Choke by Chuck Palahniuk Read Free Book Online

looking for a good reason to go on a killing spree.
    Me talking to my mom, my anger and resentment just sort of piddles out as we sit and watch.
    My mother used to serve eggs scrambled with dark flakes of the nonstick coating from the frying pan. She cooked with aluminum pots, and we drank lemonade out of spun aluminum cups while we chewed on their soft cold lips. We used underarm deodorants made with aluminum salts. For sure, there’s about a million ways we could’ve got to this point.
    During a commercial, my mom asks for just one good thing about Victor’s personal life. What did he do for fun? Where did he see himself in another year? Another month? Another week?
    By now, I have no idea.
    “And just what the hell do you mean,” she says, “about Victor killing himself every night?”

Chapter 7

    After the waiter’s gone, I fork up half my sirloin steak and go to cram it all in my mouth, and Denny says, “Dude.” He says, “Don’t do it, here.”
    The people all around us, eating in their dressy clothes. With the candles and the crystal. With all the extra specialty forks. Nobody suspects a thing.
    My lips crack, trying to get around the chunk of steak, the meat salty and juicy with fat and crushed pepper. My tonguepulls back to make more room, and the drool in my mouth wells up. Hot juice and drool slop out on my chin.
    People who say red meat will kill you, they don’t know the half of it.
    Denny looks around quick, and says, through his teeth says, “You’re getting greedy, my friend.” He shakes his head and says, “Dude, you can’t fool people into loving you.”
    Next to us, a married couple with wedding rings, gray hair, they eat without looking up, each of them head down, reading a program from the same play or concert. When the woman’s wine is gone, she reaches for the bottle to fill her own glass. She doesn’t fill his. The husband’s wearing a thick gold wristwatch.
    Denny sees me watching the old couple and says, “I’ll warn them. I swear.”
    He watches for waiters who might know about us. He’s glaring at me with his bottom teeth stuck out.
    The bite of steak is so big my jaws can’t come together. My cheeks bulge. My lips pucker tight to close, and I have to breathe through my nose while I try to chew.
    The waiters in black jackets, each with a nice towel folded over one arm. The violin music. The silver and china. This isn’t the normal kind of place we’d do this, but we’re running out of restaurants. There are only so many places to eat in any town, and this is for sure the kind of stunt you never repeat in the same place.
    I drink a little wine.
    At another table near us, a young couple hold hands while they eat.
    Maybe it will be them, tonight.
    At another table, a man in a suit eats staring off into space.
    Maybe he’ll be tonight’s hero.
    I drink some wine and try to swallow, but the steak’s too much. It sits in the back of my throat. I don’t breathe.
    In the next instant, my legs snap straight so fast my chair flies over behind me. My hands go to gripping around my throat. I’m on my feet and gaping at the painted ceiling, my eyes rolled back. My chin stretches out away from my face.
    With his fork, Denny reaches over the table to steal my broccoli and goes, “Dude, you are way overacting.”
    Maybe it will be the eighteen-year-old busboy or the corduroy guy in the turtleneck sweater, but one of these people will treasure me for the rest of their life.
    Already people are half out of their seats.
    Maybe the woman with the wrist corsage.
    Maybe the man with the long neck and wire-framed glasses.
    This month, I got three birthday cards, and it’s not even the fifteenth. Last month, I got four. The month before, I got six birthday cards. Most of these people I can’t remember. God bless them, but they’ll never forget me.
    From not breathing, the veins in my neck swell. My face gets red, gets hot. Sweat springs up on my forehead. Sweat blots through the back of