

**The Last Three**

By Almon Chu

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Almon Chu

I

The outside world came in through the window. The morning traffic, the police sirens, the footsteps and chatter of pedestrians, the roar of low flying planes, the beeping and banging of construction and destruction. I was naked, cold. My head and joints ached. My mouth was bitter. My eyes were blinded by the morning sun. I sat up quickly, recoiling. The sheets stuck to the side of my face before peeling off like velcro. I wiped my cheek and looked down at my hand.

"God damn it," I said.

A breeze rolled in from an open window and I felt the blood dry upon my skin. My feet hit the grimy floor, but my legs refused to work and I met the ground with a thud.

After all you've been through, is this what's going to do you in? A voice said in a distant part of my mind. I began to crawl, my head and joints still aching.

I crawled on my arms across my bedroom floor. Across dirty laundry, empty bottles, crushed cans, broken CDs, forgotten CDs, pens and pencils, candy wrappers, white Styrofoam boxes filled with moulding crumbs, papers that were once important and papers that were never important. Across the thin film of hair, dust, crumbs, and shards of plastic that pervaded the floor. And across the most worthless of them all: pennies. I crawled as the carpet fabric dug into my flesh.

I reached the old sofa-chair that had been repurposed as a computer chair, and hoisted myself upon it. I turned on my back, my legs hanging over the arm of the chair. Stretching, I reached out and shut the window. The noises of the city still bled through.

I inhaled deeply, pushing my body forward until I was sitting on the arm of the chair. The cheap imitation leather creaked beneath me. My body lowered until my feet touched the floor. Tightly gripping the chair's arm as an anchor. I attempted to stand but refused to release my grip from the chair behind me. Taking one step forward I felt my legs wobble and retreated to the security of my chair.

"Fuck me," I said, half laughing.

After all you've been through, is this what's going to do you in?

Outside my apartment window an early winter had arrived in the city, the trees stripped to skeleton forms. The colourful leaves of autumn had long since been blown away, destroyed, or collected. Though the first snowfall had yet to occur. It was a lifeless period of limbo.

I lived on the very edge of the city. To my left was the city's end: a vast field of houses, boulevards woven with trees and street lights; only broken by oases of poverty and the distant smoke stacks of the industrial slum. To my right was a dense labyrinth of high and low-rise buildings. Streets and alley-ways that twisted and turned in nonsensical fashion until they reached the city heart: an amalgamation of business towers, with each tower attempting to best the other in size. Despite their obnoxious efforts, they were forever in the shadow of the heart's centre, a tourist spike, our modern tower of Babel.

I gave up on standing and watched the city for a couple of hours, my weakness had overcome me. The hypnotic blur of distant moving cars and pedestrians.

The cell phone rang on my computer table.

"Hello?"

"Zdravstvuet!" It was Aleksi. He always enjoyed throwing me off.

" Aleksi! English!" The anger began to stir.

"Haha! What's up? Why aren't you here at work?" Aleksi said.

"My legs won't work," I said. He was picking the wrong morning to aggravate me.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"The hell do you think I mean? I mean I can't stand up!"

"Have you tried standing?"

"That's a stupid fucking question and you know it."

"No, I mean, have you tried standing again? Like recently." He was failing to articulate himself.

"Why would I do that?! I already told you I can't stand!" My sweat ran, mixing with the dry blood, and produced a sickly dull paste.

"Just try it," he said, slightly irritated.

"What part of 'I can't stand' don't you God damn understand?!" I struggled to get the words out.

"Just fucking try it!" Aleksi was beginning to lose himself.

I could feel my heartbeat all throughout my body, my vision narrowed, my breath heated.

"If I fucking fall down you're coming all the way out here to pick me the hell back up, you bastard!" All I wanted to do was prove Aleksi wrong.

I threw myself off the chair and found myself to be standing perfectly straight.

"Well?" Aleksi asked condescendingly.

I stood there, shocked and stunned by my error for a brief moment.

"Fuck you Aleksi!"

"Suka blyad! Kitaiskie -" I pulled the cell phone from my cheek, the bloody paste causing my skin to lightly stick, and slammed the phone shut before he managed to finish his insult. The anger had engulfed me; a familiar raw energy surged through my right arm. The muscles in my forearm twitched as my fingers tingled and jerked.

"God damn immigrant," I said to myself before throwing on some clothes that had been resting on my bed. I looked at the picture of Eris taped to my bedroom wall; I wondered what she would say if she could see me now. Exhaling deeply, I left my apartment for work.

There was no time to wash the blood off. I had already killed enough time and was very late for work. I could not afford a cut in pay. I shot glances to my left and right upon exiting my apartment. It smelled of cheap cleaning fluid, with hints of vomit and alcohol. The dim fluorescent lighting of the hallway produced a sickly buzz. White paint peeled off walls scuffed with a history of colours, revealing the concrete that lied beneath. I walked down the hall to the elevator, my footsteps clicking upon cracked and broken tiles. I reached into my coat pocket for my cigarettes. My hands were warm and my heart still pounding from my earlier conversation, though I had reclaimed control of myself.

I pressed the button to call for the elevator. Leaning back against the wall, I waited. The florescent light flickered above me. I put a cigarette to my lips and reached for my lighter. People were fighting in the unit behind the wall. Their exact words were indiscernible, just the sounds of shouting, yelling, crying, and screaming. I lit the cigarette and inhaled. The sweet nicotine release. A dull thud came from the wall behind me and broke the fight with a sudden silence. I thought of Aleksi and smiled.

'That god damn Punk."

The elevator doors opened before me.

The buttons in the elevator were old and worn, their painted symbols no longer readable. It was a small elevator with no mirrors to give the illusion of space. I reached over to the panel and pressed what I had memorized as Ground before resigning myself to a corner.

I began to grind my cheek with my hand, producing a dark red mixture of blood, dirt, skin, and oil that peeled off of my face like eraser shavings. My lips were clenched tightly to secure my cigarette. My skin became red and raw under the friction.

You look like a madman.

I flicked ashes at the no smoking sign next to me. Nobody had ever cared enough to enforce it. I looked up to check the elevator's counter and put the cigarette back to my lips. "5"- "3"- "2"

The elevator doors opened. Most of the blood had already been cleaned from my face, with the exception of the most stubborn of specs. I walked across the lobby, which contained nothing more than a wall of mail boxes, a half-dead fern, and a door made of reinforced glass. The same theme of peeling white paint and cracked tile floors adorned the lobby. From the other tiny elevators came a languid flood of tenants, some herding their children to school, some sipping from their bottles of coffee, some stuffing their faces with a quick breakfast. I had been lucky that morning to have an elevator to myself.

The front door creaked as it swung open. The city streets were choked with people. Everything was trapped under a thin orange fog. I headed towards the subway station, walking past old wooden phone polls, mutilated by the countless rusty staples of posted bills; lamp posts, dented and dirty from the abuse of the streets.

The sidewalks were spotted black with old gum, its crevices and fissures filled with cigarette butts and small pieces of shredded garbage. I was stopped at an intersection by a red light, a blur of cars roared past. The roads were patchwork, lines of tar crisscrossed segments of asphalt, like wrinkles on an old face. The numerous pot-holes and depressions were filled with black water of obscure origin. I inhaled the last sweet breath of cigarette smoke and flicked the filter to the ground.

The homeless stirred from their homes of cardboard and ragged sleeping bags. Some begged with paper cups and signs: "Kick a punk for a buck." "25 cents short from taking over the world." "Please have mercy." "25 cents for a smile." Some played broken tunes on old instruments. Others sold useless junk as wares. Defeated people being steadily consumed by the city.

"Spare some change?" one of them said to me.

'We have a live one!' I thought to myself as I walked past him, not making eye-contact.

Wannabe thugs patrolled the streets like vultures, scanning for any excuse for violence.

Reflections of the city's demeanour: they walked around with false purpose in their stride, heads held high in arrogance. They act to intimidate, hiding their own childish fears. Their pre-packaged clothes, slang, and music: pathetic cries for help.

"Bitch, the fuck you looking at?" One of them said.

A twinge went down my arm as I reached into my coat pocket and gripped the cold handle of my knife. I overlooked his insult and avoided his eyes; there would be no profit there.

"That's right punk! Walk away!" He screamed at my back.

A shortcut through an alleyway. The walls were clothed in spray paint. Basic scribbles and elaborate tapestries: cryptic messages of ownership, blatant memorials, and demonstrations of skill. My footsteps crunched and cracked as I stepped upon broken glass and the remains of fast food containers. Reaching down into my coat pocket I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and counted the remainder.

Coming out of the alleyway I had arrived in front of the subway station. The entrance was constructed of bare bricks: a simple box. White lights glowed from behind black plastic, spelling out the name of the station and the entrance's street location. The city's transit system logo pervaded the station. A simple design. An abbreviation, that few cared to learn the meaning of. I walked through the front doors. The doors' glass panes had been recently shattered and were crudely held together by strips of tape. Silver, brown, beige, and black: these were the only colours that were permitted in the construction of this station.

As usual the new immigrants had awoken long before anyone in the city, standing ready at attention, diligently manning their underpaid posts. "Ahn-nyung-ha-se-yo." A smiling face greeted me from behind a newsstand counter, mistaking me for one of her own. I ignored her common mistake. Her wares defied the colour palette of the station. Candy wrappers, soft drink bottles, and magazine covers produced a seizure inducing symphony of glossy colours.

A small steel fence served as means of separation, and herded people towards the ticket booth. A greying man occupied the ticket booth. Unshaven. Disgruntled. His fat body dwarfed the stool he sat on. Specks and stains covered the glass wall that separated the man from the rest of us. He barked at the mother and son in front of me.

"That boy isn't a child!" He spat at them, his grubby hand firmly affixed on the turnstile lock.

The man continued to yell at them as the mother fumbled for her son's identification.

He persisted to pressure even after she produced the identification. "Have it ready next time! So you don't cause a scene!"

She passed through the turnstile with a firm grip on her son's hand and her head held low. I walked up to the booth and threw a fistful of change into the toll slot. He grunted but I did not turn in his direction I kept walking, instilling purpose in my stride and anger in my form. The turnstile let me pass with a click.

Half-way across the transfer-slip littered floor I heard the booth man start up another bombardment; the poor timid bastards. I took the crowded escalator down to the subway platform. It jerked and chugged along, decaying transfer-slips jamming the gears. A strange smell of warm metal and burning dust. The black rubber handles were scratched and aged, and the grips of the metal steps were clogged and useless.

Advertisements lined the subway platform, groping for attention. Some new movie that I'd never watch. Some new product that I'd never buy. Some new lost cause that I'd never subscribe to. Some repackaged message that I couldn't care less about. A TV screen hung from the ceiling, spewing forth more adverts and tidbits of sensationalized news reports.

They stood there, the ones who made it past the booth. They spoke only to those they knew and ignored the presence of those they didn't. Those who knew no one isolated themselves through cell phones, and headphones, or through the increasingly rare book or newspaper. Those without such distractions vapidly stared at the television and adverts. A distant light flickered in the subway tunnel, a flow of wind grew stronger as it drew closer and I felt the air run through my fingers.

The subway came screeching into the terminal. A gust followed its arrival, momentarily blowing everything in one direction, and swept aside the common mix of loose trash. The silver doors of the train slid open after playing a simple three note tune. People pushed and shoved their way onto the train, giving no mind to those trying to get off. I squeezed myself into the train. There was no room to move, no such thing as personal space, every breath was shared. The train left the terminal and into the darkness of the subway tunnel. Almost everyone remained silent. The exception being the irate middle-aged woman who talked to herself about how she needed a facelift, an ordinary occurrence.

More adverts lined the inside of the train, sheets of thin plastic illuminated by fluorescent lights. The train picked up in speed. It shook and thundered as it went over each segment of track. Streaks of white, blue, yellow, and orange lights streamed passed the train windows. A recording of a soft female voice announced the name of the next station. The train shot out from the subway tunnel, everyone was forcefully tilted to one side and the station's bright lights came flooding through the windows. We came to a sudden stop and everyone was thrown back into their positions. The doors played their three tone note and people began to herd themselves off of and on to the train. The woman was now screaming "Facelift Facelift! I NEED A FACELIFT!" over and over. Despite her new catchphrase, nobody paid her any mind. The train started to move again and we were soon back in the darkness.

'Just three more stops,' I thought to myself. I gripped my knife, the handle digging into my flesh. I closed my eyes and tried to think of Eris.

My stop was no different from any other station. It was the same scene of filth and flash. The same ticket booth operators on a power-trip. The same repackaged in a different layout, different colour, different name, but the same nonetheless.

Outside the station I found myself under the shade of distant high-rise apartments and business towers. A crowd pushed me along. A stench filled the air. The sidewalk was slick and blackened with rotten fruit peels and bits of old vegetables. Clusters of garbage bags were stacked head-high and left on the edge of the sidewalk. Some bags were pierced and bled black water.

'Garbage trucks must be running late,' I thought as a merchant tried to peddle his goods in broken English next to me.

The merchants were as numerous as the trash bags. Some dealt out of stores and stalls, while most stood on the street with tables and cardboard boxes. Pirated and stolen technology, fake fashions, and exotic goods could all be found.

Neon and plastic signs jutted out the sides of buildings and invaded my vision: their messages were written in cryptic characters and subtitles that were lost in translation.

I passed display windows filled with half flayed animals that hung from hooks as I neared the arch at the end of the street. A basic structure, two red pillars entwined with dragons and linked together by a wooden bar: the cryptic characters that choked this place were engraved on the bar and painted in white, followed by the subtitle "Chinatown".

Fighting against the crowd's current I managed to break free, and took a turn into an alleyway. Here the unchecked layer of grime crept up upon the walls of buildings. Small restaurant chimneys, air conditioners, wires, and electricity counters protruded from the buildings' backs. I stopped in front of a steel door covered in stickers and spray-paint. I knocked twice. I knocked once. I knocked twice again.

After a few moments the door unlocked. The place smelled of old newspapers and plastic. Cardboard boxes were stacked to eye level. An old shrine to an old god sat in the corner, painted in red and adorned with an offering of oranges. The walls and floors had a greyish gloom to them, as if it were always raining outside.

It was the new kid that let me in. I threw my coat in a corner. He scanned me up and down, looking for faults. He was misjudging his worth and overstepping his place. I opened my mouth to speak but stopped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around to see an unimpressed Berne.

"You're late," he said.

"Sorry man, something came up."

"Get yourself together. Do I need to remind you what's at risk? Do not get sloppy on me. One sloppy person and we all get caught. I know we've been friends for a long time but you can't screw me like this Jon."

I lowered my head and apologized again. He was right, this was not a business of second chances. He continued with his lecture in his usual subtle intensity. I simply lowered my head lower and lower, and apologized many times over. Finally he relented, giving me a firm pat on the shoulder.

"Get downstairs, Aleksi can't handle by himself," he said as he walked to the store front.

'Funny,' I thought,' you would never be able to tell that we went to school together.'

I smiled at the absurdity, I smiled like an idiot in front of the new guy. He smiled back. I no longer wanted to have words with the boy, I wanted to hit him. He smiled but he had no inkling of what I was smiling about.

The fake. The pretender. He smiles but he has no right to smile.

I shot a glare. I wanted to hit him, but he wasn't worth my time. I flipped him off and descended down the stairs.

"Don't screw me like this Jon," the new guy said as he chuckled to himself.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and threw open the door.

"Eta svoloch nakohetsto priperlas ha rabotu!" Aleksi said with a cigarette in his mouth.

"Yeah yeah, go fuck yourself. And for the millionth fucking time don't smoke in here!"

Hundreds of computer towers were stacked upon each other, the wall was hardly visible. The towers buzzed and whirred, each constantly spitting out a new batch of DVDs. Large printers spewed out colourful sheets in a corner. Boxes of plastic cases and glossy cardboard occupied another corner. In the middle of the room, knives and scissors were strewn across a wooden table. Everything was at our disposal to make the stolen and fake look legitimate.

"Yeah? Well fuck you! I get at least one smoke after you rode my ass this morning on the phone!" Aleksi said, his cigarette only half-way done.

"Well fuck you too!" I took the cigarette from his lips and inhaled once from it before extinguishing it beneath my foot. The tobacco and black ash became highlights amongst the colourful scraps of paper that lay upon the floor. Aleksi gave me a swift punch to the shoulder. I returned the gesture, and we smiled like fools.

I began my work. The room's hot air engulfed me. The chemical smells eroding my brain.  
It was to be another long day. Most of the work became subconscious, automatic. I was hardly there. My mind detached from my body and ran rampant with disjointed thoughts of Eris. How we first met. Her little quirks. How long we've been together. Her scent. Our moments together. How long she'd been gone. Her smile.

I thought of our last day together. The sun was setting behind those distant smoke stacks. We lay in my bed and basked in the fleeting soft orange glow. The traffic of busy streets sounded like waves crashing to shore. She lied on the edge of my bed. Smiling, she embraced me and said-

"Oy! Work is over!" Aleksi said as he tapped me on the shoulder.

I snapped back to reality, covered in sweat and the smell of chemicals. We left the room with the machines still running at full capacity, their fans screaming and gears grinding. The graveyard shift came in as we slipped on our coats. Cold air swept in from the door. It was dark now, the streets were illuminated by the orange light of street lamps. Berne came out from the front of the shop.

"Dinner?" he asked, looking at Aleksi and me.

We nodded and spent the next hour wandering the streets of Chinatown in search of a restaurant. Until finally Berne and Aleksi decided upon a little noodle shop. The shop's sign flashed and flickered, "Delicious Noodles" it read. We went in. The air was choked with smells of food and cleaning fluids. Chinese pop music played in the background and mixed with the conversations of diners and servers, an unusual din. Neon lights and television sets hung overhead. The waitress spoke to us in broken English and handed us menus covered in a layer of dirty plastic. The tables were covered in thin sheets of white garbage-bag plastic. Creaky dollar-store stools took the place of chairs. Berne handed out yellow chopsticks from the table's banged up metal container. I looked down at the menu and ordered a bowl of white rice. I could not afford to spend. We waited for food and began our sentences with "Remember when?" and "Oh, that time?" Recounting old times, all the things that we had suffered through together, and all the jokes we shared. The food arrived, the talking stopped. Aleksi and Berne stuffed their faces with slices of steak and noodles. I garnished my rice with hot-sauce.

We left the restaurant and went our separate ways home. I lit a cigarette and smoked it quickly; the nicotine release would stem my hunger for the next while. I flicked the filter away and spat on the ground. I marked down my day's earnings in a small notepad; one could never be too safe. It would only be another few weeks until I managed to save up enough money to move out of here. Another few weeks until I could see Eris again.

I made my way across Chinatown, across its shady merchants and garbage piles. Back to the subway, back to the streets. Back across the dilapidated roads and buildings, across punks and thugs, across the immigrants and the homeless, the power trippers and businessmen, the mothers and children. I made my way back to my building of cracked tiles, peeling paint, reinforced glass, and neglected elevators filled to the brim. I went back to the twenty sixth floor, back to the disorderly neighbours, back to my home.

I shot quick glances to my left and right before unlocking my door and stepping through. I was welcomed home by silence and darkness. I wanted neither, throwing my coat and keys on the kitchen table, and turning on a dim light. Sounds of the city trickled in. The sweat and filth from the day's work clung to my body; I needed a shower but was too tired to care. I kicked my computer's power button and threw myself on to the old sofa. The pleather creaked under my weight.

I checked my messages for any sign of Eris. There was nothing. I checked my online messenger. She was offline. I called her phone. Nobody picked up. I sat there for a few hours waiting for her; too tired, too dazed to want to do much else. I waited until finally I gave in to my weakness and pulled my corpse of a body to bed.

I lay down on the edge of my bed and looked at the picture of Eris taped to my wall. The traffic of busy streets sounded like waves crashing to shore.

'She'll save me from this.'

Will she really?

I drifted off to dream.

I.II

The high school lunch room was packed to the brim. Scratched up plastic tables and wobbly plastic chairs. Lunch never looked like real food, it was either a warm mess in a thermos, a cold mushy pile in a plastic container, or overpriced cafeteria slop. I had been too lazy to pack my own lunch that day, so I resorted to the cafeteria slop.

I looked down at the silver package I had bought. "Beef Burger," was written in black marker. Steamed air escaped the package, giving my hands a breath of sickly warmth. The bun felt soggy in my hands, the unnaturally orange cheese leaking out the sides. I took two bites. It tasted of stale grease and chemicals. I tried to force another bite but my stomach began to turn.

The grease leaked onto my hand as I wrapped the burger in the silver package and chucked it into the trash next to me. Grabbing some napkins that were left behind by a previous lunch period I tried to clean the grease from my hands. The school was still new to me, there was no one to sit next to during lunch, no body to call my friend. I scanned the table I was sitting at: people played cards, laughed, mindlessly shovelled food into their mouths. My eyes locked with a baby-faced blonde that sat diagonally from me, he had no lunch and was hunched over the table.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" he asked.

"Nothing," I quickly said.

"Oh, I'm nothing now?"

"What?"

"Who the fuck said you could sit here?"

"Fuck off."

"This table isn't for you, you fuck off."

The guys at the table stopped laughing, playing cards, and shovelling food. They all silently stared at me. It was clear I was unwanted. I left the table and began walking towards the cafeteria exit.

My right arm hit the ground first. The rest of my body came soon after, forcefully dragging my arm across the ground and producing a high pitched squeak. I stared at the ground and tried to realize what had just happened. The baby-faced bastard had pushed me.

"You need to apologize to me," he said.

I pushed off on my right arm and felt the muscles strain and tear.

"Fuck you," I said as I hit him in the face with my left and sent my knee into his stomach. He collapsed on the ground when the teacher on cafeteria duty came.

"Suka blyad," the blonde said as he curled up on the ground.

"Both of you, come with me," the teacher said.

We sat in front of the principal as he lectured us about our behaviour. Though both of us remained reluctant to give in to his interrogation. It would have been easy to rat on the blonde, if I had played innocent then the majority of my punishment would have been transferred to him. I wasn't going to be a rat. I kept my mouth shut and we both received a week of in school suspension and were sent home for the day.

On my way out the school's front door I was stopped by the blonde and one of his friends. I prepared myself for another fight.

"I'm sorry for Aleksi, he can get a little hot-headed" the friend said.

"Thanks for not ratting me out," Aleksi said.

"Yeah, no problem."

"I'm Berne by the way," the friend offered his hand.

"Jon," I said before shaking his hand.

"Smoke? It's the least I can do," Aleksi said holding a cigarette in front of me.

"Sure." I had never had a cigarette before. I took one lung full of smoke before coughing and throwing up my lunch.

"He smokes like a bitch!" Aleksi started laughing.

"Fuck you," I said hunched over, gagging and spitting. My right arm burned.

"What did you have for lunch?" Berne asked.

"A cafeteria burger."

"You are definitely new here," Berne said laughing, and began patting me on the back.

My right arm would never heal properly but it was a small price to pay for new friends.

I.III

A fog had rolled in while I dreamt and consumed the city. A suffocating warmth. The humidity clung to my skin. Outside my window I could only see the vague shapes of nearby buildings, city lights dimly dancing through the gloom. It was another workday.

I got up and walked across the room. Bits of trash stuck to the soles of my feet. I kicked the computer's power button with the tip of my foot and stumbled towards the washroom. The washroom lights stung my half awoken eyes. Toothpaste caked the once-white sink. I blindly groped for my shaver and tooth brush. My hands shook as I tried to co-ordinate myself through the stained mirror. Through my half-hearted efforts I managed to make myself appear presentable. I walked back to the computer and checked for any sign of Eris. Once again I found nothing. Looking at the picture of her pinned to my wall I sighed and left my apartment.

I shot glances to my left and right and locked my front door. My eyes still stung from lack of sleep. I lit my breakfast of half a cigarette, inhaling as I called for the elevator. Exhaling as I leaned back against the wall. My fingers twitched. Exhaling. Inhaling. Exhaling. Inhaling. The elevator was taking its sweet time. After a few long moments the elevator finally arrived crowded with the usual suspects. I threw my cigarette butt to the ground, exhaled the last breath of smoke, and crammed myself into the overloaded elevator.

On my way to the subway terminal I was stopped by a clean-cut Korean dressed in black and white. He came armed with a bible and pamphlets in hand, a counterfeit smile drawn across his face.

"Have you heard good word of Jesus Christ?" he said.

"No sir, I've been living under a rock and as a child I was both deaf and blind."

He stared blankly in confusion as he tried to hand me a pamphlet.

"If you believe, you save soul from hell. You look like sad man. God can make you happy." he continued in his broken English.

I waved my hand at him to decline his offer of redemption but he continued with his rehearsed lines.

"Jesus loves all, God forgives all," he said.

You don't need this.

Eris loves, you need no forgiveness.

"I'm okay, fuck off," I said.

"Please, I only try to help. Please save yourself by giving yourself to God." He went on.

He shrugged as I passed him and began targeting the next person to walk down the street.

The subway ride was strangely devoid of rambling lunatics that day.

My cell phone rang halfway through the filthy streets of Chinatown. I stopped walking to answer it and immediately felt the eyes of the street peddlers fix on me. The massive torrent of people began to walk around me.

"Hello?" I said.

"Hey!" It was a female voice, familiar, but impossible to pinpoint. Lacy? Lucy? Jessica? Annie? It was times like these that made me regret cancelling the caller ID function from my phone-plan in order to save a few dollars.

"What's up?" I was stalling for time, hoping that I would recognize her voice before the conversation became awkward. The street vendors drew closer, pushing through the swarm of people.

"Hey young man, you want to buy?" said a vendor holding up a pair of imitation sunglasses.

"No thank you." I waved my hand at him, the cell phone still in my other hand.

"What?" she said.

"No sorry, not you. There's some random guy trying to sell me junk."

"Oh... So I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner tonight," she said.

"Two fifty, Two fifty." said an old lady in a beaten sunhat, shaking a bundle of vegetables in front of my face.

"No thank you." I said.

"Oh- Okay then" the girl on the phone said.

"Not you, just another person trying to sell me some crap," I said slightly agitated. "Dinner sounds wonderful, where and when?"

"I was thinking sushi at eight," she said.

I groaned in disapproval. Sushi was expensive and rarely kept me satisfied for very long.

"Fine, what if I paid?"

Another vendor came at me with his wares. He shoved a neon multicoloured battery fan in my face. "You see? Very popular, very popular."

"One second." I said before putting my hand over my cell phone's transmitter. "Oy. I don't want your shit, fuck off." The vendor backed off. A few pedestrians stared, suddenly I was the nuisance.

I removed my hand from the transmitter. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it. I hate people bothering me as much as you do, remember?" she said. I still had no idea who I was talking to. Sarah? Becky?

"Yeah," I lied, "and if you're paying then sushi sounds amazing."

"Ha-ha, alright you cheap bastard. I'll meet you at eight on the prospect-union subway platform. See you then."

"Bye," She hung up, my cell phone closed with a snap.

I had succeeded in avoiding an awkward conversation but failed to recognize the voice. Amanda? Nancy? I gave up my guessing game as I approached work's steel door. I figured that I would find out who she was when eight rolled around. I knocked twice. I knocked once. I knocked twice again. The door opened. I glared down the new kid, threw my jacket on a coat-hook, and descended into the warm darkness of the basement. Aleksi came in a few minutes after.

"Look who's the late fucker now?!" I said.

"Hey, good morning to you too, fuck-face!" he said back.

We smiled and began our work. My mind was soon swarmed by thoughts of Eris. The same endless loop of obsessive thoughts ran through my head: her smile, her laugh, her scent, her smile, her laugh, her scent.

Work ended, and I retired my train of thought for another work day. On my way out with Aleksi, I shouted goodbye to Berne.

"Dinner?" Aleksi said.

I was half-way to mouthing yes when I remembered my plans to score a free meal of sushi from a familiar stranger.

"I can't. I've got somewhere else to be."

"You? You never have any place to be. Don't tell me you're rushing home to jerk-off!"

"Fuck you! I've got dinner plans with someone."

"Bullshit! With who?!"

Aleksi was starting to get on my nerves again.

"Someone, an old friend."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"So you're going out to dinner with someone you don't know... Is it a guy or a girl?"

"Girl, what diff-"

"Bullshit! It's probably some fat guy with one of those voice changers!"

"The fu-"

"Then he's going to meet up with you, drug you, kill you, and then have sex with your corpse before selling it on the black-market!"

I couldn't help but smile at the mental image Aleksi was conjuring up.

"Fuck you," he said "I'm perfectly serious here!"

"Yeah, yeah," I said as I walked away from Aleksi, "fuck off, I'm going to dinner."

"I'll see you on the front page of the newspapers tomorrow then!" He yelled after me, "I'll be sure to make a beautiful speech at your funeral, you fucker!"

I looked back at Aleksi and waved goodbye, stupid grins plastered on our faces.

Pushing through the ocean of people I made my way towards the subway station. The street vendors were perched like vultures at their stalls, yelling, scanning for potential customers. There was no point in which I slowed or stopped, no chance for the vendors to close in. I stopped when I reach the doors of the subway station for the last half of my breakfast cigarette. A beggar sat within arm's reach, a paper cup filled with change lay at his feet. I rattled my pack of cigarettes and counted the few that remained.

"Spare a few cents?" the beggar said through broken teeth. He smelled of sweat and cheap alcohol. He reeked of weakness.

I spat the remains of my cigarette into the beggar's cup. He cursed at me but was too weak to cause real trouble. "Fucking piece of shit. Fuck you man." I didn't pay him any mind, and walked into the subway terminal.

Prospect-union station was just a few stops from Chinatown. The train was crowded by the late rush hour. I watched the colours streak across the subway window to take my mind off of the thick musk of mixed body odours and recycled air.

"Prospect-union station is next, Prospect-union," a female recording announced. The subway slowed as it approached the station before jerking to a stop. The doors played their three-note tune and slid open. I let go of the steel pole I had anchored myself to. The mob began to smash against me as I tried to leave.

"Hey ass hole, watch where you're standing." "Get the fuck out of my way, idiot," they screamed as they blindly bumped into me.

I held my ground on the subway platform and the mass of people slowly disappeared through stairways and broken escalator exits. As the crowd faded I spotted a girl that stood on the other end of the platform. She was the only person, other than myself, who did not leave the platform or get on to the subway. She stood just far enough for me to be unable to clearly see her face. The train began to leave as she began to walk towards me; strands of her long black hair blew across her face, and I was left unable to recognize her even as she drew closer. Though she seemed more concerned about the way she was walking, her eyes affixed to the ground. She only shot quick glances at me to ensure that she was still going the right direction.

She took careful calculative movements as if she were walking through some tripwire minefield. The train finished pulling away and the light gust died, though loose strands of hair still clung to her face. She was five or six steps away from me, still staring at ground, drawing closer with careful steps.

She nearly collided with me but thankfully decided to looked up when my feet were within her vision.

"Hi Jo," she said after brushing away her hair and smiling. It was Rean, and she knew that I hated being called Jo.

We left the station and I followed her lead.

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you the past few months," I said.

"Oh you know, I like to disappear from time to time."

"Yeah, you always had a knack for that."

"Working huh?"

"Yep, retail with Berne and Aleksi."

"Aleksi still a jack ass?"

"Yep," I smiled.

"You know your voice never sounds like you when you speak on the phone," I said.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you've said this before."

Rean lead with a slow pace. This side of town was always depressing to me. Years ago it was a nice neighbourhood, but it had since been swallowed by ghettos that had surrounded it. The once respectable businesses had fled; the few stalls that remained were converted into liquor stores with reinforced windows, temporary job offices filled with rejects and burnouts, homeless shelters, instant cash centres, and corner stores armed to the brim with video cameras. It was a strange place to be looking for sushi, but knowing Rean I decided that it was not too unusual.

The sun set as she was slowly leading the way to the restaurant. The handful of working street lights flickered on and bathed everything in an orange glow: the broken newspaper boxes, the tipped over mail boxes, the dead street lamps.

"You sure you know where we're going?" I asked as drug-addicts began to argue behind us. I gripped my knife.

"Positive," she said "just relax. I've never lead you wrong."

"Eh? I'm not too certain about that one. Remember that time, wi-"

"Remember that time I introduced you to Eris?" She knew how to shut me up.

We came to a large alley between an apartment complex and the back of a mostly abandoned strip-mall. A brightly lit restaurant illuminated the dim alley-way and all its blemishes: broken shards of glass and plastic, pools of black water, forgotten garbage heaps, and the occasional forgotten person. "Open", a neon sign flashed repetitively. Streaks and oily finger prints marred the restaurant windows. The restaurant's plastic strip sign appeared to have been smashed by several bricks, though the sign's light was still lit. Nothing remained of the restaurant's name, though the very end of the sign was still intact. "ushi" it read.

A small bell jingled when we entered the restaurant. A middle-aged Chinese man stood behind a sushi bar counter reading a newspaper. A paper chef's hat sat awkwardly on his head. "Please sit," he said, looking up from the newspaper. He yelled into the back of restaurant in Chinese, something to the effect of: Come on out, that weird white girl brought one of her punk friends for us.

I guess he thought I wasn't Chinese. A fair assumption, one that I had often encouraged.

The restaurant itself was a small place with dirt engrained floors. A ledge protruded from the sushi bar, serving as the only table. We sat down to half empty soy sauce bottles from a no-name soy sauce company; disposable chopsticks that claimed to be bamboo; tattered printer paper photocopied with the menu. Everything was sticky and smelled sweetly of soy sauce. Old orange caviar stuck to the table. Asian pop music played faintly from a dusty boom box. An old Chinese woman came scuttling out of the back. She pulled a notepad from her stained apron. Rean was already firing off orders before she could ask us what we wanted.

"I'll have- He'll have-"

Was all I could understand. The waitress was having difficulty keeping up with the rate that Rean was spitting out orders; nodding and scribbling at blinding speed.

When the bombardment of orders finally ended the small Chinese woman shuffled up to the sushi bar, slapped the order slip on to the counter, and disappeared to the back. The Chinese man jumped from the loud slapping of the slip. His attention had been completely fixated on his newspaper. Cursing the woman as she passed him by, he threw his paper into a corner and produced a large cleaver from under the table. The cleaver looked rusted and dull but it made no difference as the man began to violently hammer slabs of fish into small pieces. When there would be sufficient number of pieces he would throw the slab of fish back into the fridge and grab a different slab.

I stared as the man hammered away at a wide range of sea-life.

"So how has life been treating you?" Rean said.

I stopped staring at the man to find Rean staring at me. Her cheek resting on her hand.  
I hate being caught off-guard. I never know how to react fast enough, and I never come off as witty or intelligent.

"Uh- same ol'," I said.

The man continued to loudly hammer away. Rean threw a pair bamboo chopsticks at me. They snapped unevenly and were covered in fine splinters.

"Oh yeah?" she said, "you really don't look like you've been through the same ol' lately."

"Yeah well, my budget has been tight."

"Just remember to eat."

The Chinese man stopped his hammering and began yelling for the lady in the back. His job was done and he could go back to being indifferent. Grabbing his newspaper, he returned to the position we found him in.

"I don't think it's possible to forget."

The old woman came hurrying out from the back and picked up the plate of freshly hammered flesh.

"Don't be a smart-ass Jon, and don't make me worry."

"I'll be fine," I said, "I know what I'm doing, I can take care of myself."

The food arrived in place of an awkward silence. Rean reached over to the soy sauce bottle, pouring a small plastic saucer full for each of us. We picked at the multicoloured platter of raw fish. She stared at me as she carefully put piece after piece of soy-sauce drenched flesh into her mouth.

"So how are things with Eris?" she said.

"They're alright I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, I haven't really heard from her lately."

"That's odd, when was the last time you heard from her?"

"About a week ago," I said.

Eating and the faint beat of an Asian pop song replaced the arrival of another awkward silence.

"I heard from her just the other day," she said.

A split second of outrage overcame me. My hands shook as I put down the chopsticks. Quickly my mind started jumping from one rationalization to another: perhaps she just wanted to talk to Rean; perhaps she was online while I was at work or while I was asleep; perhaps she's been extremely busy with work; perhaps her internet was buggy; perhaps she was in a rush; perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

"Are you okay?" Rean said as she put her hand atop mine.

Snapping back to reality, I withdrew my hand."Yeah, I'm fine. What did Eris say?"

"Nothing really, she was only online briefly. She seemed like she was in a hurry. I think she's doing well though. Are you sure you're okay?"

She was in a hurry. That's why I didn't see her. She was in a hurry.

"Yeah I'm fine." I picked up my pair of chopsticks and forced a smile.

Rean was staring again. My hands were shaking.

"Jon," she said "you aren't fine. You look like hell. You're wasting away. It's like you've forgotten how to take care of yourself."

I opened my mouth to speak but she kept going.

"I know, I know. This is for Eris. I know you're doing everything you can to get to her, but you need to slow down."

"I understand, you're right," I lied. At that point I would have said anything to get her to stop talking. There's nothing I dislike more than someone who doesn't know what they're talking about.

Dinner dragged on. Picking surgically at the pile of raw fish with uneven utensils. Awkward exchanges of glances. More standard issue small talk. Sipping water from styrofoam cups. The pop music droned endlessly on. The old man coughed and hacked as he read his paper. The old woman shuffled in the back, knocking pots and pans as she went.

Finally we were down to the last piece of fish.

"Rean?" I said, lifting the plate to offer her the piece.

"Yeah?"

"I know you're close friends with Eris."

"Yeah, and?"

"Could you promise me one thing?"

"Sure?" she said as she picked up the last piece of fish with her chopsticks.

"Could you promise to keep an eye on Eris for me?"

"Sure."

"Promise?" For the first time that night I looked Rean straight in the eyes.

"I promise everything will be alright. I'll make sure Eris is okay." she said, devouring the last piece of raw flesh before flashing a smile.

The old woman came with the bill. Rean paid and I received cold looks from the old woman. You are the cheapest date. Are you even a man? I felt that these were only a few of the words she wanted to share with me.

We left the restaurant and the gaudy district together, before parting ways on the subway platform. Rean held me before we went through our separate turnstiles.

"Don't worry," she said, "everything will be alright."

She smiled, waved, and disappeared down the stairs to her platform. It felt cold after she released me from her hold. It felt as if I had rediscovered a good friend.

"Everything will be alright," I repeated softly to myself.

I went back the way I came, the standard sounds, the usual suspects, a rationed cigarette, looking left and then right before opening my door, being greeted by the silence of an empty apartment. The things I had grown accustom to.

The wind howled, rattling the apartment windows as it blew. I turned on a light, threw my keys on the table, and shuffled to the washroom. It was Thursday, it had been three days since I last used hot water to wash myself. The tub was plugged with an old rubber stopper spotted with harmless black mould. Grit and grim clung to the sides of the porcelain tub. I released the water from the tap and steam steadily filled the small room. I sat on the edge of the tub after undressing and submerged my feet beneath the slowly rising water.  
'If only hot water was not so damned expensive,' I thought to myself before shutting off the flow.

I slid into the tub, immersing myself until the water was just beyond my ears and closed my eyes. Everything in the building could be heard under the water: the slow dragging inhales and exhales of my breath; the light hearted drip of the faucet; the old rattling of rusty pipes; the hundreds of conversations and the hundreds of television sets that merged into a comforting drone; the handful of arguments distorted as high pitched whines and bass heavy thuds. The warm water kissed my tired beaten body. Everything was one and for a moment I found peace. My phone began to ring after I had been lying in the tub for several moments in easeful suspension.

"Fuuuuck," I said to myself, almost asleep. Lifting myself up was a chore, every muscle was soft and useless. The warm water dripped down my body in small streams, the cold air began to creep in from the door. I quickly wiped myself down with a ragged towel and threw on some pants. For some reason I never did become fond of walking around my house naked.

My wrinkled fingertips met the plastic of the cell phone.

"Hello?"

Water dripped down strands of hair and on to the carpet.

"Hey you." It was Eris, my heart felt like it was jump-started by a car battery.

"Oh- hey, where've you been?" I was fumbling and choking out my words.

"Just this and that. I'm sorry for not being around as often, things have really been busy." she said. How I missed her voice.

"It's alright. I've been busy as well. So how are things in the new city?"

The small talk went on for another hour.

"I've got to go," she said this at least three times. Though every time she said it I would ignore her and keep talking, and the conversation would carry on as if she said nothing. I tried to keep the conversation going for as long as possible, just anything to keep hearing her voice.

There were sounds of a door opening on Eris' end.

"Hey Jon, I really got to go."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but I'll try to be around more. Hopefully I won't be so busy this week." There were sounds of another person whispering in background.

"Aw, alright, fine. I'll let you go."

"But I need to ask you something before I go."

"Sure thing?"

"When are you depositing your paycheck?"

"Soon, I'm doing it tomorrow."

"Alright."

"Was that it?"

"Yeah. I was just curious. Stressed about money you know?"

"Yeah."

The briefest of silences.

"I love you," I said.

"I really gotta run. Love you too," she said. There were sounds of someone speaking and Eris giggling as she hung up the phone.

Something isn't right here.

"Shut up." I said to myself. It was the first time that I had been content in a while. Upon returning to the washroom the bathwater had run cold. My body shook when I submerged myself.

No matter, I had fresh memories of Eris to keep me warm now.

II

I awoke to the cold air. My skin felt dry. A slight taste of blood lingered in the back of my throat to remind me of the life still within me. My eyes were still out of focus as I stumbled around my room. After grabbing my jacket I fell back into bed, and sat there for several moments while rubbing my eyes.

My eyes finally focused and I looked out my window. The city was covered in snow, like a coke-fiend's dream or a diabetic nightmare. Rooftops of houses were lightly dusted, and the streets were choked. Traffic piled up on the roads, loud horns and screams of frustration. The snow flowed like a sandstorm in the violent winds.

I tip-toed and kicked my way through my messy apartment and got dressed for work. The hallway was filled with the rattling of old heating pipes coming back to life. The taste of blood left my throat after spitting up a glob in the hallway.

"I fucking hate winter," I said to myself.

Down in the street everyone was bundled up to the point where only their eyes were visible. How I wished I had been as smart. The snow bit into the flesh of my face as it blew. It invaded every crack and crevice; there was never true shelter from the cold while on the streets. The snow had begun turning different shades of black and grey; muddied by car exhaust and dirty boots. Snow had already found its way into my shoes, it began to melt and wrinkle my feet.

I felt an uncomfortably damp squish with every step.

At least the streets were safer during this season. The drug addicts and homeless retreated to their alley corners, exhaust vents, and charity shelters; those that remained to beg ran the risk of being consumed by the cold. Instead their pathetic pleas for help were replaced by do-good volunteers who spoke on their behalf: "Hi there! Would you like to donate to keep someone fed and warm this winter?" I brushed them off with a wave of the hand. The thugs and wanna-be tough guys resorted to prowling mall centres and staircases; only very rarely did they venture out in the cold.

The floor of the subway station and the subway trains were slick with the black water of melted snow and scraps of abandoned newspapers. Everybody created a wet tick-tack tick-tack as they walked on the unstable ground.

A loud crack came from the subway stairway, followed by the sound of multiple people violently moving around. "Help, someone help- he's got a knife," a male voice yelled from behind the door;"They're going to hurt me." There were a few loud thuds. The same voice yelled "stop" until the yelling turned into pathetic begging. Then there was a silence. No body had stopped or stalled to help. They blocked it out. They made limitless excuses; I don't know him; I don't want to get involved; I need to be somewhere. I didn't bother burdening myself with such lies, there was no need for such weak tricks. I was comfortable with the fact that I just didn't care. The train arrived as the news screens blared a message about a missing boy. Tick-tack tick-tack. The memory of the incident was overwritten by the sounds of the morning rush.

Work was difficult. Every small discomfort would snap me out of my efforts to focus on thoughts of Eris; her sm- Aleksi was smoking again in the work room; her sce- the ceiling fan was out of sync, stalling at irregular intervals; her- her- her- my mind was stuck, I snapped back to reality and discovered the source of my mental blockage. "And then this bitch was going crazy just yelling and yelling, I told her I didn't have her fucking dog!" Aleksi was ranting and raving about some drunken misadventure I could care less about.

"Oy Aleksi!"

"What?"

"Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to think!"

"Fine, ass!" Aleksi pouted and took another puff of his cigarette. The smoke swirled away from him, until dispersing in all directions upon hitting the invisible force of the faulty ceiling fan. Her sm- a breeze of Aleksi's cigarette smoke blew in my face and I found myself craving a cigarette. Her sce- a loud bang came from upstairs. Her lau- the chemical smell of burning plastic pervaded the air as Aleksi carefully sealed another package.

Her- her-her-

"So then I threw that bitch out on her ass!" Aleksi laughed like an idiot.

Work would drag on that day. My mind was unable to relocate myself to happier places, to memories of Eris. I was stuck in reality, and it made reality all the more unbearable.  
Work came to an eventual end after an eternity of Aleksi's rants, wandering clouds of cigarette smoke, sudden noises, toxic chemicals, and the oppressive idiosyncratic whir of the ceiling fan. Berne caught us as we were heading out the exit and handed us our paychecks.

Aleksi pointed out the door and asked "Dinner?"

Berne shook his head, "I can't tonight, I've got to get this new shipment out. You guys enjoy though."

Aleksi turned his finger to me "Him!? He doesn't eat, he's like a woman!"

I gave Aleksi a swift punch to the shoulder.

He hit me back. "What!? Are you saying you want to eat out tonight!?"

He had my number, I wasn't going to eat out that night. I needed to save the few extra dollars. My heart pounded.

"Fuck you Aleksi!" Berne laughed as parts of my face became a dull red.

"Alright C'mon, if you two are going to fight then fight outside. I've got work to do." Berne said as he opened the backdoor for us. The sun had already set. The snow reflected the sickly orange glow of the street lamps.

Aleksi raised his fists as we walked out. "C'mon tough guy" he said with a stupid grin painted across his face. I pushed him and told him to fuck off before breaking out in laughter. The cold air filled my lungs.

Aleksi reached into his pocket and offered a cigarette. We smoked in silence as we walked through the back alleys and streets. The fresh snow had hidden many of the city's blemishes, though the city salt-trucks and ploughs always ensured a certain level of ugliness. The loose rattle of wind-swept garbage was replaced by the squish of pulped paper and the crinkle of plastic under our feet. Soon the snow would be claimed by the city, darkened by the fumes, consumed by the waste. Large bundles of electrical cables snaked overhead, coiling themselves around the low-rise buildings. Old heating units worked full-blast, their fans pushing air into the night. We walked past restaurants, windows full of happy diners. The city sky-scrapers loomed in the distance. The taste of engine exhaust, the smell of food and garbage.

The stores were closing. Goods were reorganized in small spaces, dismembered mannequins prepared for a night's rest, the last flicker of a light. Store keepers pulled down security gates spray-painted with tags and pictures. There would be no purpose in cleaning the metal sheets, as every night they would be marked with a new tag or mural.

We reached the intersection where we would go our separate ways. An old homeless man grumbled from beneath a snow covered blanket. I gripped my knife while waving goodbye to Aleksi. One eye constantly trained on the old man, one hand never letting go of the knife. I would go on without Aleksi but I would not be alone. There was never anyone who was truly alone. There would always be the thugs watching for their mark; the sexual deviants waiting for their victims; the street-side prophet preaching to the people; the myriad of nameless and faceless pedestrians; the neighbour listening through your thin apartment walls, watching the streets through his window; the eternal gaze of security and traffic cameras.

I finished Aleksi's cigarette and kicked the flaming butt with my foot. It twirled and sparked until it hit the ground and extinguished itself upon the snow. A young girl with crimson red hair was curled up in the bank entrance, piercings adorned every other feature. She counted the small coffee cup of change she had acquired, a cardboard sign read: "Lost. Need money to get home." It was clear she had no intention of returning home, it was even more clear that she did not belong to this life. Soon the city would claim her like the snow. Darkened by the fumes and consumed by the waste. I inserted my plastic ATM card into the machine. The machine welcomed me and thanked me for being a loyal customer. The buttons were old and worn from the touch of thousands of customers before me. The keys refused to recognize half the commands I entered.

Would you like to make a withdrawal?

Deposit

How much would you like to withdraw?

"No! Fucking machine!"

Cancel

Welcome valued customer! We thank you for choosing-

"Fuckin'-"

Deposit

How much would you like to withdraw?

"Fuck!" I smacked the side of the machine.

This went on for a good while until I finally managed my smack and swear my way onto the deposit screen. The girl sat there silently looking down at her small cup of change.

I had to make this payment, it was around tuition time for Eris' university. I had been giving her whatever cash I could spare. After years of abuse, her less than functional family had abandoned her when she was eighteen. She worked endless shifts at dead-end jobs in order to save up enough money to attempt university, by this point we had already been seeing each other for a year. At first I only attributed small sums to help her along, by the time she had moved to university I was paying for nearly everything. I would sacrifice living my own life so that she may live her's. This was the price I was willing to pay for her. When I finally saved up enough money to move out there, when I would finally be able to be there to share in her happiness, my suffering would be worth it.

It would only be another two weeks until I had enough money. Only two more weeks of this pathetic existence. It had been two years, what was another two weeks?

Would you like a receipt?

No.

Printing receipt.

"I hate you."

Account Balance: 0.00

"I fucking hate you and you're fucking broken."

The girl looked up at me as I left the bank.

"Spare some change?" Her voice was weak.

I stared at her, my hand on my knife, and kept walking. The voice in my head would not cease cackling.

When I returned home I finally was able to remove my shoes and let my wrinkled feet breathe. That night I would call Eris, and stay up next to the computer waiting for any sign of her. After hours of fruitless waiting I drifted off at my chair.

II.II

Chemistry class had ended and it was a good hour before the start of my next class. The high school hallways were always strangely reflective. I sat and rested my back against the cold metal lockers.

Rean came walking down the hallway, her arms swaying in wild exaggeration. She twisted her head completely sideways as she began to walk past me.

"Hi Jo." Her hair hung at an unfamiliar angle.

"Don't call me that. How's it going? How did the Chem test treat you?"

"Oh Jo, it wasn't too horrible. I heard your class had it rougher."

"Eh, it wasn't too hard."

"Haha. You're always so confident."

"I'm invincible until proven otherwise," I said with a smile.

"So I have a favour to ask," she said cranking her neck back upright.

"Oh yeah?"

"I've got a friend, she's kind of new in town."

"Yeah? And?"

"And I promised to show her around town tonight but I forgot I had made other plans with my family. So.... I'm wondering if you'd like to take her out tonight."

"So a date essentially."

"Something like that."

"What's her name?"

"Eris."

"Eris? Isn't she that weird art student?"

"Yeah. That's been said about her..."

"No way."

"Oh come on."

"No, she's weird and it'd just be awkward and horrible."

"Come on Jon, do it for me. I swear I'll make it up to you."

I stared at her silently.

"Please? As a friend? I'll be so very grateful," she begged.

"God damn it Rean. Fine. You owe me big time for this."

Rean never did repay me for the favour.

II.III

The next morning was the same as the others. It felt like I was being revived by a defibrillator; a sudden pain and a gasp for air. It was Saturday, no work. Despite being employed in a black-market sweatshop our hours were fair and we got the weekends off like everybody else. It was one of the only ways we got to feel normal law-abiding citizens.

Stale bread with old peanut butter and tap-water. I drank from a chipped mug, I ate off a plate I reserved for bread and never cleaned. I smoked half a cigarette to give myself the illusion of fullness, and washed it down with another glass of water.

There was never much to do on weekends. On a good day I would go outside and wander the streets at a snail-like pace. Though most days I find myself hiding inside. Surviving off my one complete meal of the day. Taking my cold shower. Killing time through television shows pirated from the internet. Waiting, hoping for a sign of Eris.

Thankfully I had a purpose to go outside due to the malfunctioning ATM of the previous night. I needed to withdraw a small amount of cash in order to sustain my minimal existence. Dragging myself down to the bank on an empty stomach was a chore. The afternoon sun reflected off whatever white snow was left and stabbed at my eyes. The cold began to overcome my layers of clothing. The familiar sensation of melting snow filled my shoes. Vapour trailed from everyone's breath, chimney stacks of every kind, sewers, and vents. It was as if everything had been engulfed in a great invisible fire.

The bank was inside a mall, or what was originally intended to be a mall. The mall concept never really took off. The entrance was lined with heaters that endlessly blasted hot-air to keep the cold from overtaking the mall. It was humid, suffocating.

Other than the bank, there were a few stores owned by fresh immigrants who sold gaudy counterfeit goods. Bright golden plastic adorned hand bags in a bad imitation of gold. Dull pink outfits made of a cheap velvet collected dust in window displays. Most of the mall was empty, just countless hollow stalls with no lighting. The mall would seem completely abandoned if it were not the sounds of distant footsteps and the constant ambient mall music.

A cardboard cut-out advised me to invest. A pale green sign hung overhead the entrance. I avoided the tellers and went straight for the machines.

Would you like to make a withdrawal?

Yes.

How much?

100.

Insufficient funds.

"What?"

Check Balance.

Account Balance: 0.00

"What the fuck. You stupid piece of shit," I said as I smacked the side of the machine.

Check Balance.

Account Balance: 0.00

I smacked the machine again.

"Fucking broken ATMs."

People glanced at me, careful not to make eye contact. After trying every ATM in the bank I managed to gather the attention of every bank teller, customer, and security guard.

"God damn machines," I said to myself while walking up to the front desk, security guards trailed behind me.

The voice in my head was cackling now.

"Hi," I said with a half-amused face; the other half was extremely frustrated.

"Hello sir, how may I help you today?"

"Yeah, your machines are broken. Or your system is broken. Something is broken. Because it keeps telling me that I have no money in my account."

"Alright just let me double check your account history for you," he entered a few keys and made a series of concerned faces, as if to convey to me that this well-rehearsed ritual was still new to him.

"I'm sorry, there was a withdrawal made sometime last night, the account is empty," he said.

"There has to be a mistake," my eyes widened, my heart pounded.

"No mistake, the withdrawal was made last night by the co-owner of the account. This was around the time that you also made a deposit, as our records show." He turned the computer screen, the numbers were all there.

"Fuck you," it felt like I was losing control of my arms again.

"Sir?"

"Fuck you and fuck this bank, you're all a bunch of god damn scammers." I slammed the table.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he was afraid, trying to assert an authority he did not have.

"Fuckin'," I said to myself. The security guards drew closer, "get the fuck away from me, I'm leaving." I pushed the guards out of my way and stumbled through the mall.

The crackling cackle of fuzzy mall speakers followed me. The music played for a non-existent audience. An unknowable tune. My hand shook as I dialled Eris from my address book. The phone rang, the dial tones dragged on for what seemed like eternities. The mall speakers continued to chirp. Answering Machine: "Hello this is Eris-"

I hung up and dialled again. Dial tone. The cackle of mall music. Dial tone.

"Hello this is-"

"God damn it," it felt as if I was coming undone. Dial Tone.

"Hello this is Eris, please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Beep.

"Eris? Someone has taken the money, the account is empty. Get back to me as soon as you get this message," I hung up.

The voice in my head laughed. Someone. It repeated that word over and over, drowning out all else. Someone. My steps were automated and heavy, guiding me through the catacomb of a mall. The distant foot-steps of invisible patrons circled me. The glare of restless security cameras. The crackling cackle of those omnipresent speakers. Stale. The shine of gaudy faux golden wares hanging in dusty displays.

The oppressive stale heat of the entrance was replaced by the cold as I pushed myself through the front doors. The cold air mixed with car exhaust, cigarettes, and unidentifiable fumes. I dialled Eris' number again. Dial tone. The rush of traffic and the marching of pedestrians. Dial tone.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," I struggled with my words as the cold choked the warmth from my lungs.

"Hello this is Eris, please-" I hung up and dialled again.

Someone... Someone... Someone...

My heart raced as my mind tried to rationalize the situation.

"This is a dream." Dial tone.

"This is not happening, wake up damn it. " Dial tone.

"You're having a nightmare."

"Hello this is Eris, pl-" Her scent.

The same clean-cut Korean preacher from the other day tried to stop me. His lips moved but I could not hear him speak.

"Maybe it was an accident." Dial tone.

The preacher motioned at me as if he had never seen me before. He continued to wave pamphlets in my face as I walked past him.

"Maybe the bank messed up." Dial tone.

"Maybe Eris made a mistake."

"Hello this is Eri-" Her scent.

I was almost outside of my apartment now.

"Maybe if I close my eyes long enough I'll wake up next to Eris and I can tell her about this nightmare I had." Dial tone.

"Hello thi-" The first time that she told me she loved me.

I stood outside my apartment and reached for my pack of cigarettes, my hands were shaking.

Someone, someone, someone.

The pack was in my hand as reached for my lighter. My lighter- I could not find my lighter.

"Maybe I dropped it, maybe I left it on the table, maybe -" my mind raced. My arm surged.

"What the fuck," I said to myself. Nothing was working.

I punched the parking meter next to me, smashing my hand against the hard steel, the skin ruptured open and blood began to flow freely down my fingertips. Pedestrians broke step to briefly glance at me.

A small trail of blood shadowed my retreat into the apartment. I stood alone in my elevator, bleeding on the control panel as I mashed the button for my floor. The doors shuddered open.  
I did not bother checking my flanks as I entered my apartment, I did not even bother turning on the lights. These details seemed trivial. The city lights dimly lit my apartment in a blueish hue. I found my way to bed and threw myself atop the dirty sheets.

It felt as if my mind had collapsed. All my gears crushed one another into dust. All my circuits were fried. Wires crisscrossing in a mess of molten plastic. Toxic fumes exuded from every pore. Numb. I will be alright. Numb. I will be okay. Numb. This will be alright. Flat line.

Later I woke in the dead of the early morning. Four in the morning, the sun was still far from rising. The pitch black cold clashed with the sleeping city's lights and heaters. All was silent outside save for the odd passing car. My bones felt hollow, I could barely stand. The sheets had scabbed over my shattered hand. I tore my hand from the sheets and wobbled over to the computer as I bled. Nobody was online, nobody was awake. There was no sign of Eris. No message explaining that everything had been one big mix up. Everything I touched became bloodied.

I sat, basking in the blue light of the monitor. I tried to call her again. The same dial tones.

"Hell-" Her laugh.

My mind sparked to a distant memory. Eris lied on top of me, her head pressed into my chest. We had been lying there for hours not saying a word. It was mid-summer, the warm air lulled us into sleepy states. The sun was setting and produced a vibrant orange hue as it shone through the city's pollution. She held me tightly, looked up and said, "I love you, don't ever change." I kissed her on the forehead and she buried her face back into my chest.

My mind sparked back and I found myself shaking, sitting next to the bed where that memory was born. For the first time in the longest time I found myself on the verge of tears. A woman's scream echoed through the empty city streets, it was followed by laughter. I looked down at the bloodied keypad of the phone and threw it across the room.

"There's no room for weakness here," I said to myself.

Sunday. I spent the day inside, sitting by my computer, constantly calling Eris. Aleksi, Berne, and Rean all took turns coming online and asking about my day.

"I'm fine," I told each of them.  
You're far from fine

I faked interest in their conversations, talked to them about the most trivial things.  
The day was spent lying to myself. Pacing back and forth in my apartment, amidst the ruin and rubble of the past three years. Everything would be okay. Everything is fine.

Eris would never come. Every phone-call was met by the same number of dial tones followed by an answering machine. Every email would receive no response.

By nightfall I was starting to lose control, sitting in front of the blue glow of the computer screen. The fatigue was creeping in, and the my grip on my mind was slipping. Soon my thoughts ran rampant, they wandered off and filled me with terror and doubt. As the night dragged on more people began to abandon conversations for bed as my grip slipped further and further.

Someone

"Shut up, shut up."

Aleksi said good bye before logging off to bed.

Do you still think it's someone? Do you still think there's any hope here?

"Stop it."

Do you still think she loves you? Did she ever love you?

"Fuck off."

Berne logged off after saying good night.

Did she ever understand how much you loved her? Did you really do your best here? Can you imagine her with someone else? Someone else making her laugh. Someone else sharing her bed. Someone else being her world as you fade into an obscure and distant memory. Someone someone someone.

I could not take it. It was too much. I was suffocating. There was only a handful of people still left awake, and of that handful there was only one person I could actually talk to.  
Rean was wishing me sweet dreams.

"Wait."

"Yeah?"

"I don't think I'm okay."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Everything."

II.IV

I went to work the next day. It felt like I was witnessing everything behind a thick layer of glass. All the sounds seemed muted, and all the colours seemed drab. Nothing was important. My actions were all automated. Left. Right. Down the elevator. Down the street. If someone strikes a threatening pose reach for the knife. Throw some change. Ride the subway. Get off. Push through Chinatown. Go to work. Yell at Aleksi. Work. Be social. Eat. Go home. Go online, talk to people. Lie in bed. Be normal, be okay, be fine.

I ate meals that revolved around stolen packets of soy sauce on white rice. My beverages were based around stolen sugar and creamers. I still clung on to the hope that Eris would contact me, that this whole thing could be easily explained as some sort of horrific miscommunication. Some horrific event that someday we would look back upon and laugh. I continued with my life of non-existence and began saving money again.

"She'll be back," I kept telling myself.  
Rean spoke to me whenever she could. "How are you holding up? Are you alright? Do you need me there right now? Are you eating properly?" She asked a million of these questions though she would never ask me if I had heard from Eris. When I would ask if she had heard anything from Eris she would always tell me no.

A month would pass. A long month, the kind that struggles and grinds at every second of every waking moment. It became clear to me that Eris was not coming back. I had been betrayed.

The truth was hard to swallow and even harder to keep down. During the day I would remind myself to be normal, be okay, be fine; the day's energy would keep my mental barriers strong while daily distractions would preoccupy my mind. When nightfall came and the number of available distractions decreased and my barriers weakened, I would be left all alone with my thoughts. It became a race to see if I could fall asleep before my thoughts could hijack my mind, take my sanity hostage, and begin making demands for closure. So many nights lost staring into the void, the screaming of unanswered questions.

Despite the near nightly hostage situations I would slowly pick through the rubble. I would reclaim my life, hot baths, regular meals. Over the next two weeks any trace of Eris was purged. All the emails, the gifts, the photographs, the letters and cards, everything that reminded me of her was gradually cleared from my sight. I could afford no weakness here. The apartment was cleaned and cleared, everything was dumped or incinerated; everything except for the photograph of her that hung above my bed. I had unintentionally skipped over the picture as I was clearing the apartment, it had become such a part of my morning ritual that I failed to notice it at first. One morning before work, a week after all vestiges of Eris were purged, I became aware of its existence. It was like coming across a corpse; unexpected, unwanted, horrific and shocking, a mental jolt that cut straight through the back of the neck into the stem of the brain.

Be normal, be okay, be fine.

A bit of dry wall came down with the picture when I peeled it off. I had no clear recollection of when I had put up the photo.

"I'll be okay, I'll be okay once I get her out of my head. I just need to get her out of my head," I told myself.

Her features distorted as I tore the photo in half. Her eyes and her smile were no longer her own. I could not bring myself to destroy the photo any further, nor could I bring myself to part with it.

Be normal, be okay, be fine.

I felt hollow, my bones were suddenly void of marrow. The mental foundations I had hastily constructed were creaking and cracking under the pressure. A bang came echoing in from the city streets. I placed the pieces of the photo into my desk drawer and went to work.

Berne and Aleksi would realize what had happened through Rean, but by that time two months had already passed. The coldest days of winter were over but the city still remained a winter wasteland.

"Everything will be okay, I just need to get her out of my head. I'll just never open that drawer," I was lying to myself again.

You're weak. You're spent. You'll be eaten alive.

My mind was propped up with rotten wood and reinforced with tape and glue. Everyday was like traversing a plane of thin glass; the cracks never recovering, forcing me to move blindly forward, ever paranoid of when the ground will finally give out.

The sweat clung to my clothing and the shards of plastic film clung to my sweat. It was the end of another workday. The shipment was prepared and ready to deceive. Aleksi lit a cigarette and began puffing away. I was too tired and hungry to bother, I just smiled at him. He flipped me off and inhaled deeper before disappearing up the stairs. I stood there for a while, inhaling the poisonous air of burnt plastics and cigarette smoke. The ceiling fan cooled the sweat on my body as the warmth of the computers swirled around me. A sickly mixture of chemicals and odd temperature. I dragged my feet up the old wooden steps and was greeted by the sight of Aleksi and Berne already dressed in their coats. They stared at me as if I had some horrible terminal illness.

"What the fuck are you guys looking at?" I asked the question but I already knew that this was going to be Eris related.

"Nothing, we were just wondering if you wanted to join us for dinner," Berne said. It sounded like he was talking to a dying animal.

"Uh, sure?"

Just as I answered the question the new kid popped his head in from the front room.

"Can I come too? I'm starving," he said.

"No, you're closing up tonight," Berne said.

"But I closed last night."

"Shut the fuck up, new guy. Get to work."

"Hey-"

"Ebanaya suka! Ede rabotat! -" Aleksi kept screaming in Russian until the new kid gave up and went back to the front of the store to close up. There was a moment of silence.

"Let's go?" I said as I motioned towards the door.

They guided me towards the noodle shop down the street. The place made of plastic and neon. I had no say in it, it was clear that this had been planned.

"What you have?" the weathered and clearly disgruntled woman spat out.

"Number four."

"Number six."

"Number nine, with a number two, and give us a round of beers," I said. I looked up to awkward glances, it was clear that Berne and Aleksi were surprised by my new found appetite.

"What?"

"Nothing," Berne said. Aleksi just stared.

We diverted our attentions to the myriad of muted televisions, each playing a different station: New and improved. Redemption. 1-800-. The odd gun shot. The splash of water across an actor's face. Coming Soon. Corruption. Now playing. Please help. Four men shot today at-. Please donate. Bombings in-. Riveting.

I looked away just in time for the food to arrive. Unhealthily large portions of meat and noodles swimming in sink-sized pools of salted and fatty water. I grabbed a spring roll with my left hand and shoved it into my mouth. Mushrooms, ground meat, and a fried outer layer all reduced to the same dull paste. Grease covered my left hand and lips. I could not remember the last time I had this much food in front of me.

"So, how have you been?" Berne said.

I shoveled into my bowl of noodles with a pair of chopsticks and pretended not to hear him. My teeth gnashed against the flesh of what was once living.

"We heard about Eris," he continued.

I took another mouthful of food, I wanted to destroy something.

"Jon!" Aleksi snapped his fingers in front of me.

"What? What do you want?"

"We just want to know if you're alright, we're worried," Berne said.

"Well don't be. I've had worse-"

Have you?

"\- I'll be fine, just eat."

"But what about all the money you lost?" Aleksi said.

"What about it? There's always more money to be made," I said as I motioned my chopsticks towards Berne and smiled, "plus if she wants it then she can keep it. I'm done with her. Fucking bitch."

The last words clung to my throat as I said them. I took a swig of the beer, cold and bitter, and wiped my mouth with my sleeve.

"Yeah! Fuck her!" Aleksi said.

My arm twitched, a part of me wanted to hit him for saying that and I wasn't sure why.

"Well, so long as you're alright," Berne said.

"Just shut up and eat," I faked a laugh.

Aleksi and Berne were only half way through their meal when I was nearly finished mine. The noodles lost all taste, the meat was little better than eating dirt, and the soup-base began to taste like motor oil. Still I carried on until only tiny shards of noodles and meat remained in the soup. The neon lights and television screens reflected in the layer of oil that floated above the soup itself. It reminded me of the cheap multicoloured toys that were sold along Chinatown.

I started clawing at the white garbage-bag plastic that covered our table, taking strange satisfaction in every rip and tear. How it would initially refuse and then give way. I downed the rest of my beer and threw my share of the bill onto the table.

"Alright," I said, "I've got to get going."

"Don't worry about it, we've got this one," Berne said.

"Bullshit, you're paying my salary. I'm not going to have you pay for my dinner as well."

Berne tried to insist but I merely walked away with my money on the table.

I had enough of their pity. I was not weak.

"I'll see you bastards later."

I did not need help, I had suffered through hell and I wasn't going to let this inconvenience be the end of me. Not here, not now, not like this. The blood rushed to my bloated stomach and made my steps feel laboured. The alcohol warmed my skin against the dark winter night.

That was the last time Aleksi and Berne would try to console me directly. Though they would still approach me as if I were made of porcelain.

The hollow restless nights wore on.

I still needed answers, I demanded answers. I picked up the phone and called the lobby to Eris' dorm.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"Hi, I'm a relative of Eris Mauzer's and I'd like to speak to her."

"What room number is she in?"

"six, one, one."

"I'm sorry sir, our building doesn't have a sixth floor. Are you sure you have the right number?"

I didn't know what to say.

"Sir? Is this a family emergency? Sir?"

I hung up the phone and pulled Eris' crumpled photo from the desk drawer.

"Having fun in 611, wish you were here. -Love Eris" it read on the back. I threw the photo back into the drawer and wondered how many lies I had been fed over the years.

'Fucking bitch,' I remembered myself saying.

You're weak. You're spent. You'll be eaten alive. The voices would laugh throughout the night.

Eventually I'd turn to drink to silence my mind and distort the voices. A swig of rum, a shot of vodka, a taste of wine, anything to numb and dull. The drink would keep me warm. I woke up every morning dehydrated, disoriented, ill, and so very drained of life.

II.V

The telephone rang.

"Hello?"

"Wake up, you're late for lunch." It was Rean.

I pressed my chin against my collar bone as I tried to decipher the time on the clock.

"What time is it?" I gave up after a minute of failed attempts.

"Three o'clock," she cut in almost immediately after my question.

"Fuck." The light stung my eyes. There was no express effort made to get out of bed.

"Yeah, we were suppose to meet at two, asshole."

I stared up at the white wall and the odd exposed spot. The head ache was setting in, the toll of drinking yourself to sleep.

"Shit. Sorry."

"You are not. Don't lie, asshole."

Unable to think of any witty or meaningful response, I merely told truth.

"Okay, I admit that I'm too tired to feel sorry." The toll of drinking yourself to sleep for too many nights in a row.

"So are you going to come downstairs and grab lunch or what?"

"Buuuuuh." I looked outside, the city still buried in a shallow grave of snow. The cold seeped in from the windows and cooled my skin before being snuffed out by the warmth of the radiator. They were all reminders of why I did not want to step outside.

"English. Use your words."

"Buuuh..."

"You're not going to come downstairs are you?"

Silence.

"You want me to bring food to you, don't you?"

"... Yeah."

"Asshole."

"I know."

She sighed, "what do you want?"

"Just give me a number five."

"Alright, see you in about fifteen minutes."

"Thanks.

"Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate you."

"I know."

I hung up and let the phone drop wherever it pleased. My eyes burned and my eye lids felt heavy.

Cracked tiles, their ceramic shards stabbed into my naked feet. My breath was visible in the cold. I had a smile half cocked as I hover over a metal table. A textured sheet of broken plastic was glued atop the table. The small black and white specs. A single light swung from overhead and illuminated the table. It kept everything from being lost in the all consuming darkness of the unending room. I smashed the table and felt the force of my blow dissipate before even making contact with the table. Looking up I saw the outline of a figure sitting across from me. I clinched my teeth and my teeth began to shatter. Bone was all I tasted as blood flowed freely from my opened mouth. I found myself laughing hysterically. The figure sat forward. A distorted familiar face.

"You're weak," she said.

There was a knock at my door. A sharp intake of air. I glanced over to the desk drawer. Another knock.

"Open up Jo!"

It burned to open my eyes completely. I opened the door squinting, dressed in boxers and a ragged t-shirt. My hair was a mess, greasy strands standing as they pleased. Rean laughed, almost dropping the Styrofoam containers that were stacked to her chin. I could not help but notice the tiny foot-prints on my door.

"What? I had no hands. Since someone was too lazy to come downstairs."

I nodded and moved aside to let her in. The door locked with a snap.

"Where should I put these?" she said, slightly lifting the containers.

"Uh..." The old wreckage had been replaced by the new. Empty bottles of vodka, loose change, food crumbs, fliers, and bills covered every surface.

"Sorry," I said, and cleared the kitchen table. The papers crunched and cracked, and the glass bottles clinked and clanked as they were thrown and jammed into the kitchen waste basket.

Rean placed the containers on the table, methodically placing and opening each one. Roasted meat seasoned with spice, potatoes, cheeses, fresh vegetables. It was almost too much life for me to handle.

"So how have you been holding up?" she said while glancing at the collection of empty vodka bottles that had accumulated in the corner of the room.  
She had caught me with this question while I was ripping flesh from a stick.

"I've been alright." I suddenly became aware of the stench of alcohol that clung to my skin.

"Alright... Just don't make me worry."

"Then stop worrying."

"Jack ass."

The conversation died and the apartment was filled only with sounds of ripping flesh, the piercing and crushing of vegetables, and the low rumblings of the city. Staring down at my plate, I could feel the weight of the bags under my eyes. Every motion was without purpose, just chew, swallow, and reach for more food. It felt like I could eat forever, just lost in the perpetual mindlessness. I wanted to consume everything, destroy it all.

Rean coughed, I looked up to realize she had been staring again.

"Water?"

She shook her head and tore meat off the stick, the muscle fibres pulled apart like pieces of string. Even as she chewed she never stopped staring.  
I looked back down at my food.

"So how is work?" I said.

"Meh," she said. The conversation refused to resuscitate. I was starting to feel myself slowing down, steadily I lost my will to eat.

"How about you?"

"It goes, new kid is still a little stupid bastard."

"I see."

I got up and sat on the couch that was next to the kitchen table. Full but not satisfied, there was still something amiss, something I wanted but could not put into words. I sighed, leaned back, closed my eyes, and listened to the old wood creak under my weight. Rean's gaze could be felt on the side of my face, it made me uneasy to be watched so closely. Every movement, twitch and spasm, and blemish was on display.

I reached for a half empty bottle of vodka next to the seat. The cap came off with a twist of the thumb and twirled to the ground. A sweetness coupled with a burning, my breath felt heated as I exhaled. I rattled my beaten pack of cigarettes and pulled out a half I had been saving.

"I wish you wouldn't smoke." The smoke filled my lungs.

"Yeah I wish for a lot of things too." I flicked ashes into a nearby empty can of beer. The smoke danced and swirled around the room until finding their place in the walls and fabrics of the house. The smoke and drink failed to satisfy my unnamed craving.

"I'm going to use your washroom."

"Feel free," I said as the cigarette died between my fingers.

Her cellphone began to ring and I opened my eyes.

"Rea-" The door to the washroom was already closed. The cellphone continued to ring for a few brief moments before falling silent. My attention became fixed to the phone.

'I wonder'

I flipped open the phone and went through the recent call history:

Inbound call: Eris

Outbound call: Eris

Outbound call: Eris

Traitor! Deceiver! Liar!

I heard the twist of the bathroom doorknob and quickly put her phone back and closed my eyes. The evidence was there but I refused to believe it. The couch stretched, I felt myself less embedded in the ratty cushioning. I opened one eye to see Rean sitting next to me.

"Hi there," I said, a twitch rang through my right arm.

She slowly tipped over, resting her head on my shoulder.

Traitor! The voices rang throughout my mind.

"Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate you," she said jokingly.

Yeah, I know," I faked a smile.

II.VI

"Oy, you drink like a bitch!" Aleksi screamed, blowing smoke into my face. The sun had set hours ago, though the sun was always scarce that time of year. The city's neons and orange lamps blazed into the darkness.

Some sporting event was playing on the television, luring the devout few like moths to a light. The colours of their teams and advertisements filled the room and broke the dim muteness.

Our table was old. The varnish had long worn away. Fragments of wood were missing from the surface, as if someone had made a desperate effort to physically rip apart the table. Names, messages, and phone numbers were etched or painted on the wood.

"Jim loves Sarah," read one message written in marker.

"And nobody gives a shit," I muttered to myself.

We were on our second pitcher and I was starting to feel sick. My skin was red and warm, though I constantly shivered. The smell of fried food clogged every bit of air. It became hard to breathe, alcohol hanging on my breath. I never really liked beer, though I was never prepared to let Aleksi beat me.

I lifted the glass mug and titled it back into gullet. Aleksi followed suit, beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Aleksi finished his mug and brought it down upon the table with a smack. I choked down what was left in my mug and slammed it on the table. I part of me wanted to break that mug and that table. It was a stupid game but I hated losing almost as much as I hated beer.

"Haha! That's two for me, you're buying the next pitcher!" Aleksi said.

Bloated and cold, I raised my hand to flag down the waiter. Berne sat in silence at the other end of the table, picking at a plate of fried chicken wings and sipping on a glass of water. He watched our stupidity unfold and smiled. I could not remember a single time that Berne touched a drink.

The waiter walked passed our table with a notched baseball bat in his hand. He was a big man, someone you would easily mistaken for a shaved gorilla and not someone you would normally label as a waiter.

"Hey, I told you punks to stop smoking," he yelled at the table behind Aleksi.

"We did," one of them said, fear hanging in the back of his throat. The other two men sat and stared, too dumbstruck to respond.

"Yeah? Then why the fuck are there ashes on the floor?" The waiter pointed to the floor with his baseball bat.

"Yeah, idiots!" Aleksi said as he took another puff of his cigarette and ashed on the floor. Berne's face turned red as I bit my lower lip. We could not help but smile.

"Look, I don't know how that got there but it wasn't us. We stopped when you told us to, it was just a misunderstanding," one of them said as he raised his hands up in surrender. The waiter smashed the bat onto the table.

"I'll show you a misunderstanding," he yelled.

"Yeah! Fucking idiots!" Aleksi took another puff.

I buried my face into the table. Berne soured his face. Our bodies twitched as we tried to hold int he laughter.

"Whoa, wait-" the third one said.

"Get the fuck out," the waiter yelled, grabbing one of the men by the collar and yanking him from his seat.

"Move, get the fuck out," the waiter continued to yell as he herded them out the door with his bat.

"Goodbye, idiots!" Aleksi yelled after the men, as he finished his cigarette and tossed the butt towards the table behind him.

We burst out into laughter. Bearne and I leaned to one side as we struggled to see and breathe.

"Shut the fuck up," one of the sport fans yelled from a bar stool. The laughter abruptly died. I always hated sudden hostility. I hated it even more when drunk.

"Fuck off," I responded as I raised my hand to order another pitcher. A bottle crashed into the middle of our table and sprayed us with glass shard shrapnel and leftover beer.

"What the fuck," I said as I rose, my chair tipped over as glass shards fell from my coat and hit the ground with the tiniest of clinks.

"Who the fuck threw that," I said, drawing closer to the group of men sitting by the television. They diverted their attention from the screen, five men all wearing identical team jerseys. Berne was still sitting in his seat, carefully watching. Aleksi had risen and was now standing behind me.

"Sit down, and shut up," said the one on the far right, in a tone that someone would use to address an uppity child. He spun back on his stool and returned his attention to the television. The insult. The nerve. A familiar rawness overtook my right arm. I turned around and picked up a bottle from an empty table next to me. The other four men were starting to turn their attentions back to the television, assuming that I had listened to the command of their friend. Turning back to their direction I threw the bottle at the head of the man who had tried to order me.

The bottle struck with a hollow thud and hit the ground intact.  
"What the fuck," he said as he held the side of his head. His friends got up from their stools and drew closer to me. The man, still clutching the side of his head, picked up the bottle I had struck him with and shattered the end of it.

"You punk ass pi-"

"Sit down, and shut the fuck up," I said. It was at this point that the waiter had returned from kicking out the smokers that were behind us.

"What the hell are you boys doing," he yelled, notched baseball bat in hand. It was apparent that he was more than ready to add a few more notches that night.

Aleksi stood in front of the waiter. "No no no! Calm down man!"

"We're going to fucking kill you!" screamed the man brandishing the broken beer bottle, clearly not paying any heed to the waiter.

"Make my fucking day, you fucking pieces of shit," I yelled as I reached for my knife.

You're weak. A familiar voice echoed through my mind. Blood and breath hot with anger.

My knife was halfway unsheathed when Berne came up from behind and put his hand on my arm.

"Not here," he said. Gritting my teeth, I unwillingly released my grip and the knife slid back into my coat.

The waiter pushed Aleksi aside and swung the bat in the direction of the five men. After a brief staring match between the waiter and the men the shattered beer bottle was dropped, and the men backed down.

"That's right, break it the fuck up," The waiter said. He grabbed me by the collar and was pulling me in the direction of the door. When it became clear that I was not resisting him he released me from his hold and started nudging me along.

"I want you guys out," he said, addressing Aleksi, Berne, and myself.

"They started it, who the hell throws a beer bottle at someone?" I said.

"I don't care, get out."

"Suka blyad! No way! That's just low! Come on, how is this fair!" Aleksi continued shouting as the waiter herded us towards the exit.

When we were in front of the exit Berne finally decided to speak.

"You know this is going to be bad for business," he said.

"What? Fuck you," the waiter said as he picked Berne up by the collar. I had my fingers on the handle of my knife again, ready, waiting to see how this would play out. Berne whispered into the waiter's ear. We watched as his expression changed from anger to confusion to fear.

"I'm so sorry sir, please-"

"It's alright," Berne said.

We were welcomed back up and sat at a new and unblemished table as the five men were thrown out of the bar.

"What the fuck!"

"Shut up, you're lucky to be alive," the waiter said as he shoved the last man out of the door.

"What did you tell him?" I asked.

"The truth," Berne smiled, "now who wants another pitcher? I'm buying."

The rest of the night faded into drunken laughter.

II.VII

The plastic stretching screech of packaging tape. The shipment was going out the next morning, and our investors were coming in that day to take a peak before it went. Berne paced back and forth, checking and double checking every detail for signs of imperfection.

"Aleksi," Berne yelled into the next room. Aleksi shuffled in from the front a few moments later, a trail of smoke followed him as he walked. A cigarette was in his mouth and a tape gun in his hand.

"Yeah?"

Berne's hand met the side of Aleksi's head with a thwack.

"Don't smoke here."

Aleksi let the cigarette drop from his lips and crushed it beneath his foot. A black ashy spot of paper and tobacco leaves marked the floor. I found myself laughing as Aleksi called the new guy over to sweep the newly ashed floor.

"Sweep faster! Don't leave a speck or I swear I will punch you so hard your mother will not recognize you!" Aleksi screamed at the new guy, following him into the other room as he disposed of the rubbish.

Berne watched over me as I packed the final box. All the careful forgeries were finally in place to be moved. I was about to pull the tape gun across the top seam of the box when Berne stopped me.

"Leave this one open," he said.

"Alright."

There was a bang on the door.

"Go get it," Berne ordered.

My joints ached and cracked as I stood and put down the tape gun. I opened the door to a short old Chinese man dressed in a puffy multicoloured winter jacket. Balding and wrinkled, he shook as he crept inside. I moved aside as Berne shook his hand.

"Mister Fung," Berne said.

"Ah, how are you. Everything very good?"

Mister Fung was accompanied by two younger men who dressed only in black and white, puffy large jackets, baggy pants. Their hair worn in near identical crew cuts. Each had a glazed look in their eyes; the kind of look you could only acquire after seeing a lifetime's worth of too much. They never said a word but seemed to know their jobs perfectly. One stood outside by the door, refusing to come inside as I gently closed it behind him. The other trailed behind Fung as he was shown around the shop.

Aleksi came back from the front and stood next to me, we watched Fung and his lackey be toured around our workplace. At the end of the tour Berne showed him our product and the product we sought to imitate.

"Very good," Fung said as he put on his reading glasses and held the two products side by side.

"And these are the two responsible for helping us make these products," Berne said as he motioned towards Aleksi and myself.

Fung leaned in close, as if to inspect us as he did the products. I could feel his breath on my neck.

"Haha," Fung burst out laughing next to my ear. He took my hand and shook it.

"Thank you," I barely managed to say before he was already shaking Aleksi's hand.

"Very good," Fung said as he turned to Berne, "everything very good."

"I'm glad everything is up to your standards," Berne said as he extended his hand for a handshake.

"Yes yes, very good." Fung extended his hand past Berne's and playfully slapped him on the cheek.

"Do not grow careless boy," Fung said before bursting into laughter. I tensed up. Berne was left momentarily shocked, his hand still hanging in the air.

Hit him. Such disrespect. Hit him, said a familiar voice.

I bit down on the inside of my lips as I tried my best not to telegraph my emotions. The blood retreated from my fingers as I clinched my fist. Fung's bodyguard shifted his attention towards me, it was obvious that he picked up on my anger. He stared me down for a moment before he and Berne followed Fung to the door. Berne had managed to shake himself from his shocked state and was sharing the laugh with Fung.

"Good advice sir," Berne said with counterfeit happiness.

The door opened, the cold blew in. Fung looked up at Berne and patted him on the shoulder.

"We will see you tomorrow," Fung said before disappearing into the dark cold with his two men.

The door slammed shut, the warmth began to reclaim lost ground.

"How I hate that man," Berne said with half a smile. Aleksi and I laughed.

"Alright, back to work," Berne said with a clap.

"Let me grab the new kid," I said. My inner lip was bloody but I had calmed down. In the place of my anger was a craving for cigarette and an itch for a strong drink.

"Oy new kid," I yelled into the other room.

He jumped when I stepped into the room.

"What are you doing?" It was clear that he had something in his hand.

"Nothing," he said with a shaky tone and closed the object in his hand with a click. A cellphone. I gave him an odd eye, it was clear he was caught doing something. He looked stressed, and more frightened than I had ever seen him. An odd silence.

"Well stop having phone sex and go finish moving the boxes for tomorrow."

"Yes, okay," he nodded as he ran into the next room.

Strange. My nicotine craving kicked up, and I decided to drop the odd situation in return for a smoke break. I went through the front door, and stood outside in the cold under the orange and neon, the street cameras, pedestrians, and thugs. I filled my lungs with smoke, and thought of Fung and how untouchable he was.

The truth about our business was that you do not stay in business without the investment of professional criminals. Drug lords, arms dealers, assassins, the type of people you hear inklings about on the news but would be unable to point out in a crowd.

II.VIII

Empty drunken nights. Long meaningless conversations.

I probably have to work again. What day was it?

The telephone rang. Blinding light reflected from the snow.

"Hello?" I said.

Every motion felt taxing.

I just want to destroy something.

"Hey, you haven't talked to me for the past couple of days."

"I'm sorry, it just feels like I've been living in fragments."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. We'll go have coffee soon. How does Friday sound?"

"Sounds like a plan. Just don't bail on me again."

"Deal."

Everything had a price I wasn't willing to pay. Had I been betrayed?

Eris? Is that you?

"Alright, listen I'm calling on my break. I've got to get back to work."

"Okay, I'll see you."

"Bye."

I just want to destroy everything.

Click. Silence.

III

Lights raced across the window. The train sped down the dark subway tunnels. Every stop would let in cold air. The floor was damp and blackened by snow covered boots. Old newspapers, transfer slips, and paper cups melted away as they laid on the floor.

Aleksi sat smiling across from me.

"This is going to be awesome!"

I could barely hear him over the roar of the train. Bits of pulped paper began to stick to my salt encrusted boot.

"Next stop is us!" Aleksi said giving me the thumbs up.

The station exit led us into a plaza. White lights dimly lit the way, reflecting off the snow and the ice of the artificial pool. Skyscrapers surrounded the plaza and shielded it from the rest of the city. The ceaseless hum of their heating units muffled the sounds of the outside world. Skeleton trees crisscrossed the plaza in intricate patterns, their bark pierced by chain locks and the posting of bills. Shards of ice and salt cracked under our feet.

"So where is it that we're going again?"

"Stacy's, I've told you about a million times!"

"Who the fuck is Stacy?"

"She was in our English class in high school, how could you not remember!?"

I gave Aleksi a blank stare.

"Fuck you!" Aleksi said as he quickened his pace. The vodka bottles clinked against each other in his backpack.

"You better not break those." Sober nights had become long nights not worth enduring.

We left the synthetic valley and immediately found ourselves on the street. The orange and neon reminded us that we were still in the city.

This was where I grew up, where I had met Berne, Aleksi, Rean, and Eris. Like all places in the city it had since changed beyond recognition. The parks and their monuments were bulldozed to make way for more skyscrapers. Old highrises were retrofitted, their new additions protruded like mould on a corpse. Though these changes reminded the community of more prosperous days. The cancer of the ghetto had since crept in. We walked passed strips of dead street, broken lights, stores out of business. We passed the remnants of the bookstore re-purposed as a dive bar; the ice cream parlour that was replaced by a sex-shop. Little by little this place would be eventually consumed.

The crack of ice and salt beneath our boots began to be complemented by the crunch of broken glass. We ventured off the main street and into the suburban blocks. It was darker there without the neon and storefronts, though the orange lights were still present to dimly illuminate the way.

"We're here," Aleksi said as we turned up the drive way to an old house. The white paint peeled off of every cracked wooden surface. Three men sat smoking in the shadows of the porch, their faces barely visible in the light from the house.

"Hey, how's it going?"

They nodded back and continued their quiet conversation while staring into the street.

"Hello?!" Aleksi opened the door. The floor vibrated, muffled voices could be heard.

"They're downstairs," one of the men on the porch yelled in at us as the door swung shut.

The sweat choked air clung to the skin. Bass rocked and shook everything and everyone. I sat in a white room with white tiles, separate from the main party, sheltered from the roar of the speakers and the sway of dancers. The red pleather sofa creaked as I constantly readjusted myself and made small-talk with others seeking shelter from the noise.

Hey. Hi. How's it going. What do you do? Oh interesting. How so? Have you ever? The standard issue bullshit people say to kill the time. The kind of standard issue bullshit that starts becoming interesting after half a bottle of vodka.

Every exhaling breath was alcohol exhaust. My heart pounded, my veins danced.

"What is it that you said you did again?" the girl next to me said, a hood covered most of her face.

"Counterfeit entertainment."

"What is that?"

I laughed and took another swig of vodka. She turned, confused, and began a conversation with someone else.

A slouched neanderthal of a man stopped at the doorway, a beer in his hand. His skin looked it was sun burnt red despite the winter climate. I put down my bottle of vodka.

'Fuck,' I thought to myself.

His walk was a forced swagger, which caused his oversized clothes to swing and sway as he waddled towards me.

"Hey Jon," he said touching the brim of his red cap.

"How's it going Benny."

"Not bad," he began talking as if I had asked him to tell me about his life. He rambled on about how he had become a respected tough guy; how successful he had become from selling drugs; all the women he had been with as a result of his new found abilities as a player.

Hit him.

I didn't believe a word of it. News through the grapevine was that Benny was stuck slinging overpriced drugs to dumb high school kids, and that him and his buddies would partake in the occasional mugging in order to make ends meet. I would trust the hearsay and rumours of others over the word of this wannabe gangster. For Benny it was always about the image, the thrill of being a somebody. He was nothing more than an imposter, a thug.

His breath reeked of cheap beer.

"So how are you?"

"Fine," I avoided looking in his general direction in the vain hope that he would get the message and simply leave me alone.

Hit him. Said another of my mind's voices.

"You still dating that girl?"

"No."

"Oh yeah? How come?"

Hit him. A third voice chimed in.

I remained silent.

"That's too bad. I still remember her from high school-" he continued his monologue. He began to describe all the things other men were probably doing to her right now, laughing and spilling his beer as he did, patting my shoulder with his clammy hands. I faked a smile and stared off.

Hit him.

He changed the train of thought to what he would do to her if ever had the chance. All the debased and deviant acts. He laughed as if all in good humour, as if my separation made this conversation fair-game. I was starting to be unsure if I was being shook by the bass or by anger.  
My mind was drowned in a chorus of voices. Hit him. They screamed.  
I looked him in the eye as my smile began to crack.

"Hey Benny."

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you," I said as I punched him across the jaw. Nothing beautiful, just raw savagery. Benny fell backwards towards the door, surprise and pain on his face. He looked up at me, expression changing into anger, his body poised to stand.

The voices cackled. Hit him, hit him. They insisted. Anger and adrenaline surging through my right arm.

"You're de-" I kicked him in the face before he managed to finish his threat. His body went limp and I climbed on top of his chest. I managed to throw one punch onto his already bloodied face before I was knocked over from behind and rolled out of the room. I shielded my face from a kick that came soon after and quickly slid up the wall. The force stung my forearms. Two men followed me out of the room I had rolled out of, standing not further than seven feet away. Vigilante or friend of Benny's, it did not matter.

The music stopped and the thump of the bass was replaced by the beat of my heart. Everybody stopped dancing and stared. Blood began to trickle down my forearms and fingertips.

"This fucker," one of the two men said while pointing at me, "just fucked up Benny."

I started backing up towards the staircase. Men from the crowd began to side behind the two, as spectators began to back away from the situation. I was beyond angry but not stupid enough to think that I was in an advantageous position. Aleksi pushed through the crowd and stood by my side as he kept a watch on the mob that was gathering before us.

"The fuck did you do?" Aleksi whispered into my ear.

It was the calm before the storm.

We reached the wooden steps when one of the men rushed forward and struck me on the side of the mouth. He had overextended himself, I struck him on the temple with the tip of my elbow and watched him stumble backwards into the crowd.

Another man had rushed Aleksi in this time and was attempting to throw him to the ground. Aleksi was punching the man while he gripped Aleksi's shirt. I kicked Aleksi's attacker on the side as Aleksi landed a punch that split open the side of his face. The attacker backed off and disappeared into the mob that was now surging at us.

The taste of blood and broken teeth pervaded my mouth. The voices filled my head with laughter. I pulled my knife and the wave of people stopped in their tracks.

"C'mon you fuckers! Who wants to be a hero?" I yelled at the crowd with reddened teeth, blood flowing down from my mouth and arms, completely consumed by rage.  
Aleksi slowly walked up a few flights and tugged at my collar. "The hell are you doing?" he said into my ear, "let's just get the fuck out of here."

I stared down the crowd, watched their inaction. My rage slowed. I spat blood and pieces of teeth onto the ground in front of the crowd. The voices quieted.

"Jon!"

Seeing the logic in Aleksi I gave in to his pleading, and slowly backed up the stairs. When we neared the door we broke our steady ascent and ran for the street, slamming doors behind us as the mob rushed to catch us. A great cacophony of hurried foot steps.

We jumped a fence and disappeared into the dark. After an hour of walking and running through snow-choked backyards and wooded paths we were confident that we had lost them. We stopped for a breather on a park bench, the city glowing just beyond the trees in front of us. My wounds had closed but my mouth still bled. I spat bright red into the snow. Aleksi's knuckles had been bleeding, frozen streams of blood kissed the edge of his fingertips.

"What the fuck was that," Aleksi said, with a seriousness I had never seen.

"What?"

"Don't what me, you almost got us killed."

"He called you a bitch so I hit him. I wasn't going to let him talk shit about you."  
Aleksi glared at me. I was never a very good liar, but I wasn't going to change my story.

"Fuck you, I didn't ask you to jump in. Besides it's all under control," I said.

"Fuck me? Fuck you. How is this under control? We just pissed off an entire party of people. If Benny and the two guys we messed up don't call their boys on us, then someone at that party will."

"You're an idiot. We've got Berne. He'll make a few calls and this will all blow over."

Aleksi threw his arms up in the air, and tried to form a response through his clinched face. He stopped, threw his arms back down and turned away from me.

"Fuck you Jon. You reckless shit. Why did you have to drag me into this? You've been nothing but a burden. You're not a friend, you're just a horrible person." He began to walk off.

"Fine. Fuck you. Leave. I don't need weak people like you. Faithless trash," I shouted at him as he walked away.

Following the lights I found my way back to the subway station. The half-awake subway attendant paid no attention to me as I passed by the ticket booth covered in blood. I sat in a corner of the train and looked at my wounds under the light of the ads. The other passengers kept their distance and made an effort not to look in my direction.

'Berne will fix this. Aleksi will see,' I thought to myself, 'the stupid coward will see that I'm right, this will all be over within a week. Who the fuck is Benny anyways? Fuck him.'

A faint familiar scent whirled in the stale air of the train. Once again I gambled with my faith, entrusting myself to the actions of another.

You're not a friend, you're just a horrible person.

"Who the fuck is Stacy?" I asked aloud to myself and burst into laughter.

Tonight it was my turn to be the lunatic on the train.

III.II

The peddlers were out in force.

"My buddy," a Chinese man screamed into my ear while waving a fake designer purse in my face.

"You buy, four for ten dollar. Good deal," a Vietnamese woman shouted into my other ear.

Every step I took there would be a new ragged peddler shouting something at me. My scabs cracked in the dry cold as I pushed through the crowd's current. I refused to step in tune and go at a steady pace, today I had a purpose.

Today would be the beginning of the end for Benny. I smiled at the thought of him and his buddies being subdued into nothingness. The arrogant pretender. I wondered how confused he must have been after regaining consciousness, how much creditability he must have lost, and laughed. The cold morning air filled my lungs and mixed with the rotten stench of Chinatown. The crowd did not thin in its usual spots.

'Must be a festival,' I thought to myself, though I heard no cheering or music. Suddenly the current changed and it seemed everyone around me was heading in my direction. Something was off.

Don't go.

I turned the corner and saw the cause of the commotion. It was definitely not a festival. Red and blue lights flashed in the alley way. Yellow police tape blocked public access to the alley. I pushed and shoved my way through the gawking mass. The steel door had been completely ripped off its hinges and laid in a twisted heap. Armed and armoured men stood around the site talking into microphones. While others began photographing and loading our shipment into vans.  
Berne sat in the back of a paddywagon with his hands cuffed and a fresh bruise on his forehead. He seemed deflated and indifferent. He didn't even bother to look up at the destruction of his world. It was the first time I had ever seen Berne accept defeat so completely.

They had Aleksi cuffed and pinned against the wall before they began dragging him towards the paddywagon.

"Fuck you!" he screamed as they dragged him. He jerked out of the grip of the officer leading him and began to make a run towards the crowd. A nearby officer tackled Aleksi to the ground, he fell towards me, and others swiftly came to restrain him.

The fall had cut Aleksi's face. He looked up at the crowd as officers yelled at him to cooperate under threat of force. He scanned the crowd until our eyes met and smiled at me.

"Please step back from the line," an officer said with his hand outstretched.

My legs turned to heavy stone. I tried my best to conceal my horror, to hide any affiliation with the shop. The voices in my head began laughing.

A cold gust blew down the alley. It made my bones feel hollow, my muscles nonexistent.

'What now? What now?' I kept thinking to myself.

"Sir, please stand back from the line," the officer drew closer, one hand was now on his holster.

Walk. Just walk. A voice in my mind said amongst the laughter of the others.

I gathered all the strength I could muster. Turning my back to walk away, I heard Aleksi starting to laugh. My feet dragged.

"Who is weak now?" he yelled in my direction.

Walk. Walk.

"Tell me, who is weak?" he continued to yell.

"He's lost his mind," one of the officers said.

After passing a few people in the crowd I looked over my shoulder to see Aleksi being thrown in the back with Berne.

"Who is weak now?"

The paddywagon doors closed with a slam and Aleksi could no longer be heard.

Walk, there is nothing for you here.

I kept walking with my hand on the handle of my knife. I was weak, easy prey.

Who is weak now? The voices cackled.

I walked past the peddlers, past mounds of garbage, the flayed animals, window displays, and neon lights until I found myself no longer on the rot slicked roads of Chinatown.

"Three seventy five," A fat disgruntled man growled at me through a glass booth.

I threw some change into the slot. Transfer-slip littered floors. Monotone colour schemes. Advert plagued platforms. The screech of a stopping train. I sat glass eyed on the subway. Children clinging to their mothers. The irate ramblings of a crazed passenger. The jolt of the train coming to a stop. Immigrants try to sell me something, religion or candy? The snow. The cold. Reinforced windows. An ashed out elevator. Scuffed walls. Loud abusive neighbours. I looked to my right and my left and opened my door.

I closed my door and collapsed against it. The door shuddering upon impact. I sat on the floor of my doorway with my forehead pressed against my knees.

"What now?" I asked myself aloud.

"What do I do now? Fuck. What's left?" The makeshift foundations buckled. I felt everything collapse again. I felt myself falling through the ground.

"How?" I asked with a lump in my throat, "why?"

Even if these questions were to be answered it would make no difference. It was over. It was all over. I stood up, barely able to support my own weight, threw on the light switch and walked the eight feet to my sofa.  
Dim lights danced off the empty vodka bottles.

The voices came to haunt me again.

The city will eat you alive.

You are weak.

Did she ever love you?

You are alone.

I lied there staring at the ceiling, letting my mind wander and terrorize me. The cellphone beeped and vibrated in my jacket pocket.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," it was Rean.

Traitor.

"Hey."

"It's Friday, you promised me that we'd hang out."

You still want to see this liar? This deceiver?

"Oh."

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah," I tried to ignore the voices.

"Well-"

"It's Berne and Aleksi," the words stuck to my throat, "it's all over Rean. It's just -" I couldn't find the words.

"I'll be right on over," she said and hung up the phone.

Thoughts swirled in the silence. My foundations creaking, cracking, snapping, smashing, crumbling to dust. Buried thoughts began to bubble and surface.

The sun was setting behind those distant smoke stacks.

Do you remember?

The traffic of busy streets sounded like waves crashing to shore. Broken ceramic tiles. The all consuming darkness of an unending room.

The city will eat you alive.

A familiar face.

There was a knock at the door. Rean? Police? A group of angry and armed thugs?

"Who is it?"

"It's me," it was Rean.

"Come in. It's unlocked," I said as I pulled myself upright, my limbs dragging against the ragged fabric of the couch. She came rushing in, closing door and throwing off her shoes.

"Are you okay?" she said as she slid in next to me and wrapped her arms around my neck.

"Yeah," my voice was weak.

I closed my eyes and she held me tighter. We sat there in silence. Memories of Eris began to bleed through. Her scent, her smile, her laugh. The fleeting orange glow of a sun set. I opened my eyes to find myself resting on the lap of Rean, her fingers running through my hair.  
"Are you going to be alright? What happened?" she said as she looked down at me.

I looked up at her and began to talk. I told her about my work, the shipments, the long hours in a small room, about people like Fung, Benny, and about the bust. None of it mattered any more. It was done. I was done.

"It's all going to be okay," she said.

I sat back up.

"I hope so."

The voices began laughing again.

"Let's leave town. Let's run away," she said as she leaned in close, our lips almost meeting.

She's trying to use you. She wants you to give yourself up to her. She wants you to run like a coward. The voices screamed.

I jerked back and pushed her away from me. Suddenly her lack of transparency about the phone-calls became clear.

"What the fuck."

"I was only trying to help."

She thinks you're weak.  
"How? By running away? Are you going to kill Benny for me? Are you going to make the police disappear? Are you going to break Aleksi and Berne out of jail? Or how about we go back in time and you do what you promised me and keep an eye on Eris for me."

Traitor, betrayer, liar. She's the cause of all of this.

"Jesus, it's always Eris isn't it? For the past three years it's been nothing but Eris. Live your life Jon. Wake the hell up. She played you. She didn't love you-" Rean stopped herself. It was clear that these thoughts had been pent up for some time. Her voices breaking to the surface.

She's the one that let this happen. Who knows how long she's had these thoughts? If it weren't for her Eris would still be here.

"How do you know that she didn't love me? Did you two have a good laugh about it over the phone? You might want to clear your phone history sometime if you want to be any good at being manipulative bitch."

She stood there silently shocked. I took it as a sign of her guilt.

"Get out." In my anger it seemed clear to me. Rean was the cause of all my pain. She did this to me.

"I'm sorry. I just-"

"Get the fuck out." I pointed at the door.

"I-"

"Leave, I don't need this. I don't need you. Fuck off Rean," the anger obscured my vision. I could no longer look her in the eyes, bits and pieces of her face caught in my peripheral.

Tears rolled down her cheek, heavy breathing.

"Okay, okay," she repeated to herself in between breaths. Her motions jerked as she collected her things.

"I only wanted to help," she said in the doorway.

"Leave," I shouted at her.

"She called me once- I wasn't even there to answer my phone- she never answered my calls," she said barely able to choke out the words.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. I've been irrational. I'm scared. I'm alone. I need help. Please forgive me, I'm such a mess." These were the words I should have said. The words that a part of me wanted to say, but the anger had gripped me so completely.

The door closed gently. She sobbed in the hallway until the elevator came for her. The silence returned and I was greeted by the laughter of voices. I threw an empty vodka bottle against the wall. Shards of broken glass reflected the dim lights of the apartment.

"Fuck," I said.

III.III

I awoke cold and alone on the sofa. A bitter taste in my mouth. I reached out and grabbed the last bottle with vodka still in it. The cap popped off with a twist and I downed the small remainder in one gulp. A swift burn followed by a long exhale. It failed to restore my warmth. I dropped the bottle and let it roll wherever it chose.

My hair was matted on one side. I ran my fingers through the thick tangled mess. The bottles, piles of mail and bills, dirty laundry, crushed cans, empty styrofoam boxes. The ruins of my life.

The anger had subsided. The voices were now distant.

Traitor. The voices whispered, but the only traitor I saw was myself.

I took a look at my empty apartment.

'I guess the answer doesn't matter,' I thought to myself, 'either way I would be alone in this. I couldn't drag her into this.'

But you would have someone to die for again. The voices began creeping back.

"Fuck off," I said aloud and headed for the bathroom.

The water felt hot against my face yet still I felt no warmer. A deep breath. I stared at myself in the mirror. Every line, every scar, the fresh wounds from the fight, the dark bags under my eyes. It looked as if I had lived a lifetime too many.

A familiar laugh echoed through my mind. I wandered out of the washroom and into my room. The desk drawer slid open with a drawn out metallic screech. The distorted face stared back at me. I ran my thumb against her cheek and thought of our last day together.  
Smiling, she embraced me and said, "I love you, don't ever change."

'I need a smoke and some fresh air,' I thought to myself and pocketed the crumpled photograph. The broken glass crunched and cracked under my boots as I headed for the door.

The city will eat you alive.

I waited in the hallway and reached for my pack of cigarettes. The last cigarette. My neighbours smacked against the peeling wall I rested upon. Though there was far too much moaning and the smacks were far too rapid for them to be fighting. The elevator doors opened and the neighbours finished with a dull thud as the doors closed.

I held the unlit cigarette in my lips and stared at the no-smoking sign. The voices whispered and chattered in the back of my mind, near inaudible static.

"5" - "3" - "2"

My boots clicked and clacked upon the cracked tile floors. A familiar scent wisped through the air. The reinforced glass doors opened with a creak.

The city lights blindingly bathed everything. The low hum of heating units and passing car engines was enough to induce a dreamlike trance. I took in a deep breath of city air and removed the picture and my lighter from my pockets. The picture blackened and bubbled as it burned, releasing a chemical smoke. I lit my cigarette on the burning photo before dropping it on the ground. My lungs filled with smoke as the fire consumed the last vestige of Eris. Nothing was left but shrivelled black plastic and poisonous fumes, it too would eventually blow away and become a part of the city's waste.

A speck of water hit my forehead. I looked up as I was suddenly surrounded by the pitter patter of countless droplets. The end of winter had come.

The snow began to melt. Shapes of the things the snow had buried began to take shape. Trash and lost items. A police siren blared somewhere down the street. The rain ran down the strands of my hair and rolled down my face.

Where is Eris to save you now? Where is Berne? Or even Aleksi and Rean. Who will you die for now? Who will save you?

There were shouts and grunts coupled with stupid laughter, a loud banging of bats and metal, signs of oncoming thugs. I flicked the butt of the cigarette into a small pile of snow shielded from the rain. It burned bright, melted the snow and snuffed itself out. I exhaled my last breath of nicotine smoke. The city was coming to consume me.

You're useless. You have been abandoned. Now you're truly alone.

A wind blew in and chilled me to the bone, it felt like weakness.

"Fuck it, fuck it all," I said to the voices in my head, "I have my anger to keep me warm now."

