Post by Robbie Hope on Mar 30, 2021 21:31:40 GMT -6
Sometime ago…
I lifted my skirt and unholstered my switchblade, wedging the metal in the lock to keep the door from opening. The pounding of the music outside shook the walls harder than the vibrations I felt behind my ribcage from my beating heart. The tiny granules of powder glittered under the glow of the overhead light, but I pulled a credit card out of my wallet and sliced the rocks even finer until residue glued to the plastic. Running my index finger along the rim, I scrubbed it along my gum, tasting the bitterness.
I heard a knock at the door, but I didn’t bother acknowledging it. Instead, I started tapping the card harder, and faster. I pulled a crisp twenty dollar bill out of wallet and rolled it up tight, driving the tip into my nostril as I leaned over, holding in my breath, hoping the lightest exhale wouldn’t send it floating into the air. Another knock.
"I’m busy!" I said.
The tubular bill jammed into my nostril as the knock caused a jump in my movement. I felt the skin on the inside of my nose tear, but I was committed.
I sucked in the air and moved along the line, feeling the immediate rush in my brain. I felt vindicated, and I felt satisfaction, watching the line disappear, and feeling the instant effects. I felt my lethargy draining away. I felt my confidence growing. I felt like I was soaring at the top of the world.
But I knew this was temporary.
I knew I was hiding behind a mask.
Concealing the emptiness in my eyes, and the ache in my heart.
I pulled the blade out from the frame of the door and looked at the woman in the mirror.
"I’m sorry."
I lifted my skirt again and pressed the sharp tip against my exposed thigh, watching the skin collapse underneath. But before the flesh could break, the door swung open and my best friend walked in. She caught a glimpse in the mirror as I holstered my blade.
"Ay bitch ya ready to get out of ‘ere?" my friend asked.
I nodded my head and followed her out the door. I feel like I’ve met this man before. This Andre Aquarius. Do you know where?
I asked my Pet, but he knew better than to answer. Instead, he sat silent on the other end of the table, slowly drawing a spoon towards his tongue. The shackles on his wrists made that nearly impossible, and he spilled his tomato soup on the wood. He immediately braced himself and his eyes winced, expecting punishment. He’d seen the Other suffer worse.
Be still, Pet. Let me get those chains off of you.
The surprise in his face spoke volumes. He was still unsure if I was serious. If I was trustworthy. I slid my hands over to his wrist and unlocked the shackles, the metal dropping to the wooden table with a loud thud. He rubbed the inside of his wrists, the skin raw and torn and infected. I led him over to the sink and turned the faucet, delicately placing his hands under the flowing water, watching as the dried blood circled the drain.
Will you do me a favor, Pet?
He nodded his head.
When I give you the order…
I paused, waiting for his undivided attention.
I want you to put him down.
His eyes were darkened and hollow but I could still see the anguish behind them. This was not the life he had before the virus. But now, like me, he was infected.
...but ...why?
Those were the first words I’d ever heard him speak. It was as if he was learning to vocalize for the first time. An overgrown toddler seeking independence. I trained him well.
But he wasn’t ready.
If you don’t…
I grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the kitchen cabinet and poured it over the open wounds on his wrists. He squealed like a dying pig, and the sound pierced my ears.
...you’ll end up like the Other.
He shook his head ‘no’, his eyes flooding with tears.
w̴̤̲̥̩͙̲̺̋͑̃̈́̾̂̓̑̃́͝ḫ̵̛̦̳̈́͛͌̓̃̋̍̉̅̔̈́̅̾̚o̴̜̝̫͚̤͔͎͙̣̞͒̑ ̴̧̟̻̼̯̹́̒́a̵̛̛̭͈̜̾̊̃͋̄̈́͝m̷̢̧̯͚̠̾̅́͂̎̕͜ ̶̨̮̜̮̞͉̘̦̲̩̣͕̫̈́́͘͝ī̷̡̡̡̘̦̜͎͗̎̈́̍̃̃͊̆̌͘̚͠ ̶͙͉͙̝̬̱̰̟͍̪̙̰̽͗͂͒̀̂̐̅̈́̒̃͑̕ͅn̵̨̧̡̛̫̳͍̫̟̞͖̱̭̂̐̎͂̉̅̀͘͜͠ͅȏ̶̟̤̤͎̣̹̻̲̍̈́̽̓̊͗ẃ̷̛̲͙̭̣͖̄̋̏̎̽̀͘ ǝ̵͆̈́͊͂̈́̑̎̃͋͛̓̒͜͜ɹ̶̛̹̝̹̩̦̼͚̱̻͖͈̊́͑̇̽̓̐͘͝ȍ̸̢̧̬̮̞̻͓̽̊̏̇̀̈̕ɟ̶̨̨̘̳͓̬̣̻̟̟̈́͒̂̋́̄̑̀̿͜ǝ̶̢̡̬̭͉̭̙̙͕͍͇̭̋̀̉͘̚q̸̛̲̬͑̈́̈́̀̋̀́̕ ̴̺̹̭̓͂̂̿̽̋̈̓̀ᴉ̴̻̘̬̆͐̈́̋͛ ̷̱̬̟̣̻͇̻͍̕s̵͍̪̓͗͑̉̚͝ɐ̴̢̦͙͔̞̞̯̹͐̄͒̀͗͗̍̾̎͌̄ʍ̴̡͚͊̓̓̄̓̎͗̚̚ ̵̞̠̎͂̋͝ớ̸̜̳̘̦̞̲̗̜̮̺͔͇͗̿̓̚ɥ̴̡̧̡̙͉͙͎̈́́̎̇͂͆͒́̃̆̌̚ʍ̵̟̰̂̑̓̀̈́
I placed the pill the doctor prescribed me on the edge of my tongue and
tilted my head back, feeling it careen down my throat.
tilted my head back, feeling it careen down my throat.
w̷͚͓̜̣̹̃̌̑h̴̨̗͇̻͕̝͚̦̺̤͓̎̑̋̉͑̿͘͘͜a̸̪̺̜̼̪̜̅̎̂͂́ţ̸̡̬̱̮̰̙̗̤͚̲̏͂̾͛̇͛͋̿͑͊ ̸̡̩͈̝̪͍̿̓̑͗̐̒̍͗̄̀̋͝h̷̜͇̮̼̞͇̟̤̤̥͔̺͂̿̀̎̈͛͋̌͝͝a̵̭͍͘v̷̻̙̙͖̰̌̈̈͝e̵͔̳̰̭͇̩̤̩͋́͐̃̽̄̀̀̍͒̉͘ ̷̡͈̬͚͖͇̱̑̈͗̚͜ͅi̵̡̡̗̳̮̼̾̄͋̀͜͝ ̴͙̥͔̳͍̟̒̂̏͒̾̀̍͂̆̒͘͝d̴̦͎̥͉̼̪͇͎̍̓̄̕͝ǫ̶̡̙̯͕̘͇̖̣̠̭̿n̵͎̼̦̟͠ē̸̡̳͇̻̳͔̈́̌̾̈́̍̒̇̒͛͝ ʍ̸̭̰͝õ̶̱̠̑́̓̄ư̴̢̱̤̫͔̗̒̅̐̊̇̉̃̚͜ ̷̝̖̓̾͠͝o̷̤̹͕̮̓̈́̅͐͜͝p̴̧̛̩̟̝͙͍̙̈́̇̄͛̉̕͝ ̷̖̤͉̳͋̾́̈́̑ᴉ̸̰̥̦̰̥̲͋̀̓̒̆̓͛ ̶̡̪͕̭̠̪̗̖͇̫̖̊͌̅̕̚̚ĺ̶͙͈̠͔͆͜l̸̰͍̠̖͖̖̼̰̟̻̏͆̏̔ᴉ̶̨̼͕̠͇̺̈́͂̅̀͊ʍ̷̛̮̊̎̊͝ ̸̧̡͖̙͈͉̠̹̮̰̈́̐̏͑̈ʇ̸̧̧͇͇̹͖̥͉̬̖̤̰̄͐̐̑̏ɐ̷͇̻͖͛͑͛̂͂͒͌́͊͝͝ɥ̵̢̻̟̙͉͓̻̘́̊̀ͅʍ̶͈̩̟͎̯͚̺́̂̽̅̀̀͑͆̂
"The only thing I can say to you
is that I'm sorry."
"The only thing I can say to you
is that I'm sorry."