Surviving on Your Own
Neon Cathedral
I laid on the hard wood floor for fuck knows how long, clutching the chopped off end of my braid. Fucking cunt! She probably would have ripped my gold cross necklace from around my neck if she could've! Getting up and stomping into the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of straight tequila.
Fuck it, I'll just drink from the damn bottle. Swig after swig after swig, and I still just want to cry. So pathetic, crying over hair...but it meant so much to me. So many physical memories tied to those strands of hair. It was what made me, me.
Walking into the bathroom, I check out the damage in the mirror. It's still long, ends at the bottom of my rib cage, but it's only half its former length. I braid it. Nope that's too short now to look good. Putting it in a ponytail isn't any better. I sigh miserably, wrapping my hair in a sloppy bun on the top of my head. That just makes me look more like those dykie girls who are too lazy to do anything productive with their hair, and leave the house in pajamas. Fucking Christ. I'll just leave down.
Sitting on the couch, I continue my drunken pity party, swallowing a mouth full of burning booze every few minutes. I don't want to feel, just want to fall into a stupor and forget about today along with the rest of my lame life.
There's knocking at the front door, but I don't move. The door opens and in steps Mihael. Prick, I want to be left alone, and who just walks into someone's place like that?
"Yo man, wha- holy shit! You cut your hair?" He exclaims.
I glare at him. "No, I didn't."
"Who then?" He asks planting himself heavily next to me. Mihael pries the bottle from my hand and drinks some of it. "Ugh, this shit's nasty."
Wrenching the bottle back, I seethe, "Then don't drink it!...and Hilde chopped my hair off."
His brown eyes widen. "Why the fuck she do that?"
I shrug. "Guess I gave her gonorrhea."
His mouth falls open, the scar around his lift eye wrinkles nastily, as he runs a hand through his orange hair. "Dude! That's horrible! We gotta get you to a clinic!"
At first I refuse, not wanting to go anywhere, but he convinces me. All I need is a single shot and in one month I'll be clean again. We ride my motorbike, Mihael drives because I'm a lot more drunk than I thought. Standing up from the couch, the world titled to the left and spun. He caught me just before I plopped back down. Keeping my arms wrapped tightly around his narrow waist, I clamp my eyes shut, the passing blurry scenery makes me nauseous.
Mihael waits with me in the stale clinic until my name is called. I stumble about behind the nurse who leads me to a private room. She takes a blood test, snarling at me in disgust. I must be quiet the lovely sight. Black tattered jeans, holes in both knees and a slash on the upper right thigh. Knee length steel toed combat boots, black shirt speckled with bleach stains. Gold cross dangling from my neck. I'm probably wreaking of tequila, but like I give a shit of what this stuck up bitch nurse thinks.
Nurse Bitchface comes back, telling me I'm positive for gonorrhea. Just great. Can't really blame Hilde so much now. But I'm still fucking pissed off at her, I'd slap her if given the chance. Bitchface injects me with the cure to my little sexually transmitted infection.
Walking out into the lobby - more like staggering - I pass Mihael. He jumps up and follows me out. Back on the bike, I tell him to hold up before he starts driving. Leaning over the side, pulling my hair back behind my neck, I shove two fingers down my throat. I'm tired of feeling sick. Forcing vomit and booze out of my system, I hear Mihael groan in disgust.
"Dude, did ya really have to do that?" He asks looking a little green himself.
Sighing in relief, already feeling better, I answer, "Yeah."
We spend the rest of the day locked in my apartment, drinking whatever is there. Mihael snorts a line of cocaine every now and then and offers me some each time. Last time he asked, I flipped on him, yelling about how I don't do shit like that. I'm already numb, I don't need ta further it with drugs.
He tells me about a shipment coming in that he wants me to help pick up and disburse."Dude, how many times do I gotta tell you I'm not into that shit?" I flabbergast, utterly annoyed at the constant returning topic.
He raises his hands defensively. "You don't gotta do the drugs man. Just sell em. Plus, you're outta a job. This could be money for in between, and it's good money too."
Pft, like I need the money. War funds, bitch. I'm loaded. "I don't need ta do it. I'm good on cash," I explain.
"So do it to help me out! As a friend! I can't push all this product with the few people I got. One more, you, would be great," he pleads.
Sometimes having friends suck donkey dick. "What are you selling?"
He grins. "Like everything. X, prescription shit, weed, acid, shrooms, coke, crack, meth and heroin. All you need to do is sell it, and come with me tomorrow to meet the guy."
"Who's this guy?" I ask and finish the last of my Budweiser.
"Just some dude from L1. He's comin in tomorrow. We're gonna meet up, and then hang out and party for a bit."
"Fine, I'll go with you, but I won't promise to sell shit. Where's the party?"
He winks at me. "Upper Eastside."
That perks my interest. "Seriously? Like how upper?"
"Like upper, upper Eastside where the few rich fuckers live on this god forsaken colony."
"Alright, I'm in."
Mihael seems to approve of that. We continue our binge until about ten at night. He tries to convince me into partying tonight, but I have no desire to be around other people, and for once I don't feel like fucking anyone. Tomorrow will be different. I've never partied on the upper Eastside. Once he's gone, I'm left in my barren apartment. Damn, Hilde took like fucking everything, even most of the food outta the fridge and cupboards. And the motherfuckin bed! Who does that? All I've got I'd this ratty couch that I've sloshed on all damn day!
Spending time alone isn't doing me no favors. I shoulda left with Mihael. Vacating the apartment, I bring the rest of the tequila with me in a jacket pocket and roam the dirty streets of my pitiful "home" colony, listening to music on my MP3 player. "She said some days I feel like shit, I just want to quit, and just be normal for a bit. I don't understand why you always have to be gone.." I sing along quietly (1).
Of course, I find myself staggering to that damn cross street again. It's like my fuckin subconscious wants me here. Walking up to the building, I glare at it. This place was once my home, but it's not anymore. It may look the same on the outside, but my home burned down long, long ago. How dare they rebuild it and give it a new name. I make my way over to the side of the church, and scale up the stone brick façade to the roof.
Making myself comfortable, laying flat on my back, I gaze up at the lights of the other side of the colony. Pulling out my headphones, I play my music from the MP3 players shitty little speakers, and sing more loudly with the new song. "Round here they sing broken hymns. Their prayers flow better when they're soaked in gin.." ...everything sounds better soaked in booze.
I miss the stars. I miss the moon. The view from Earth was breathtaking. Maybe I should go back, fuck this place and all my memories tied to it. "...Closed the Bible a while ago, I need some shots for this sin.." Shave off the rest of my hair, let go of the past. Toss my cross into the void of space, let it float in the empty, vacuum for eternity. Change my name. Duo doesn't feel so right when your on your own all the time. "...And yet, I'm a fool and I stay here. Hope these problems drown themselves, I die in wait here.." Always have been alone without realizing it. Well, not all the time. I had a place, a purpose, a sense of belonging. I need that again.
"...I read the Bible, but I forgot the verses..." Father Maxwell and Sister Helen must be turning in their graves, seeing what a waste of space I've become. Their lessons and their faith that I turned my back on. Accepted the God of any other. "...I got sins that scold like my throat when I hit the bottle.
And I'm sinking and that's why I keep on drinking. I need a refill, far more than once every weekend..."
I wish I could believe in that all loving God again. Have faith in something good. But my soul is tainted, attached to a malevolent being. "...Spend it all searching for God at the Neon Cathedral..."
Even if I turned back over to that faith, I've killed too many people to ever be forgiven. Lied too many times. Fucked too many people.
"...Underneath this fragile frame, lives a battle between pride and shame,
but I've misplaced that sense of fight. This crown of thorns is perched atop my spine, but listen closely as I testify. Dependency has been a thief at night
thief at night, thief at night..." (2)
I continue singing with each song that plays, getting louder after each gulp from the tequila bottle.
But that song, that goddamn song that feels like it was written just for me, makes me angry.
Lifting my head for the roof floor, I take a swig, hold the bottle up, and yell, "This ones for you asshole!" I get no response.
"Fuck you! You don't exist! And if you did, like hell would you give a wretched soul like me any kind of redemption!" I'm screaming at nothing.
"I wanted to believe in you!" I bellow, sitting up, keeping my eyes fixed on the "sky" above me. "I wanted to believe! And I almost did! But you!" I raise a fist into the air. "You took everything from me!"
My throat constricts, too emotional to speak, yell, scream, at a normal decibel.
"I gave myself over and you took everything! Every fucking person away from me! How can you blame me for turning the other cheek and following another path?!" My voice breaks many times as I scold the clouds above me.
"You were suppose to protect me! Protect the ones I loved! But you didn't! And you made me into a monster!"
Tears fall from my eyes. I take several long minutes to calm and gather myself before the worst case scenario arises again. Motherfuck. There go those blue and red lights. Of course they are, I've been yelling at the sky at the top of my lungs.
"Come down from there," commands a voice over a megaphone. Seriously? Is this how bad my luck is? Dealing with the five-oh two nights in a row? I guess I was singing and talking real fuckin loud for them to notice me up here.
Peering over the edge, I yell that I'm coming down on the left side of the church. At least it's only one cop. The more, the less merrier. Leaving the almost empty bottle of tequila on the roof, I shimmy down and almost fall, twice. Climbing shit, dumb idea to do when you're intoxicated.
On the ground the cop approaches me in the side ally, away from the street, blinding my vision with his flashlight. Raising my hand to block my eyes, I hear that dreaded voice from the other night. "Well, well, well, how are you doin tonight handsome? I see you cut off some of that pretty hair of yours."
A fire ignites in my chest. The demon fighting to come forth.
"I'd hate to take ya in, but this'll cost ya more than last night," his voice drips with lust as he leers at me. Turning off the flashlight, he asks, "How about it? A coupla hours in a motel room will keep ya outta a cell."
I don't think so pig. Shinigami consumes my soul, takes hold of my mind and body. Before he can think, I pull a switch blade from my back pocket and send it flying through the air for his jugular. It lands perfectly in his flesh with a lovely squelching sound. Mr. Piggy falls to the concrete ground, grasping the handle of the blade.
Walking slowly over, I kneel over his panicked frame. "You picked the wrong night to come across me," I whisper, yank the knife from his neck, and watch him bleed to death. His death rattle arouses the darkest part of my soul. Grinning, I watch as the light fades from his nasty eyes.
Shinigami still isn't satisfied though. Plunging the blade repeatedly into his chest and gut, hot red blood splatters back onto me, dousing my hands.
Running out of breath and energy, I stop. Clean the blade. Pocket it. And walk away out of view from his cruiser, so I won't be caught on video. Dumbass shouldn't have approached me in a dark alley.
Stalking back to my apartment, I give no shits for the blood covering me, soaked and caking to my hands. I don't even care that I've taken a life on holy grounds.
Showering off the veil blood, I feel better than I have in ages. Albeit, a little more psychotic, but sated.
It may sound awful, but I sleep that night. And sleep easy. The next day I keep myself busy watching the news. I don't even have the urge to drink yet. Not until that night with Mihael.
Riding the metro to the upper Eastside, I gazed out the window, replaying the previous nights events in my mind. It felt so good to have blood run across my hands again. For the first time in a long time, Shinigami is happy.
We make our way to the small wealthy side of L2.
Goddamn, this place is nice. I've never been here. We enter a luxurious hotel that would belong better on L4. In the room, I'm anxious for a drink. Mihael and his correspondent talk drugs, money. But this is suppose to be party too.
"Where's the booze in this bitch?" I ask Mihael.
A blond chick, with a wild hairdo, bounces out of the restroom.
She grabs the person sitting in the far end of the room, facing a large window, she squeaks in a high-pitched voice, "Heero! Lets have some fun!"
Pulling the hood of the ambiguous figure, I'm met with Heero motherfuckin Yuy's gaze reflected in the window.
My heart plapates past a single beat, every nerve cell heightens into a fiery blaze. I whisper, "Heero.." His name falls from my lips, unwillingly.
Tuning his head over his shoulder, he pierces me with those intense, steel-blue eyes. "Hey Duo," my name sounds so amazing falling from his mouth. "What's up?"
(1) Where'd You Go - Fort Minor
(2) Neon Cathedral - Macklemore and Ryan Lewis