"Hey..... you alright?" Half dizzy, very drunk, she asks.

"......No. You?"

"Imagine what you're going through and times 100."

"Very........glad to... Oh, fuck it. What's the meaning of it anyway?"

"Meaning of what?"

"Of pretending, Viv." Upon my words she turned around..... a bit too fast, her head had to recalibrate where my face was.

"Pretending?" Eyes as big as a goldfish, she asks.

"Yes. Pretending! As if I like living in this dump, like I'm nothing without it! Burn in fucking hell, as if I like those bastards!" Long silence, long enough for my alcohol-poisoned Brian to register.

"You were acting?" I laugh a loud hic-up.

"Define 'were'" She turned around, like a spider upside down. She pressed her palms on my arms, riding me without the intention to do so.

"When you met me, you fucking asshole." Her eyes as pure as it gets, as anyone in the city gets.

"Acting eh? Were I acting when I first met you?" Eyes wondering, like I'm considering the question in my brain. And of course, I wasn't. As fucked up I was, like my brain was dragging me downwards and my body with it. I'm a fool. A goddamn fool.

"I guess I was."

”Piece of shit........"

"Yeah..... something like that." She slaps my face. But I don't feel a thing. God. This shit is strong.

"Are you pretending now?" Excuses came like a leaking volt, those that work in a group.

"Yes. It's a hobby, a nasty one." She kisses me, deep, hard, like a train on break.

"You felt that?" Pure brown, staring down.

"I felt the lips on mine. I felt you, what you meant........but nothing else....... Sorry, Viv."

"Fuck you." I laughed, and she turned back to her side of bad. She falls down on the mattress so hard that she bounces up again.

"....Had a bad day."

"That your fucking excuse?"

"That's my condition."

"Why do I put up with you?" I take a puff of the cigarette end on night stand, pondering if I should say what I'm thinking.

"I thought you were enjoying this. Cause if not, I could go any....... any time 20 to 40 minutes later." A short silence, then a sneeze.

"No. You stay."

"......Alright then." I shake my head to the left but it rings like a bell until it hits the limit of my neck and swing back till I see her face on pillows again. "Thanks." She turned around, the back of her head facing me, shoulder-length hair slapped on my nose.

"Night mate."

"Sweet dreams."

I didn't dream that night. But I saw yellow and brown with traces of red swimming.

The next morning I did get a load kicked out of my brain and organs. Hangovers from labelless liquor are always the worst. Feeling like my windpipe and digesting system are turning inside out before jumping out making me look like I spawn a tail from my mouth. I throw my head back on the mattress and block my mouth to fight the nausea.

"Viv....... I'm dying."

"Dude...... shut the fuck up. Your voice is like thunderstorms in my brain....... The kind with rocks in them."

"Fuck." Can't get up, so the remaining doses of alcohol In my system decided to offer me one last great idea. Roll. So I did and hit the floor nose first.

Funny, thought it would be more painful... Oh never mind, needs a moment to register. It hurts.

"Leeee... please shut up....., seriously it's royally killing me..... wait, where the hell are you?"

I try to think about if it's a good idea to roll again to answer her. And my body only got half of the thought processed so I spin myself around once more, facing the ceiling. A fan in blurry vision looks like a helicopter and is hypnotic as shit.

A trickle of blood rolls down my nostril as the invisible palm presses down on my face.

"....Down here...By the bed." A head poked out the edge of my sight, she's blocking the fan, what a shame.

"God damn. You look like a fucking target practice- shit! Oh for the..... my head is splitting." Way through a laughter, half of her face twirl up. Like a drying painting getting thrown out the window.

".....Hey I got an idea...... I'll go make the coffee....... you raid Vera's med cabin for painkillers... We're still at her apartment right?"

"I think?" Turing my head is one hell of a weird experience in this state, the ground feels so......real.

But as I flapped my cheek on the floor, my eyes adjusted to the blanket by the window side.

"Yeah! we're still at the apartment."

"...Ok..... Can you stand up?" As much as I want to deny it right away. I still gave a valid effort first...and the nuisance and headache sent me straight back.

"Nope, not without puking."

"....... Fine. I'll get the meds. You make the coffee..... try to at least."

"Yeah. Sounds...... I'm not going to say reasonable but yeah. Alright." With that, I roll till my nose is press on the floor again. Behind me, I hear a thump then squeaky sounds of sweaty palms running the floor.

"Uh, Viv?" While shouting at the wooden floor, I push myself up to a kneeling position. The world spins around me, forcing me to follow its guidelines.

"I'm fine.......... My feet aren't. But I'm fine."

"Right." I shut towards the other side of the bed while pressing my palms on the ground and only when it stops moving do I apply pressure. Slowly, I stood up, a goddamn milestone of self inflicting pain.

The room didn't stop moving but my vision was returning from distorted disarray to confusingly sharp. And by the wall, a woman in her underwear and a white open shirt with brown leftover stain of....... I don't want to know the end of that thought, is crawling on the wall.

I squeeze my eyes shut and force them open before the blood rushes back, now with a newfound pain in my bloodshot eyes I can see the woman wasn't crawling on the wall, she's leaning and clinging on it.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"Viviane..... why don't you go and make the coffee? I think I'm in better shape than you." Viv slumps down the floor immediately with her hands still scarping the wall making a high-pitched squeak.

"Ain't going to argue.......my legs beaten my self esteem." Right, now. Where the fuck's the bathroom again.

Left leg a step forward, the cold marble floor sends a chill down my chill. Right and left and right and left.

I tried to keep a straight line which resulted in wide steps like a duck and my head bobbing around, good thing the headache hadn't settled in.

Before I realized, I'm in the hallway. A sense of Deja vu came for no particular reason and was gone the next second.

The sofa's on the right, bathroom's left. Reminding myself, I walk passed a giant oil painting leaning by the wall, a man in a fedora hat and deep blue suit is staring at me on a stool by the counter. I flip him and laugh to myself, the laughter rings in my skull and bounces back.

Second to last door in the hallway. The door wasn't locked, didn't remember I was here last night.

Pushing the half-shut door open, I found the light switch in the dark on first try. And another mess greeted me.

My jacket and Viv's leather skirt are on the ground, half soaked, and a black tie hangs on the shower head which drips an irregular rhythm down on the tub.

Curiosity got me, I stuck my head in the drape to check if there's... yep. My stuff's scattered in the bathtub. Knuckle brass and dagger, keys and watches, a pack of opens gum, empty bottles.......Shit. Where's the rest?

A loud noise like a driller on metal pipes tear through the half-shut door behind me, viv's got to the coffee maker. Well done Viv.

I shed off the uncanny feeling of not having an extra weight on my waist and focus on finding the pills.

The mirror cabin at Vera's was custom-made. It's deeper than the normal kind since they carved a hole in the brick wall behind it. Through four rows and no luck, I had to put the ones on the ground back where I remembered they should be. Till the deaf muffled sound from the hallway was gone and a little bit longer, I found the blue and white box by the left corner of the highest shelf.

Almost out but should be enough for two.

As I pull the door open, rapid bumps of naked feet on sleek marble risen in volume. I stick my head out and see the image of Viviane covering her mouth approaches me in miles per minute. I duck inside and press against the wall to get out of her way as much as possible.

She practically slides in as her knees are on the floor already and her hands grab the toilet by the tub to stop her from hitting the thing. Then came a whimpering that I've grown accustomed to.

"There, there. It's alright. Always was, always will be."

With a trail of saliva sticking on her hair, she turns her head while her cheeks on the toilet seat.

"How about now? Am I alright 'now'?" Her eyes bulge and tilts her head back down.

"I've never mentioned now did I?" She flips me a middle finger while puking her guts out. Put it in someone else's perspective, it might be hypocritical.

I move next to her with soft steps as if she might crumble if I'm not. I brush her raven short hair by ear, the freshly healed wound under pulses close to her hinted artery. I found a remotely clean towel on the ground, switch the faucet on and dip it.

I kneel down next to her, a hand by her left cheek and slowly raise it, guiding her face up shakily.

Doing all I can to make her look human, cleaning the stains on her nose bridge and by her mouth, untangling her hair with the leftovers on her face. Her eyes remained half shut for the procedure till I got nowhere else to work with, but an impulse in my head kept my hand by the side of her jaw and cheekbone....

Until she raises her hand to rest on mine and push it aside.

"I'm good. Go take care of yourself and the coffee would you?......Still need a moment here."

"Sure...." I give her limping figure one last look to make sure she's actually fine before turning the faucet back on to rub off the newly added smears and cleanse my face.

Cold water resonated some senses back into my mind and took away a large portion of my pain threshold. Now that I'm half awake, the bruises on my knees, knuckles, temples, throat, loin, and right pinky toe are rushing back asking dues alongside interests owed from last night.

But the worst is undoubtedly the headache, I don't have a single clue why, is it possible for me to do what I did while knowing what's in store for me.

As my mind is mostly functioning I can't help but notice there's a loop here. Headaches came from low blood pressure and vasodilation, to cure one of them is to eat, but the dizziness and temporary gastritis from booze makes you throw up, losing appetite, prolonging the headache and your desire to eat, which prolongs the pain as well.

In conclusion, I need something stronger than aspirin.

Putting the blue box back I dug deeper. Pushing rows of white bottles aside, I found a bag of naproxen sodium in a fish market plastic bag. Not much left in this one either but the 550 on blue capsules look reassuring.

The buzzing waves of pain in my skull won't shut up. But viv seemed better now, at least she can get her head out of the lid. As I walked out and passed the oil painting to the kitchen, headache drums every time my heel land the floor.

***

"So....." With her head buried in arms on the kitchen counter. The voice sounded muffled and dried.

"Viviane. Don't talk before you finish that glass of water." I saw red in the toilet.

She raised her head up, resting her chin on the counter, the stool under her moved an inch to the right. And she maintained that position with her back arched for a minute before I push the glass to her face.

Rolling up her eyes while chugging it she almost choked halfway done but kept going until only a quarter left, then she spilled out a portion of it back into the glass. She covered her mouth and her face turned red in an instant. With extreme discipline, she swallowed the rest in her mouth before coughing with her body retracting onto the stool.

It goes on for another half a minute before she stops. And by the time she raised her head again. I had borrowed another bottle from Vera's cabin and empty the glass with a ghost of blood sinking towards the bottom.

"Take this first and wait for half an hour." I put the pure white tablet on the table along with the refilled glass.

"Promethazine?"

"Yep."

"I think I'm developing resilience to the stuff." With a meek smile on her face, Viviane took it dried before three seconds of doubt made her take a sip of water again. I rolled a naproxen and pressed it at the rim of my coffee cup to swallow it while she and I both took a sip.

"And what was that you just took?"

"You noticed?"

"Lee. This is kind of my job you know." With a faint smug on her face, Viv tilt her head back to resting in her arms.

"Painkiller."

"Care to share?"

"Sure. 30 minutes later, least." She twitches her lips to the left and buried her face in long sleeves.

".....Says the charlatan."

"To the leper."

"Screw you." She let out a light chuckle before taking a swig of water.

I return her a smile and turned around on the stool to rest my legs on the sink on the other side and lean my back on the counter.

It goes on for a while. She's still too tired and disoriented to go on the usual bicker, and I'm still waiting for the pills to take its course. Save the sound of my vain and weary heartbeats, it's complete silence. I'm used to it, just not while being with her. Come to think of it, it's never been so quiet between me and her before, every time we meet up it's either job or booze along everything afterwards. We're either tensed or high to a fault.

Most days by the time I wake up she's already gone, might left a short note on my forehead. Some days we wake up in a closed bar with automatic locks, the back street of desalos or some place even more bizarre. But almost never like this. We don't stay for the aftermaths, never was there to witness it.

"Hey....."

Bell of 3 o'clock in the afternoon swung and swung, blocking the rest of her words. I pull my legs off the counter to turn around without stretching my still aching neck.

"Didn't catch that, what was it?"

She jump her line of sight to the other side of the table, mouth slightly open, her jaw moved to say something but changed its course to a smirk by the left edge of her lips. Close to the stitches removed three weeks ago, now it looks like a long and slim birthmark, a snake of burgundy red and purple stripes, a rut.

Her hair's more organized now, falling by her ears, grazing the wound that climbs a trail up from the edge of her jaw. No one would've thought she nearly died in a run-down motel close to the border not long ago. Last night's black eyeliners that bleed around her eyes were washed along with the rest. Now her face is paler in comparison.

"Nothing."

Her eyes shine impulsively as always but the glint seems colorless, like looking through lenses.

***

20 minutes later. By the porch, I wave her goodbye, she leans on the wall lazily with coffee in right hand while the left's index and middle fingers tapped her forehead and lowered to her lips before extending her arm to the air, palm arched, tip toes, and body follows to turn around like a ballet dancer or a stripper. Her left palms waves me back while she walks back inside, sipping coffee.

***

Maybe it was the way she said it, lack of quality sleep for the past week, or perhaps it's the painkillers taking affect, most possible explanation is that I just overlooked the six japs walking down the corner.... No, five. Though the big guy can be counted as two

The next three months I think about it times when I'm alone, the shape of her lips when she said it, thinking I should've asked her what was on her mind. Or maybe it really was nothing.