Fragments

18 | The Damned

18 | The Damned

The intoxicating warmth of Pierce's body radiates into mine. With a sigh, I unwrap his arm from my waist and shuffle away. He tries to snuggle into the side of my neck, but I sit up.

My shirt is damp and sticks to my back like cling wrap. From the corner of my eye, I see Pierce shiver. He clutches onto the pillow and mutters something into the fabric. I feel bad about moving away, but I need to get out of here.

Climbing out of bed, I stretch my tired limbs. Pierce sprawls into the middle of the bed, unaware that I'm missing.

I sneak out of the bedroom and head back to mine, careful to avoid stepping on the creaky parts of the flooring.

Once I'm within the safe confines of my room, I strip out of the shirt and discard it on the floor. I find a fresh set of clothes and quickly tug them on.  

Collecting the rest of my belongings, I race outside the lobby door and emerge myself into the fresh air. By fresh, it's a stale smell of factory smoke and trash from the business across the street.

I'll take what I can get.

The cold air blows through my hair as I wander down the pathway. The metal device in my pocket is heavy, just like my thoughts.

As I progress down the dull quiet street, a small orange pole signifying a bus stop comes into view. Now that I'm free, maybe I can leave? I could pack that bag I've been dreaming about and finally do it.

Instead, I continue walking down the street. One day, but not today.

I end up at the foot of the alley where we dumped his body. Nothing has changed except for the missing body. We'd left him slumped beside the wall with his head hanging down, a burnt cigarette between his fingers. It's an easy image to accept, I'd seen it many times before.

When I was younger, I used to sneak out of my bedroom to steal food. Almost every night, he'd be slumped on the dirty rocking chair in our makeshift living room. The light from the television flickered across the room as the burning ember of his cigarette would fall into the ashtray beside the chair.

It was the one moment he looked peaceful. I hated that about him. How could he feel peaceful? The easy answer is that he was induced in a blissful drug-infused haze.

I could breathe when he looked peaceful.

Now that the body is gone, the ally is once again filled with more trash. When they collect the bodies, sometimes they take the trash. It's their way of clearing the issue away, acting like this town doesn't have a problem.

We all pretend we don't have problems. It's easier that way.

I step away from the ally, only to be confronted by two men dressed in ripped jeans and black tank tops. Their tattooed arms are bared, signs of their loyalty to certain gangs. One of them has tattoos across their face, a teardrop near their eye.