Someday I’ll Be Saturday Night
–Grrr. What did that monster do to me? My head feels like a block of wood.–
–Wake your ass up, girl! —
–The depravity he admitted to. That violence must be repaid with violence.–
–Lupa hasn’t followed your black soul for this long to let you get away.–
–Why does our mouth taste like ice? –
–Wait...our mouth?? What is this? –
----------
“I...I...I’m still alive? Where am I?”
“Layla?”
“Tammy?”
I’m back on the floor. The floor I thought I was sliding off of, sharp edges of glass digging into my side. There’s a motionless German shepherd lying next to me.
Scrambling away from it draws fresh blood to mingle with the crusting slashes on my chest.
The dog looks strangely familiar, but there’s no hint of habanero.
–Look inward, monster–
Wait–who said that?
Then I taste it. The hate, the self-righteousness, the burn.
“Oh, yeah! There it is.”
...
...
“Oh, shit.”
She’s in my head.
There’s an eerie silence, other than the conversation in my head. It’s not an empty silence. In place of sound...there’s a flavor–ice melting into chamomile.
That tastes familiar. Where’s it coming from?
It hurts to turn my head. I want it to turn left, Lupa wants it to go right.
It’s my head, damn it! We’re going left.
Tammy stands a safe distance away, behind the couch. She’s holding Layla in a protective embrace. The chamomile is coming from the kid.
Thank God, she’s ok!
–What do you care, monster? Didn’t you have enough fun with her already?–
“I didn’t touch her, bitch!”
Tammy and the voice in my head sound in unison, “Who are you calling a bitch?”
Oops. I said that out loud.
“Sorry. I hit my head. I didn’t mean to say that, boss lady.” I hope my apologetic smile is convincing.
I get the unsettling feeling in my head of someone sniffing through memories.
–Unbelievable! So what, if you are clean. Whatever...you would have done it if we hadn’t burst in when we did–
You know that’s not true. Look at the memories yourself. Just because I could imagine it when I fed it back to you, doesn’t mean I liked it. It was rotting my soul.
Face it. You’ve had me wrong from the beginning.
–Yeah, but not ALL wrong. I see some other stuff in here–
“Nobody’s perfect!”
“Fine, but that’s no excuse to call me a bitch– in my own house,” Tammy grumbles.
Damn... again. I gotta learn to keep my inside voices straight from my outside voice.
“You have some questions you need to start answering, Nathan. Like yesterday!” Tammy’s shock is fading; boss mode is re-engaging.
“Is she dead?” Layla chirps from out of Tammy’s shadow. Tangy hope spikes zest across the sofa separating them from us.
Tammy is nodding hard. “Yeah, is she dead? How did she turn into a dog? How do you know her?” Her boss voice doesn’t sound like “fun boss” anymore. “Most importantly...Who or what are you?
Hmm, maybe she has a mouthy bitch inside her head, too.
Thin smile.
–Grrrr– Habanero.
“Are you laughing at me, Nathan? You aren’t the only one with magical powers. I can turn that suspension into a termination.”
“Look. The dog is dead. Lupa, the woman, is not,” I sigh, hanging my head. “As for where she is and what I am...It’s been a hard week, and I’m really, really not feeling like giving you a lore dump right now.”
My phone beeps under the couch. It must have fallen down there in the fight.
“Is there any way I can get you to just trust me that everything will be okay? Just for now?” I maintain eye contact with her, bend down to fish out my phone.
Good God.
A text from Shayna?
Sigh, perfect...
“Are you serious, Nathan? This was not just a mah-jong night gone wrong! This is next level. If you think...” Her face is flushed and the curry spice is strong.
I’m about to reflect all the calm, trusting vibes I can muster.
–It gets a little easier to slide down that slope every time, doesn’t it, monster? –
Layla gives Tammy a quick squeeze in their shared embrace. “Go easy maybe? He did save me from her. I trust him.”
Tammy blows out a breath, suspicion dropping a notch. The curry turns to paprika.
Huh! The kid doesn’t have reflections or fangs. Being real with people actually works?
“I need to check this message.”
Tammy waves me away with an eye roll.
I walk to the hallway between the living area and the back rooms. There’s a full-length mirror showing my tattered profile. The phone screen lights up.
Shayna: “Hey, Nathan. I wanted to thank you for getting me out of the house the other night. I didn’t want to ghost you, but I think it’s better if we don’t take things any further. I just need to figure out who I am, what I need, and be the best mom for Isaac. I hope you understand.”
–I knew she smelled smart when I met her back in the club. She ain’t the only one who needs to figure out who they are. –
I text back “k”. Because– well you know.
–Why the long face, monster? –
Memory sniffing...
–Oh. My. God. That’s what you were planning on doing if I hadn’t interrupted?–
Hey! Stay out of my memories! My head is my house. You stay in the yard.
I look in the mirror and reflect an image of myself whistling and throwing a Frisbee over the head of a comically eager dog.
My own right arm swings up and punches me in the ear. It’s really uncoordinated, more of a shock than actual damage.
–Keep messing with me, jerk. I’m learning new tricks by the second. –
I’m about to lose it. I can feel it coming. I’m wondering if the mirror will let me fang myself to death.
A hand on my arm brings me back from the edge. Layla’s null quiets both our voices.
“She’s in there, isn’t she?” Layla taps her temple.
I just nod, afraid to meet her eyes, not trusting whose voice might answer.
“Who is in there? Lupa?” Tammy walks over, crossing her arms over her chest. “Wow! Talk about literal “you are what you eat.”
She bites her lower lip; I can taste the bitter coffee grounds grinding between her gears. “I don’t think I can have you around here or at work. Not until you figure out how to get along with yourself.”
“You can’t just kick him, I mean...them out!” Layla’s voice almost hits registers that make our fur stand on end.
The kid is sweet, but Tammy’s right. I need to either find a way to get rid of the mutt... or learn to play nice, together.
–I don’t want to spend any more time in this twisted dump than I have to either. Trust me. –
Options?
-Hmm, you could help me put the fear of God into this other scumbag. I’ve been tracking her for almost as long as you.-
Is this one actually guilty, this time?
-I don’t know for sure. That’s what you and your reflections are for.-
Can we get a decent cup of coffee first?
–Hate that stuff. Tastes like burnt dirt. But...If you must. Fine. –
...
...
...
Perfect!
THE END…for now.
Your story has this electric quality where humor tries to tame something that clearly refuses to be tamed. I felt it strongest in the moment you describe the head-turn — when “you” want left and Lupa wants right. It’s such a small gesture, but it’s where the whole text breathes.
There’s a place you circle but never quite step into:
the moment when the “you” and the “voice” stop being two characters and start bleeding into one field. That absence creates a kind of tension — as if the reader is listening for the sentence you almost said but swallowed at the last second.
I can see why you didn’t go there. Naming that boundary-loss directly often breaks the spell of the scene; it shifts the tone from playful chaos into something more intimate, maybe too intimate for the format.
But if you follow your own logic one step further, there’s a fascinating question hiding underneath:
what happens when the voice isn’t an intruder anymore, but a co-author of perception? Not good or bad — just present. What changes in the story if the monster isn’t “inside your head,” but “you and the head” are the monster together?
And here’s the part I’m most curious about:
if you gave yourself permission to name the very first moment Lupa appeared — not the fight, not the chaos, but the spark — what scene would you show us?
(No pressure — I just keep thinking how powerful that missing frame must be.)