The Friend Shop (Phantom of the Opera)

▪ Chapter 1 ▪

▪ Chapter 1 ▪

Tap. Tap.

Bubbles rose in the clear liquid of the syringe. Trembling fingers found the bulging purple vein and pierced the delicate skin with the needle. A strong thumb pressed the plunger, driving the sweet liquid into addicted vessels.

A hesitate sigh rushed through the user as the wonderful depressant coursed through his body. In moments, his muscles relaxed, allowing him to breath calmly. Years of opiates had ruined any high he might have gained from the experience, but still allowed him a peace unable to be found in anything but that lovely needle.

Once more at harmony with the world, the gaunt figure rolled his swivel chair away from his work desk and across the tiny room to his computer. Pressing the "on" button on his laptop, he watched the slow contraption boot itself up and present him with a password screen.

Boney fingers tapped away at the short code and a deceptively fragile little finger struck the enter key. The screen turned black for a moment as the few icons loaded and a few notifications popped up to alert him of software updates.

Ignoring them, the masked gentleman clicked on the internet icon and his email pulled up. After scanning through his correspondence, finding nothing more than a few ads, not requests for work, the effects of the drug leaving him bored with anything within them, he opened a new tab and pulled up the local news and found himself disinterested within moments.

The antics of the typical criminal hardly interested him anymore.

The morphine continued its gentle flow and lulled him into a more comatose state as he landed, quite by chance, on an article discussing a new business starting in town. The title caught his attention oddly enough and, on a random impulse, he clicked the link, scrolling through the short half-page remarks of a gruntled reporter, praising the benefits of the new service.

"The Friend Shop." He whispered to himself, tossing the title and the bits of information around in his head. Apparently, an innovative entrepreneur had dreamed up an odd business where people could rent a friend for the evening, a person of their choosing who would visit them and keep them company in a purely innocent and platonic manner.

"The Friend Shop." He repeated before closing the tab and turning away from his computer. A scowl appeared behind the white porcelain of his mask as he picked up his violin and plucked at the D string, checking the tuning despite knowing he would never allow it to be off-key.

The more his mind settled on the interesting idea, the more it drew him in, causing his mind to drift to the possibilities of having a companion, even a paid one.

Perhaps he could blame the drug pulsing in his blood, dulling his senses and natural cynicism, for his mind's inability to abandon the idea of the site, but even in a drug-induced state, the recluse couldn't deny that the thought appealed to him.

"A friend..." He whispered, staring into a space for a moment before turning back to his computer, setting aside the violin, and reopening the tab. Once more, he read through the article before slamming his laptop closed and leaving his study.

"I don't need friends." He whispered to himself as he fled to his music room, abandoning himself in his music until the betraying drug wore off. Perhaps once it had left his system, he could think properly and destroy any thoughts of ever using the site.

What use were friends to a disfigured addict such as me?

▪▪▪▪▪▪

Ding!

Blue eyes shot open and light feet scampered across vinyl tile. Small fingers pulled the handle of the microwave and pulled out the frozen meal sitting within, filling the small area with the scent of a cheap fish stick dinner.