Man it's cold. My head's throbbing this uneven rhythm, it's pissing me off.
If I'm gonna go out like this, at least play me a sick beat.
So, is this really it then?
Have I met my end next to this guy?
Next to the one who talks through books, the one who looks — nice enough. The one who tucks me in, snug as a bug?
And to think — I wasted my last breaths yapping on about my shitty past.
It's a miracle I lasted this long.
Now I have time to think. It's sort of uncanny — the resemblance between me and that crevice I've always had on the wall in my apartment.
It saw everything I never wanted to but knew I deserved. Getting punished, night after night, fight after fight.
I should've filled it when I first moved in. Covered that little thing's eyes.
Suppose the only one who was getting filled, in the end, was me.
Gotta hand it to myself, I must be doing something right with my clients.
Truly, in the grand scheme of things, we are alike.
Tiny, pointless, no use pondering upon. But once I break, the ones who suffer are the ones below me and the ones above me.
"Seazon? Hey! You with me still?"
His voice grabs me, pulls me through, finds me between the veins of my mind.
My head feels heavy and… wet?
"Sorry I couldn't find a flannel so I had to just use my hand."
I glare at him, his shadow casting an imperfect replica of him on my skin.
I was so sure.
So sure I was a goner.
"Sorry, I know it's strange but I swear I washed my hands. They're nice and cool — I rinsed them under cold water."
So that's what the cold was. Here I was thinking it was an angel.
"Angel?" My voice strains, lifting my clammy palms to stroke his face.
He doesn't change his expression, not physically, but something in his eyes and his grip on my forehead tells me something has tickled him.
"Or are you the devil?" I ask, tracing my finger down his face, eventually landing on his nose, poking it.
"Quite a switch up." He laughs.
"Why would you think that?"
I pause, my muscles easing out.
"Because you've turned bright red," I say, wrinkles settling at the corners of my eyes as I inescapably grin.
---
This guy.
I don't want him to suffer because of what I am.
The bridge between life and death — it really does favour peace. Which side is that meant to be?
——
"Tea?"
Lucas's voice asks, his face blurred by the residue of a long drawn-out sleep.
"Christ," I strain, stretching out my limbs, hearing the clanking of tea cups once again. I'm getting déjà vu. Feels a little early for nostalgia.
"You've been asleep about 14 hours. Your body really has some catching up to do, sleep-wise, huh?" His shoulders relax as he feels my forehead. His hands aren't cold anymore, just this soft warmth.
"I don't know why, all I do is shag," I say jokingly, even though I know I'm not. So does he.
The clanking of the mugs stops. Lucas's hand wavers over the kettle top.
"I've been thinking… you know, the way things are, would you like to live with me for a while? I can support you — you won't have to pay a penny, and you won't have to work your job anymore…"
I raise my arm, picking out the random grey hairs from my scalp as my hand touches a familiar thing.
The scrunchie. It's back in my hair again. Of course it is. He's too good.
"I know the feeling that comes with sex work. It's never just a shag. It stays inside you long after it's over. Here you can—"
"Can what?"
He blinks at me as I shuffle around.
"Thanks for the offer, but no. I like my job. I'm not going to be a stick in your arse," I interrupt, scouring the sheets for my shirt.
"I enjoy your company, Seazon. It really is that simple."
"Where is it?" I mumble, wafting my arm in every direction before lifting the blanket over my head.
There it is again.
That book. That pain of it hitting my leg.
It's so weird, how it slipped past my thoughts.
This is where this all started. Like a speed bump covered in blades, slowing me, pacing me — to what? Kill me? Scare me into staying? Slice me up into tiny hand held pieces that can easily be thrown away.
It bothers me. Things I don't understand. Distractions that need distractions.
I hope for Sunny's sake, she isn't actually a real, breathing human living in this shithole.
I kick it with my good leg, watching it bounce off the floor, opening to a page.
I'm not sure why I bother looking at what's written, let alone reading it.
But I do. I read. A full sentence this time.
No longer a puzzle to decipher.
"Stay with him."
Her voice. Her words, not mine. Slithering themselves into the only thing I've ever truly owned. My mind.
"I won't." I hiss beneath my tongue, shutting my eyes as I inhale, attempting to travel somewhere far away from this body, before dragging myself to a stand.
"Where are you going? Seazon?!" Lucas begs, grabbing my arm in desperation as I limp to the door handle.
My face lights up as I peer down at the screen in my hand.
"A client just booked me. I need to go."
That sweet face. Why is he ruining it with that look? Why does he care if I stay or go?
I'm fixing the perfectly white walls. I'm removing the discolour from the whites of his eyes.
"Please, just stay. Is it the book? I told you she's no harm, I promise. Sea, plea—"
I exhale, my back turned to him as I stare at my distorted reflection in the metal hinges.
"I told you. I have a client," I snarl, my voice gritty. Back to what I'm used to hearing from myself.
I grip the handle, turning it.
But instead, it seems to turn me — face to face with Lucas. The old sleep scraping my eyes.
He steps, almost cautiously, as if I were a landmine, then hesitates, his hands shaking as he reaches out.
"Let me be your client."