.
I feel cooped up, I wanna bust free; you got nothing to lose if you get me.
My name is Maerad and I'm on fire.
Freya, my roommate, mouses through our flat. Her dilated eyes are empty bowls. She's looking for the scratch to buy another hit, she's checking the places she thinks I don't know about. Only I do know. Rent's due today and I paid with Freya's dope scratch; I've fronted her enough, she owes me some. Freya hasn't noticed yet, she probably won't. It's only half-past dusk but she's already smashed. She's been smashed all week, ever since her girlfriend left.
I watch her through gummy lashes. I feel like I'm going to puke; I'm laying on the sperm-covered couch for that reason. A cancer stick dangles between my loose lips. I think about telling Freya about the money but I don't. I got problems of my own.
"You goin' out tonight, Raddy?" Freya's speech is slurred. "I'mma go buy me a real ringer with my new girl. You in?"
I shake my head.
Freya laughs sloppily. "Forgot," she says, "you're too good for us all."
"Sure," I say. Buy in to her teasing, just to keep her off my ass. "Born an' bred princess right here." I slur my words like Freya, blending in.
She's walking back to the bathroom. "Keep my girl busy if she comes, will ya?"
"Sure, sure."
I lean my head back on the armrest and stretch my legs, take a drag of cancer. Freya's clattering with the hairspray behind me; I curl my nose at the smell. Another drag. I imagine I'm a clock and my breath is the second hand. Tick tick tick, time's passing. How much longer 'til I can sleep off my hangover? Too long.
Too long is a long time to wait. Tick, tick, tick.
A shadow moves over the flat's barred window. There's a knock on the door and then I can see the night sky. Smog curls in over the roach-coverd floor. It's thicker than cancer smoke and I cough, squint at the sillhouette that let the bad air in.
"Close that door, will ya?" I ask between wheezes.
"Sorry."
It takes a minute for me to clear out my eyes. I blink through the smog and the stench. Meat packing's the name of the game in this town; boiled blood sure does smell. When I'm done coughing I look up. There a woman-girl standing in front of my couch. Red lips, fried hair, skin everywhere. I grin. Freya's girls all look the same to me: B-grade sluts.
"You must be Freya's roommate," she's says. I'm trying hard to pretend I don't see her but it's too much work. "Raddy, right?"
"Yeah," I say. I wish Freya would hurry up with her prettifying. This one's a talker.
"Your ma's the one who died in the factory accident last year, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"That's a shame," she says, and for a minute I think she means it. "My ma's the most important thing to me."
I roll my eyes. Great. Not only is she a talker, she's one of those touchy-feely sluts. My favorite. I make the effort to block her out but I can't quite do it. Venom is my next best defense.
"Yeah, I'm sure she's real important," I say. "Bet she approves of your going out at night and popping acid cubes and paintin' like you do. Bet she gave you her permission to be a whore an' everything. Do I have that right?"
There's no answer from her. I take a long pull and let the smoke out slow, right in her face. There's rage in her eyes but it don't bother me. I can handle anger; it's sympathy I don't like.
"Am I way off the mark there?" I'm just goading her now.
Still nothing. I'm almost disappointed; the firecracker sluts are the best. Freya's had a few of those.
"I'm all ready baby!" Freya's back in the room. Her hair's like a block of concrete now, she's sprayed it so many times. She stops when she sees the two of us, we're having a staring contest. She touches her girl's shoulder. "What's wrong?"
The woman-girl looks at me again before smiling at Freya. "Nothing," she says. "Your roommate's a freak is all."
Freya laughs. "She sure is!"
They walk out hand-in-hand, hips bobbing in the smoggy night.
I watch them go and shake my head. Freak, am I? It's true; I don't belong here. I'm not a painted slut or a binging addict. I suck smoke into my lungs and fall back onto the wretched couch. Reflexes cause me to throw up but there's nothing inside me anymore. I'm all ashes.
I gotta get out of here.
A/N: My idea for a modern adaptation of Alison Croggon's Pellinor books dates back to my very first foray into fanfiction. The original novel was titled The Gift Remixed and was a fairly literal/spot-on retelling.
This redraft will be more of a gritty urban fantasy; there will be sex, drugs, violence, hippies, and organized crime. I'm not promising that the Maerad you know and love will be perfectly in-character here, but I promise to at least make an attempt.
Blanket warning for: sex, rape, drugs, violence, language, etc. Rating subject to change.
Title from 'Lovalot' by M.I.A.