Lie

I slowly twist the focusing ring until it’s all a blur. The pressure changes and it’s uncomfortable, but I get used to it. It’s nice not straining to see things. When everything should be crisp and clear it’s all fuzzy, anyway. I wish I could do the same with my ears; close them off when I’d like. Everything is stuck on repeat.
The exterminator comes once a month, and I always seem to be home when he does. He knocks on my neighbor’s door first; I can hear him through the thin walls. She‘s never home when he clanks around the hall with his small metal cylinder and corded spray gun. He knocks on my door next as I sit in my white chair and think about thinking too much.
“Pest Control…Exterminator. Hello?” he seemingly yells through the peephole. “Anyone home?”
“Come in,” I say, as I stay seated.
“Is the door locked?”
“It’s open.”
My left arm hangs off the side of the armrest. I can feel the blood rushing into my fingertips. I sometimes do this on purpose, as the veins on the top of my hand spell a word. I lift my hand up quickly and look as the plasma runs back down the inside of my forearm slowly. In blue-green cursive, the word “HA” sticks out from underneath my skin.
He cracks the door and I hear the metal cylinder clink against the wood frame. With his foot, he kicks the door the rest of the way open, the chipped doorknob swinging in and hitting the round stopper on the wall. I can never tell exactly what he looks like when he walks in, but his face seems red, and his stomach seems big.
“I’ll be in and out in no time,” he always tells me with a deep breath. He looks around the room like he’s never seen such a place.
“So, you’re into huntin’ then?” he notices a frame on the wall holding a photo of a man crouching next to a deer. Trickles of blood stain the white fur under the deer’s mouth as the man shows his teeth to the camera. He asks me the same thing every month.
“That’s my dad,” I say.
He lets out a chuckle, placing his puffed-up hands on his hips as his gaze turns towards me.
“You ever seen that old VHS Explodin’ Varmints?”
I lie like I always do and say yes to not disappoint.
“My dad watched that one all the time. A classic.”
“Yeah, a classic! I think myself somethin’ like a hunter here.”
He holds the corded spray gun like a weapon and fake shoots bullets around the place. He takes aim and fires at me last. The walls should have fallen down from all the fake slugs he’s put into them, and I would’ve been dead 12 times over by now. He laughs, walking around and spraying aimlessly. Some corners here, a bit of floor there. He finally reaches the back door and slides the paint-covered chain from out of the slot.
“All done. See you next month.”
“See you then,” I say.