She's using the 'period' excuse again.
I get up off the couch with an over-dramatic sigh. I want her to look my way; to acknowledge how much of a total bitch she's being, but am granted no such solace.
"I'll go and get some." I turn for the door, but she can never make herself seem like the bad guy. It's a fucking affliction.
"Thanks, Des. I appreciate it. A lot." The smile in her voice is audible, and it does a number on me. Me: the used and abused boyfriend sent on an epic quest to Duane Reade at twelve thirty in the morning to pick up some fucking BBQ potato chips. Because my girlfriend's craving them. I slip into a light sweatshirt before leaving her apartment, thankful that the air outside in the hall doesn't smell like her perfume. It was a smell I used to love.
Let me backtrack.
My name is Desmond White, and my girlfriend is in love with Delsin Rowe.
It's a fucking stupid obsession. I'd omit it as a celebrity crush, but the guy's a Bio-Terrorist, and she has an entire blog dedicated to him.
You'd think with all the D.U.P. media blackouts that someone would've banned Tumblr.
I guess I could say I never jumped on that whole bandwagon. Sure, the shit with Augustine was interesting. Revolutionary. But it turns out it's really easy to ignore a revolution if you don't get caught up in the mentality. I eat, I sleep, I piss and I shit, I wear jeans and t-shirts, I have sex, I go to work on occasion. I let my hair get long, but never too long - I have a PS3 and a PS4.
That's all I am.
That's all I need.
It's early fall now and the air is ripe with riveting chill. Leaves skitter listlessly; helplessly against the sidewalk, pried from their branches by the same force that pulls them now. I can't so much see them as I can hear them.
My mind fills in the gaps.
I'm walking and reflecting; wishing I'm wearing something heavier. I underestimated the weather again. Wind's blowing in from the hudson and it rips through my sweatshirt, making my lower arms erupt with gooseflesh. I shiver.
I'm getting looks as I pass through a D.U.P. checkpoint, my mind on autopilot as I press my finger to the screen and for the thousandth time in my twenty three years of life I'm told I'm not a bio-fucking-terrorist. Ever since Delsin three months ago that's all New York talks about: Conduits. 'Seattle was liberated, why not us?' 'It's only a matter of time,' the whispers say, beneath the blank, insentient eyes of the cameras.
I've gotten stopped more than once just based on my appearance: I look like the kind of guy who's done a lot of drugs. Maybe I just have a suspicious face - but I like to think it's because I look defiant.
It's a definite ego boost.
The cold brings my head down from the clouds. I'm wishing I hadn't moved in with this chick - Avery - after only a couple months of dating her. A shitty call on my part. Sure, my parents were just about ready to 'evict' me from my old place, which they begrudgingly paid for, but I'd have dealt with that. I'm in deep now.
At least she does my fucking laundry.
But that doesn't make up for, by any stretch, the fact that she's degraded me to the archetypal tool. Who the fuck buys BBQ Lays at this hour of the morning? Me, obviously. The shriveling creature at the cash register thankfully doesn't question or comment.
It's New York City.
Shit's weird here.
I leave the cold, fluorescent glow of the convenience store and step onto the sidewalk. The distorted images of neon signs, billboards, and screens are cast, as if wraiths, onto the reflective surface of the rainwashed street. Many people's lights are on despite the hour, dimmed by curtains or shades. I'm looking up into the half cloudy sky, past the looming tops of skyscrapers all around, thinking of leaving. I'd convinced myself I was in love with Avery, and was currently feeling the consequences of being dishonest with oneself. And the consequences of dating a complete and total bitch.
I'm part of a thinning crowd. We've gotten bolder ever since the victory in Seattle - people aren't as scared anymore. On the news a couple days ago there were reports of a mob dismantling a checkpoint. You wouldn't have even thought that was even possible two months ago. I turn off onto a side street, waiting at the curb for the light to change before jogging across the street, the bag swinging in my hand.
I'm moving. It's dark, the moon is gone but the stars are out, only half obscured by clouds.
"Hey," I hear beneath my thoughts, but don't turn to acknowledge.
"Hey!" The female voice repeats, closer this time. A figure jogs toward me and I barely have time to take in her shabby appearance before she starts talking.
"Look - You have food, right? I haven't eaten in three fucking days." She laughs like it's funny, but looks immediately down.
"Fuck off, junkie." I mumble and sidestep, pushing past her and continuing at a faster pace on the near deserted sidewalk. I pass an alleyway and the smell of rot and sewage consumes me for a moment. I walk faster.
"C'mon, don't be a dick!" She persists, keeping my pace next to me, "Do you have change or something, maybe?" She sighs, collecting herself - trying not to beg. "Anything."
"I told you, fuck off." I'm getting impatient.
She steps in front of me, and I'm forced to stop to avoid a head-on collision.
"Do you think I'm lying to you or something?" Her eyes, bright and hazel, are reflecting a distorted image of a red neon sign behind my head. "Hey, man - I'm not a shitty person, I'm just fucking hungry!"
I sigh audibly - but a sudden vine of ironic selfishness runs through me. I hand her the Duane Reade bag, realizing how short she is. Short and skinny. Even her hair is short, leaving the sharp line of her jaw exposed. She is youthful but not young. Her clothes are ill-fitting, old, and reeking of god knows what. She taps me lightly on the arm.
"Thanks, man. 'Preciate it." She smiles warmly and nods, waiting for me to reciprocate the gesture.
"They're just some shitty chips, man." I scoff.
"Better than what I got, yeah?" She's still fucking smiling - and I'm taken aback by her show of appreciation.
Slipping my hands into my pockets, I reply unenthusiastically, "No worries," And turn away. I can feel her eyes on my back for a few seconds, until I hear the crinkling of the bag.
I jam the keys in the lock and push into the apartment, greeted by the flickering of the TV screen against the light carpeting. The couch carves a huge shadow in the otherwise dark room. I'm standing in the middle of it.
Avery turns at the sound of the door, but slouches back into the cushions when she sees I'm empty handed.
I shrug innocently, "All out. Sorry, Ava."
"You checked CVS?"
This is the shit she pulls. Making me guilty of all these goddamn things I didn't do wrong. I decide to dodge the bullet. I can't make this my fault. Not for the hundredth time this month.
"No. The D.U.P.'s were doing something weird; the street was blocked off. Sorry." Why am I apologizing so goddamn much? Because I'm a tool.
"What about the other one?" She interjects my thoughts, "You know, the one near McDonald's." I ignore the fact that there are about a million McDonald's in this city, and search my reserves desperately for another excuse.
"It's late. I doubt they're open anyway." I say before too long has passed.
"Aren't those open all night?"
"Don't think so, Ava."
"Oh, okay." She tries to mask her disappointment with indifference, but it just comes off callous. I'm really sick of that tactic - this thing she does, consistently - but I hold my tongue. I'm too tired to fight and there's really no fucking point. She always wins.
Avery's watching the news again. We'd had on some documentary about whale migrations on Nat-Geo, but she'd changed it to CNN after I left. Some guy was talking to the reporter. Something about Gaza. I knew she was just waiting for more Bio Terrorist reports, hoping to catch some more Delsin Rowe coverage. There was a lot of Bio Terrorist talk probably about a week ago now, since the inmates of Curdun Cay were released - but even that news was getting old; getting boring. Though it was never something I'd actively kept up with.
I want to say something to her but decide against it.
The bed looks inviting enough through the open door to my left, next to the kitchenette. I turn and upon closing the door slip out of my pants and into my side of the queen size bed, not bothering to change; pulling the blanket up close to my chin.
I don't remember falling asleep.
There's a sharp knock at the door and my mind goes into autopilot, fighting my ragdoll state and dragging my ass out of bed; out of the warmth. I groan. Clementine morning streams through the blinds and the city is backlit.
Ahh, the asscrack of dawn.
"Fucker…" I grumble, rubbing sleep from my eyes and pushing my shoulders back. Avery isn't here. Probably on one of her pouting trips. That has to be her at the door. I take my time: stretch, sluggishly pee, pop some tap water and a morning blend cartridge into the Keurig before even considering the door. Ava's keys are on the counter, marked by a 'Florida' keychain and another of her name in pink, half hidden behind the gleaming silver keys. I don't know what they're all for - we never use the car. She's locked out now. She obviously left them here for a reason.
Distracted by another of her urgent knocking spurts, I flip the lock up and open the door.
"Hey, can I use your bathroom?"
I blink my still blurry eyes in disbelief, "The fuck?"
"I really gotta pee, man."
"Uh...Who are you?"
"Me, from last night. I'm Sage. Can I use your bathroom?" She repeats. I'm vaguely remembering her face: the girl from last night. Her bright hazel eyes jump start my memory - but I'm not thinking straight yet.
"Uh….Sure." I sidestep, allowing her inside. She looks younger than she did yesterday. I think it's the lighting.
Sage steps into the apartment and looks around with a sense of something I can't place. She's staring: at the TV, the couch, the plates drying next to the sink. I point to the bathroom. She doesn't notice.
I point again. "To your left." She perks up, as if remembering she has to pee, and quickly walks over to the door with a bounce in her step.
My stupidity is sinking in as my mind is waking up. She seems harmless, but that means absolutely nothing.
The Keurig is flashing blue, and seeing no other preventative course of action to take, I place a mug under the spout and wait for the coffee to come spurting out.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
So fucking stupid.
If Avery finds out about this, I'm fucking boned.
I sigh audibly as the smell of coffee fills the small kitchen, regretting my previous kindness to the point of anger. I couldn't have clocked more than six of sleep, either. I need my fucking sleep.
"Your bathroom is awesome!" Sage calls through the door.
"Really." I mumble as I pull a carton of Half and Half out of the fridge.
"Yeah! I haven't wiped my own ass in like, fucking years!" I'm fully awake after hearing that. The toilet flushes and I'm left in the middle of the kitchen with a disgusted as well as deeply confused look on my face and a clear choice before me.
Do I:
a. Ignore her statement completely and continue as if I wasn't completely offput
b. Call the Cops; maybe the D.U.P.
c. Arm myself with a lamp and order her the fuck out of the apartment
Instead I'm frozen in the kitchen with a partially open container of Half and Half trying to make some fucking sense of what the hell that crazy bitch just said. I hear her turn on the sink - thank god, she's washing her hands - and the door opens. Sage is smiling wide, seeming a lot less urgent than she'd been five minutes ago. I continue to prepare my coffee, dumping some splenda haphazardly into the mug, not at all caring, just trying to keep my head on straight. I turn around to face her and find her gone from my immediate sight, until I notice from my peripherals that she's sitting at the table. Tentatively, I put my coffee on the table next to my dilapidated iphone three and pull out a chair. Sage eyes my coffee - I can see her trying not to.
"Thanks, man. What's your name?" She boldly asks, and partially stunned, I reply.
"Desmond. Des " I correct myself stupidly, stumbling on my words.
"Cool." She smiles again and it seems...genuine. "Do you have any food?"
"Woah - calm the fuck down. You guilt trip me out of my chips, come knocking at -" I glance briefly at a clock mounted above the kitchen sink, "Six-fucking-thirty in the morning, use my bathroom, and expect me to toast you up some fucking Eggo's or something?" I open my mouth to continue, but my brows lower in confusion as I realize I'm missing some crucial information. "Wait - how the fuck did you find where I live?"
"I, uh, may have followed you. Sorry. Look, Des - don't take it wrong, yeah? Macy's is closed, and I didn't feel like walking all the way to Penn to-"
"So you fucking stalked me!?" I yell, now standing. Survival instinct is kicking in. I grab my phone, unlocking it. The slider falls back to its start position halfway through the unlocking sequence - the screen is covered in cracks. I try again and again until it finally works.
"Please, don't call the cops! I'll go, yeah? I didn't mean any-"
I laugh, cutting her off. "Oh, like hell you didn't. Whatever you say." I click on the green 'phone' icon and furiously fumble for the keypad.
"Sorry, Des. I can't let you do that." She looks anxious. Genuinely apologetic.
Sage makes no move to advance. I scoff.
"I'm serious," She says hesitantly, "Just put the phone down, yeah?"
I hit the 'call' button and press it to my ear, turning away from her and walking toward the door. It's halfway through the first ring when I feel her hand on my back.
Heat consumes me; light consumes the shadows in the room, and suddenly I'm on the floor. I close my eyes and wish for blackness: let this shitty morning be over. Let me just go to sleep. But I don't feel tired; I just feel weak. My heart's beating abnormally loud and I can't seem to get my breath at a steady, normal pace.
A hand reaches down in front of my face; I look up to see Sage as she grabs my phone off the tiled kitchen floor. Damn. Another web of cracks.
She examines it with unmuted interest, flipping it over in her hands a few times, slipping it in her pocket. She notes the direction of my eyes and an expression of fleeting panic overtakes her face.
"I, uh - I'm really sorry, man. I didn't mean to - well - do...that, but…" She draws breath, "It's been a while. Sorry, though. Here," She offers me her hand, bending down slightly, though she doesn't seem steady, "I got you."
There's no fucking way I'm touching her after whatever it is she did to me.
"Get the fuck away from me." I mumble as her expression shifts to one of disappointment and light briefly flickers over her fingertips as she retracts her hand. Instinct takes over and I sit up, scooting across the floor to lean with my back against the fridge.
"Look, Des, I-"
"You've gotta be shitting me." I scoff in disbelief, "You're a Bio Terrorist."
"Hey, man - I'm not a Bio Terrorist. I'm a Conduit. It's like - callin' a Chinese guy a Chink. That shit's not classy," Sage regains her smile.
I stare.