maybe fingerless gloves too."
Beside him, Lemy, dressed in a vest, headband, and fingerless gloves, snorted. "You'll look like a clown."
Lupa and Lacy both looked at him funny, then turned back to Lyle. "Outside of shooting yourself in the foot," Lupa said, "playing mentally challenged for views is kind of messed up."
"How so?" Lyle asked. "Society gives special treatment to retards. They have their own ramps...and their own schools...girls also love them."
Lupa opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again. "There's nothing wrong with liking a retarded guy, but you're kind of off base."
Oh, he was, was he? "So you're saying you could never like a retarded guy," he said.
True to form, Lupa took the bait. "I never said that, I said -"
"You're saying you could never be happy with someone's neurodivergent. You're saying that handicaps turn you off."
"No, I'm saying that girls don't flock to disabled people because most girls are superficial. That's all."
A waitress arrived with their food. Steak and eggs for Lacy, pancakes for Lemy, eggs benedict for Lyle, and another cup of coffee for Lupa. When she was gone, Lyle went back to gaslighting his older sister. "But you're a girl."
"Yeah."
"So you're superficial."
"No, I never said that. I'm accepting. I accept all people, even the retarded ones. I just think you're wrong."
Now that stuck in Lyle's cawl. He was never wrong. He was good and holy and perfect, and the fact that someone who was around him 24/7 couldn't see that was grotesquely offensive. Just then, the bell over the door dinged and everyone turned to look. A blonde boy in a puffy pirate shirt, high water shorts, and suspenders came in. His head was down, his shoulders squared, and his eyes pointed up to see everything in front of him. Imagine someone hanging their head in shame but keeping their eyes fixed on the source of that shame and you'll get the picture.
He hugged a leather bound binder to his chest and shot people dirty looks as he made his way to a table, as though he though they were going to steal his precious. A black girl laughed at him and he hissed at her.
"Oh, God," Lacy said, "it's Gerald."
Gerald Ashland was Royal Woods' resident autist. He literally had autism spectrum disorder and acted like a real weirdo because of it, hence the hissing. He was around Lyle's age but had the mental and emotional maturity of a ten year old. He would Naurtto run through the halls - head down, arms back - and would gush about anime. He couldn't read social cues any more than Lyle could read Russian and he would think people were being nice to him when they were making fun of him and making fun of him when they were trying to be nice. He carried around a binder full of Yugioh cards and played them with the other kids in his special ed class at lunch.
"Right there," Lyle said and crossed his arms, "he gets whatever he wants, you know, because society has been conditioned to dick-ride the retarded."
And it was true, Gerald got special treatment. If he was having a bad day and headed for an autistic meltdown, he got ice cream and head pats.
"He doesn't get whatever he wants," Lupa said. "And girls don't flock to him."
Well...she had him there.
"If you're so different and accepting," Lyle said, "why don't you date him?"
Lupa blinked.
"That's what I thought. Your problem isn't just that you don't like tards, it's that you can't settle down with one man. He could be perfect but you wouldn't be happy."
Crimson rage spread across Lupa's face and her eyes narrowed. "Wanna bet?"
"Let's," Lyle said.
"Alright," Lupa said tightly. "I'll prove I can be with one man."
"One Gerald, you mean," Lemy said.
"Shut the fuck up." Lupa snapped. "I'll prove myself, you prove yourself."
Lyle crossed his arms. "Okay then. I'll show you that retards can get whatever they want...including girls...and you prove that you can be with Gerald."
A look of fear flickered through Lupa's eyes, but it was gone so fast that Lyle couldn't be sure it had been there at all. Sliding out of the booth, Lupa got to her feet and glared at Lyle. "If you fail, you have to cut your hair."
"If you fail," Lyle said, "you have to pink for a month."
Lacy and Lemy both went ooooo because to Lupa, wearing pink was a fate worse than death. She hesitated, clearly having second thoughts, then steeled her resolve. "Fine. Get ready to lose your hair, Goldilocks."
"Hope you like frilly halter tops," Lyle said mockingly.
Lemy and Lacy snickered.
Taking a deep breath, Lupa wheeled around and stalked across the dining room to where Gerald sat. His binder was open in front of him and he stared down at his cards with wide eyed amazement as though they were the most amazing thing in the world.
I can't believe I'm doing this, Lupa thought. She grabbed the chair across from Gerald, pulled it out, and sat. He snapped his head up and a doe-in-the-headlights look settled over his face. "Hey, Gerald," she said. "How's it going?"
He just gaped at her.
"What, uh, what's that?" she asked and nodded to the binder.
At once, a change came over Gerald. His eyes lit up and a beaming smile spread across his lips. He spun the binder around and excitedly explained every single card in excruciating detail: What it was called, what it did, how to play it, etc, etc, etc, etc. A hot pinprick of pain formed over Lupa's left eye and her lips puckered bitterly. Any normal person would have clearly read the disinterest in her face, but Gerald was no normal person, so he prattled on and on and on. Lupa flashed tight smiles here and there and tossed out hollow comments like "cool" and "that's crazy." She was hoping he'd get the hint and stop, but said hint sailed right over his head and crash landed three blocks away. Finally, she butted in. "That's really awesome, you should teach me how to play one day. Anyway, do you have a girlfriend?"
Gerald missed a beat. "Uh...no, I don't think so."
"Do you want one?"
He opened his mouth but Lupa cut him off. "You want one." She stood up and grabbed him by the hand. "Let's walk to school together."
When they were gone, Lyle chuckled. "How are you gonna do your thing?" Lacy asked.
"Simple," Lyle said. He clapped Lemy on the back. Lemy, in the process of taking a bite of his food, choked and coughed. "Lemy is going to help me."
"I am?" Lemy asked.
"You are," Lyle confirmed.
This was going to be good.
The next day, Saturday, Lyle woke early and prepared to put his plan into action. First, he messed his hair up, then he pulled on a pink shirt with a glittery unicorn on the chest; it belonged to Lizy and didn't even cover his stomach. He put on checkered lounge pants and a white helmet with a strap under the chin. The final piece was a teddy bear that he pilfered from Liby. He met Lemy in the garage and directed him to move a jumble of junk underneath which was a folded wheelchair. When Aunt Lynn was younger, she broke both her legs during a fagball - excuse me, football - game and had to use the wheelchair for three months. It was rusty and coated in dust and cobwebs, but Lyle made Lemy wipe it down with Clorox wipes, and it came out looking brand new. When it was finished, Aunt Lynn materialized like a ghost, startling both Lyle and Lemy, and put her hands on her hips. "Good times," she said wistfully to the chair, "good times. You know, it was in his chair that Lincoln first finger fucked me. I was so sexually frustrated I could scream and he really helped me out."
Lemy and Lyle cringed.
"Alright," Lemy said after folding a towel and setting it on the seat, "that should be enough to keep Aunt Lynn's juice off of you."
A shudder raced down Lyle's spine. "Who finger fucks a girl in a wheelchair?" he asked. "Who even looks at a girl in a wheelchair. No matter how hot she is, the fact that she's crippled knocks at least five points off her appearance."
"What if she has a good personality?" Lemy asked.
The brother looked at each other...then burst into hysterical laughter
Sitting in the wheelchair, Lyle slouched to one side and curled his hand to his chest. As Lemy pushed him to the park, he explained his plan. In order to get certain things, he would act like a drooling idiot who poops his pants and can only communicate in unintelligible grunts. In order to get girls, however, he would act a little more "with it." He did this because he could already see Lemy saying something stupid and blowing their cover.
He knew Lemy all too well.
Being a warm Saturday morning, the park was alive with activity: Kids climbed over the playground equipment, college boys tossed a frisbee, and a man sold ice cream from a cart. "There," Lyle said and nodded to the cart, "I want free ice cream and I'm going to get it."
Lemy pushed Lyle over to the cart and they waited in line. Lyle slammed his curled hand against his chest and squirmed around, mouth opening and closing. "Uhhh guhhh mahhh," he groaned.
When Lemy didn't do anything, Lyle shot him a dirty look, and he fumbled for something to say. "There there, Lyle," he said and patted the top of Lyle's head, "we'll get you that ice cream."
"Don't touch my hair," Lyle hissed under his breath. "Who touches another man's hair? That's how you pass germs."
Lemy sighed.
When it was their turn at the front of the line, the man behind the cart favored them with a pitying expression. "One Spongebob Popsicle, please," Lemy said.
Inside, Lyle cringed. Spongebob Popsciles were dreadful. They came in cotton candy lemonade flavor. Who liked that? You'd think something designed and marked solely for kids - what grown adult would walk around eating a Spongebob Popscile? - would have a more appealing combination of flavor.
Why would Lemy even order him that? Lemy knew that Lyle liked Chocolate Peanut Butter Blast. Everyone knew that.
Lemy made a show of digging in his pockets, then offered the vendor a shrug and a sheepish smile. "I, uh, I'm broke."
Go time.
Tossing himself from side to side and making the wheelchair rock, Lyle groaned and panted like he was going to explode. "Ahhhhhh ceeeeeeem," he said.
"I'm sorry, Lyle," Lemy said. "No ice cream."
"Gaahhh maaaaaahhhhhh!"
Thinking of something sad - him never being recognized for his endless talent - Lyle whipped up some tears and began to cry. Lemy joined in, covering his eyes because unlike his brother, he couldn't cry on command. "I'm so sorry, Lyle."
The vendor reached into the cart and took out a Spongebob Popscile. "Hey, it's okay, take it. It's on the house."
HA!
After profusely thanking the man, Lemy wheeled Lyle away while Lyle ripped open the package and pulled out the popsicle. It was yellow and square, but that's where its resemblance to Spongebob ended. Its soulless black eyes were misshapen - one too high, one too low - and the red of its mouth had bled out, lending SB the appearance of a sloppy vampire. "Why do these things always come out deformed?" Lyle asked and twirled the popsicle in his fingers. "Look at this thing, it's terrifying. It looks nothing like Spongebob."
"I think they do it on purpose," Lemy said. "It's how they have fun with their dead end job making popsicles in the shape of a forty year old cartoon."
Perhaps.
"You should have gotten me something better," Lyle said.
"If you don't want it, I'll eat it."
Lyle jammed the popsicle into his mouth just to be petty. "I didn't say I wasn't going to eat it," he said.
While Lyle happily licked his popsicle, Lemy pushed him around the park. Kids ran around like little psychopaths and their parents bent over their cellphones, ignoring the world around them. If he was so inclined, Lyle could snatch a dozen of these little bastards before anyone noticed.
They were near the gazebo when Lyle spotted two girls walking in their direction. One was short with black hair and big tits that barely fit into her lacy black blouse, the other was tall and thin with braces and her hair in a ponytail. She wore a jaunty red bowtie and a skirt. Her eyes peered out through a veil of bangs; they were dark, haughty, and disdainful.
Lyle instantly wanted to fuck them.
"There," he said.
Lemy followed his line of sight. "Oh, they're hot. Which one do you want?"
"Both of them."
"But -"
"But nothing, now shut up."
The girls were almost upon them. The shorter one saw Lyle and a look of sympathy flickered across her face. Lyle smiled and waved. "Hiiiiii." Lemy stopped and the girls walked up to them. The tall one looked annoyed, the short one enchanted.
"Hi," Big Tits said. "I'm Gloom. What's your name?"
"Lyle," Lyle said. He turned to the taller one. "You're pretty."
She looked unmoved.
"That's Lois," Gloom said, "we just moved to town." She looked up at Lemy. "Who's your friend?"
"I'm Lemy," Lemy said, "I'm Lyle's caretaker."
Gloom fisted her hands to her chest. "Awww, that's so sweet. Isn't it, Lois?"
Lois shrugged one shoulder.
"Your eyes stir my soul like poetry," Lyle said to Lois.
Both girls missed a beat.
"He has lucid moments," Lemy said quickly. Lyle was honestly surprised at his brother's quick wits. Normally, Lemy struggled with words that contained more than one syllable. Every so often, though, he thought on his feet. In actuality, he was the one who had the rare lucid moment, not Lyle. "Usually, though, he needs a lot of help and I'm there to give it to him." Lemy nodded to himself.
"That's very responsible of you," Gloom said, impressed.
"It's the least I could do," Lemy said, "after all, he saved my life."
Calling upon an inspiration that Lyle didn't know he possessed, Lemy came up with a story about Lyle shoving him out of the way of an oncoming car and taking a direct hit. Before that, Lemy said, Lyle was his "idol" and "the all-around best person in the world." By now they were walking in a big group, Gloom on one side of the wheelchair and Lois on the other. Lyle fluttered the hem of Lois's skirt and she just let him. Growing bolder, he brushed his fingertips along her bare leg, and she tensed. "Can you please not do that?" she asked.
"Sorry," Lyle said and stuck out his bottom lip. "You're just really pretty."
She glanced at him, saw his puppy dog face, and sighed. "Thank you," she said.
It would take a little bit of time, Lyle reckoned, but soon, he'd have both Gloom and Lois.
Hooray for retardation!
Anons on 4chan called Lupa edgy because she avatarfagged as dead bodies, piles of biological waste, and serial killers. She did it because it provoked people which...maybe that was being edgy. Either way, she did not consider herself edgy and was not the kind of person who said "My life is a living hell" lightly.
But that's exactly what it was. She had been Gerald's "girlfriend" for three days and she was ready to shoot herself. For starters, Gerald was the most annoying creature on the face of the earth. Once he got comfortable around her, he wouldn't shut up; it was anime this, video games that, and toys...toys, toys, toys. He proudly showed her his bedroom and it looked like an eight year old lived there: Buzz Lightyear bed set, Lego figures on every surface, it was nuts. His parents were rich so he got whatever he wanted, which added a top layer of entitlement to his personality; he thought he was "special".
Ha.
Being a dork, he was in a number of different fandoms where he read fan fics, looked at fan art, and made a general nuisance of himself. If a fan fiction didn't follow the show to the letter, or at least deviate in ways he wanted them to deviate, he would throw a goddamn fit and leave a psychotic review. He told her that he "fixed" a Steven Universe story, then showed her the results: A 10,000 word comment on a 2,000 word parodyfic. He was one of those people who get mad when a piece of fan media doesn't follow the show 100 percent. "Actually," he would type, "in Episode 23.3dotC, Primus-chu is revealed to be 25.5 feet tall, not 25 even. Do you even watch the show?" He made it his mission to stamp out smut and lewd pics in every fandom he festered in, and did do by snitching on and reporting accounts to Twitter, Facebook, and other fandom sites. If he was smart enough to gather peoples' personal information, he would dox them, but he wasn't, so he contented himself with stalking and harassing them, spending hours astride an imaginary white horse and waging holy war on anyone he deemed a "pervert."
He would rage to her about all the "gross" people he met online, then he would rage about poorly dubbed anime and a bunch of other shit that Lupa didn't care about. If someone was doing something he didn't personally endorse, he would obsess over it to the point of giving himself a freaking heart attack. She had never met someone so uptight in her entire life and she hoped that she never did again.
That was bad enough, but the worst part of being with Gerald was...well, there were two things. First was the teasing. God,. everyone roasted her, even the nerds in the chess club. Second, and maybe even more important, was monogamy. Lyle said she was a slut, and you know what? Fuck it, she kind of was. Guys might talk shit about her but you know damn well that they'd be sluts too if they weren't neckbeards no girl wanted. She didn't just drop her panties at random, but if she liked a guy, she'd definitely approach him, and if things went well, she'd sleep with him no problem. Hey, it's just sex, it's not a lifelong committment or anything. Under the terms of hers and Lyle's agreement, she couldn't even flirt with anyone else.
Three days in, she began to chafe. She thought she could teach Gerald how to eat pussy, but when she spread her legs, he let out a girlish scream and ran away. She found him hiding in his closet behind a life sized teddy bear. "What's your problem?" she asked shortly.
"It looks like a Predator," he chattered fearfully.
That torpedoed Lupa's self-confidence like a fucking U-Boat. Was her vagina really that bad? She laid back on her bed and held a compact mirror to her crotch, but since she was straight, she couldn't tell either way; all vaginas were kind of gross to her. Normally under these circumstances, she would soothe herself by finding a guy to worship her body for the night, but she was stuck with Gerald the Autist. She could have gotten by if he at least looked at her, but she might as well have been one of his little friends. She got so desperate for attention and affection that she tried to hold his hand, and he exploded because her palm was "warm and sweaty." It was not sweaty, but okay.
She made it four days before looking at other guys and wishing she was with them instead. Hell, she'd even settle for a neckbeard; at least a neckbeard would like and want her body, unlike Gerald.
The more sexually and emotionally frustrated she became, the less able she was to handle Gerald's bullshit. She couldn't bail, though, there was too much at stake.
Then the final straw.
On a sunny Friday afternoon, they were walking through the park, Gerald ignoring her in favor of his phone. His idea of a date was him playing Pokemon Go while she tagged along. Finally over it, she sat on a bench, took a cigarette out of her hoodie, and plopped it into her mouth. Gerald looked up, saw, and gasp. The phone fell from his hand and he jumped into some kind of anime stance, one foot in front of the other. He thrust out his finger and screeched, "SMOKER!"
Lupa narrowed her eyes. "Yeah. I smoke. Got a problem with it?"
"Smokers are gross," Gerald piped. "And you're not even a grown-up. You're not allowed."
She inhaled and blew smoke at him.
Gerald's face turned bright red and he started to shake. He put his hands together, swung his arms slowly around, and then threw his hands out, fingers curled like he was shooting a fireball or something. "CURSE-YE-HA-ME-HAAAAAA!"
Lupa regarded him with a blank stare. "You're a retard," she said.
"YOU'RE NOT MY GIRLFRIEND ANYMORE, SMOKER!"
Getting to her feet, Lupa said, "Works for me," and then walked away.
She didn't really lose the bet because Gerald broke up with her.
Heh.
Loopholes rule.
Over the course of a week, Lyle wormed his way into the hearts and minds of both Lois and Gloom. Lois, a real ice queen at first, warmed up to him. Now when he touched her leg or butt, she didn't shoot him daggers. It was taking a lot longer than he anticipated and he was starting to become annoyed. His premise was that retards get whatever they want, and spending days working on a girl didn't prove that at all. That was average. Even a stud like him had to put some work in. On the other hand, getting into Gloom and Lois's panties was the only hard and fast stipulation, so he was still poised to win.
Only there was a problem.
Gloom was crushing on Lemy.
Hard.
During their daily walks in the park, she would thread her arm through his and rest her head on his shoulder. She would look up at him with big, adoring eyes and gush about what a great person he was for helping Lyle. In essence, Lemy had earned her affections on Lyle's back. That wasn't right. Gloom and Lois both belonged to him. Lemy didn't deserve anything.
On Saturday afternoon, Lemy and Lyle were at home waiting for Gloom and Lois to come over so they could go out. Lyle was seated in his wheelchair in the living room and tapping his foot impatiently. They were running late and Lemy had gone outside to wait. Lyle was getting tired of this damn chair but he had presented himself to Gloom and Lois as crippled, so he was stuck with it. A fly came in from the dining room and buzzed around his head. He waved it away, but it kept coming back. It landed on the back of his hand, and he cringed so hard he almost gave himself whiplash. Flies were swimming in germs and there was no telling where this one had been before invading his home. He slapped his hand, but the fly got away.
This was intolerable.
Getting up, Lyle fetched the flyswatter and chased the little creature around the living room. It always evaded him, and its buzzing took on a mocking quality that grated on his nerves. It flew over the sofa and Lyle jumped onto it, then balanced himself on the back and swung the swatter crazily around. "Come hee, you little bastard," he said. "When I'm done with you, you'll need a wheelchair."
He jumped off the back of the sofa and chased the fly into the dining room. It circled around the table and Lyle leapt into the air to hit it. The swatter made contact and the fly was knocked off course, hitting the wall. "Ha!" Lyle walked over and stomped it into the carpet, twisting his foot back and forth.
"Enjoy hell," he said and walked back into the living room.
His blood ran cold.
Lemy, Lois, and Gloom stood in the doorway, the girls with their mouths hanging open and Lemy looking stricken. For a second, Lyle just stood there, struck dumb, then he threw himself to the floor and grabbed his leg. "Oww!" he screamed. It was stupid...it had no chance of working...but it was all he could do.
"His lucid moments are getting better and better," Lemy said with a nervous laugh.
Lois crossed her arms and shot Lyle daggers. "You're not really crippled, are you?"
Figuring there was no point in keeping up the charade, Lyle stopped rolling. "No," he admitted, "I am not."
Lois rolled her eyes and walked away.
"Lois," Lyle called, "wait!"
Gloom turned to Lemy, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I can't believe you lied to me," she said.
"Gloom," Lemy said, "it's not what it seems."
He reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged away. "Don't touch me." Lowering her head, she hurried down the walkway, catching up with Lois. Lyle and Lemy both watched them go, then sighed in unison.
"We blew it," Lyle said.
"You blew it," Lemy said.
Lyle was not one to take personal responsibility, but he didn't have it in him to argue right now. The bitter taste of defeat was heavy in his mouth and he just wanted to be alone. He turned around and Lupa was on the stairs, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette.
Damn it.
Now he had to cut his hair.
To his delight, however, Lupa said, "If you forget me failing, I'll forget you failing."
Lyle took exception to the idea that he failed - it was an accident that could have happened to anyone - but he stopped himself from protesting. Quit while you're ahead, they say.
"Deal," he said.
With that behind him, he went upstairs to read.
Meanwhile, Lemy got down on his hands and knees, took a deep breath, and began to weep.