Page 3 of All Your Bloody Lies

I really should just kill him.

I decide to only soak myself in water, refusing to have dry hair and a fake manly aroma on top of everything else. Seriously, who doesn’t even have a bar of soap? Fucking pathetic.

After drying off, I slip back into the clothes I arrived in, black leather pants and a red corset top. The straps hold everything in place nicely, accentuating my perky breasts. Those, along with my silvern eyes, are my favorite features.

I don’t bother locking the door upon my exit, hoping that an intruder might stumble upon my meal—killing him and putting an end to his worthless existence. This neighborhood isn't the safest, with break-ins reported nearly every day.

Before finding the stairway, I backtrack and leave the door slightly ajar.

I’m an asshole, I know.

Buzz. Buzz.

I quickly retrieve my phone from my pocket and press it to my ear, greeting what is likely my only friend. “Hey, Syd. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The squeal nearly shatters my eardrum. “Girly-pop, spill the damn tea!” I can't help but groan at Sydni’s enthusiasm. I often wonder how we managed to be friends. They do say opposites attract, but damn, we might as well be on different stars. “I saw you walk out with that hunk of a man. Fucking Gods, did you touch his pecs? How was his dick?”

My sigh was a sufficient response, and Sydni mixes an apologetic giggle with her lament. “Sorry, Phiny-bear. Well, at least he was good-looking.”

“He didn’t even have facewash, Syd. He stunk, too. I had to shower twice when I got home.” Leaning over my balcony, I gaze out at the darkened street below. I didn’t hate this city, but Sidence never felt like home. Then again, if I were true to myself, no place ever did.

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line and I wonder if I lost her. “You there?” I ask with minimal enthusiasm.

“Oopsie! Sorry—work, you know.”

“Why did you call me if you are working?” I question, glancing around as a man walking his dog disappears into the shifting shadows cast by the street lamps.

“I can multitask. Anyway, how about dinner tomorrow? I’ve got reservations at the Ducc, just the two of us. We can gaze longingly into each other’s eyes while we complain about men,” she suggests with a playful incline.

“Let me check my calendar,” I say, and a slight chuckle escapes at her groan, which practically rattles my phone.

My place is bare bones—just a black leather loveseat and a basic coffee table in the living room, with a TV hanging above a fake fireplace. The walls are painted a dull gray; I can’t stand the starkness of white. My skin is pale enough already; there is no need to drown in it.

The kitchen is modest, though I rarely cook. I hate the chore of it especially the cleaning aspect. That’s why I keep things minimalistic. I don’t even have a dining room table; I eat on the couch instead. A part of me believes it’s the thought of being confined by too much stuff, and it triggering my only fear. Years of therapy didn’t do shit to fix my fucked-up anxiety over being closed in.

Standing in front of my calendar, lazily hanging by a magnet on my fridge, I quickly check to see if I’m free.

Friday, January 31, 3126

Livable expenses due

Return library book.

“When’s the reservation?” I finally speak, realizing that Sydni has been trying to grab my attention for several minutes. As she responds, I peek at the following week’s events.

Monday, February 3, 3126

Off Work

Livestock at the Morrison @ 23:00

Favorite color green.

CHB-Don’t Forget

Tuesday, February 4, 3126

Work – Bartender 22:00 to 02:00