SO COLD
MY EYELIDS BURNED with exhaustion. The sort of tiredness that felt like I was seconds from caving in on myself, a skeleton frame held together by a well of drying energy, a yawn away from inhaling and exhaling into suspending consciousness. It was five-something in the morning. I was sat at the breakfast bar in the new apartment, on a bar-stool that spun into sickness and twisted stomachs. In front of me was my phone with a half-full energy bar and a cold mug of tea with a murky trickle and the price sticker on the outside bottom.
The apartment was far smaller than the previous homes. There were marble tables, low-hanging lights, a spacious living room with glass ornaments and a grey-white-black colour scheme. The bedrooms were on the same floor, a double and a single where Trevor was snoring softly with the door ajar, soft yellow light falling on his dark-brown skin and tattooed eyelids. Having stepped out of the shower after coming back from a food shopping trip at a 24/7 supermarket, Vyacheslav was outside on the balcony overlooking a blearily-rising city of twinkling light, grey skies and early-rising business men.
I sifted through social media to pass the time, scrolling through Twitter, double-tapping on stories on Snapchat with the speed of light, and watching videos on Instagram of make-up artists using hot dogs and vibrators to slather on foundation. I ventured too far: Someone was hitting their face with their boyfriend's balls. They both looked musty. I logged out.
My feet hit cold tiles. I opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of red wine. I uncorked it, poured two glasses and joined Vyacheslav on the balcony. It was a small narrow space with a round table and two black chairs tucked under. Handing him a glass, I took my first sip, briefly reminiscing on being wine-drunk with my friends from college. it was a different sort of tipsy from alcohol: more gentle, floaty, the type to make you romantic and feel good. Or the type to make you hate wine and the after-buzz. I gazed out into the city. Downtown seemed so far away.
Somewhere out there was a slum and inside, three rotting bodies. A child and two women, one so deep in delusions it was cruel to keep her alive. Or maybe that's just what I told myself to take as courage to kill her. Morality and its' questions thudded on my forehead, unkind with their intrusion, insistent with forcing my cheek to face what I hid.
I turned away. I was sleep-deprived, waiting up for Cole in the early hours of the chilly morning. Still, I crossed my arms on the metal bar and set my chin down on top, wine glass precariously tilting to spill over into whoever lived below and mind scurrying far into the folds of the city, hurrying behind commercial buildings and into neighbourhoods where mothers worried for schoolchildren crossing busy roads.
Somewhere out there was Irvin. Tall and skinny, with black hair untamed and curly and the darkest coffee-brown eyes full of mischief and light. Only lately it seemed shaded in gloom and misery, deep-sunken with a mouth that followed in its downwards depth. He flitted about from place to place, restless with tired feet, searching for a place where he could lower his guard and lie for a moment of peace.
He was an easy target. Someone to get their frustrations out on. And there were copycats all around the room. There was joy in kicking a boy to the ground. The men found their entertainment in him.
I saw his hands fumble for his cigarette pack, for a second shot of vodka, shoulders hunched and turning away. Shrugs and shakes of his head, of quick and sharp 'Fuck off's, irritating glowers that wore down his face. His guard constantly up for the next show of belittling and attempts to see who could twist his arm the furthest behind his back or give him the darkest purple-eye.
Daniel came to mind with a needle stuck in his arm, mollycoddled by a woman too old for him. And then a life of freedom and stained knees and gardening. He was out of the drug-world. But that was only after his suicide attempt. Would the same story be told of Irvin?
I took a large mouthful of wine, swallowing hard, waiting for the slow buzz to start. The buzz I liked. Whilst they brought from the same store, Irvin was cut from a different cloth. He was stronger. My imagination was exaggerating my worries. All he needed was a walk through soggy streets, a cigarette and a cold can of beer and he'd be alright. It wasn't as if this was all new to him, he knew how to fight back. The men enjoyed tussling and jostling one another even if it was violent.
I had to find patience in time's slow drag. In a week or so time, it wouldn't be so bad for Irvin. Grudges would be forgotten. Irritation subsiding. Arms welcoming.
A shrill ringtone distracted me. Vyacheslav reached into his jacket pocket and answered his phone, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth and handing me his untouched wine glass. "Yeah?"
Sat at the round table, I watched his mouth move. "She's still awake," he looked at me, then angled away, switching to a quick bout of Russian and then back to English. "I'll let her know. Yeah. Give me a missed call. Alright." He slipped his phone back into his pocket, stubbing out his cigarette on the back of his hand and tossing it over the balcony.
I followed him through the sliding door. "Is Cole on his way?"
He nodded. "Should be here in the next ten minutes," he kicked off his shoes, taking his jacket off and tossing it to the armchair. He sat down on the sofa, pulled out his gun from his waistband and slipped it under the cushion. He rubbed his face with both hands. "Check the cupboard in the main bedroom. There should be a spare blanket."
I returned with the folded blanket and a spare pillow. "I'll turn the thermostat up." I fiddled with the buttons in the hallway, settling for something toasty. I went to the kitchen to head to the balcony for the second wine glass and to lock the door after me and then headed back to the living room. Sitting with my legs folded under me in the armchair, I was considerably cosy and drowsy. To avoid falling into a slumber, I started up a conversation in the dusk of the room. "So, Vyacheslav,"
He groaned.
"What?"
"Put the TV on. Low volume. Don't talk to me."
"The only shows playing at this time are black and white and shows where you gotta call in to buy a vegetable slicer for £19.99, £14.99 if you call today."
"Then watch a movie on your phone."
"I –" I was going to make a remark about Netflix and Chill and then realised it was inappropriate. I set my glass down. "Fine. Go to sleep. Goodnight. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed–"
"For God sake. Goodnight."
I waited a moment until he settled then said. "You're pretty rude–"
He was about to curse me out when his phone rang for a moment and then the call ended. I jumped up, rushing out to answer the intercom buzz and pressed the release button for the front door so Cole could enter the building. I unlocked the apartment door and it wasn't long before the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. "You didn't have to stay up for me," he said, an arm around my waist, the other holding a duffle bag.
I relaxed, inhaling deeply and exhaling, head against his chest, arms tightly wrapped around him. "Of course I had to," I said. "What did the mayor want?"
"We'll discuss it in the morning." His arm shot out to stop the elevator doors from closing in on us. "Come on. Is Trevor asleep?"
"Yeah. He's in the second bedroom, he was knocked out by two." I closed and locked the apartment door after us.
Cole set the duffle bag on the floor just outside the master bedroom. He headed into the bathroom to wash his hands and gestured to the living room to me to ask if Vyacheslav was in there. He knocked before heading in and greeted Vyacheslav, sat on the armchair and pulled me onto his lap when I perched on the arm.
Vyacheslav sat up slightly, an arm behind his head to prop himself up, tufts of hair on his armpit on show. "¿Qué pasó?"Â
"Ese bastardo está jugando con nosotros." His bad feelings towards the mayor was shared. "He threatened arrest of the murder of the reporter. ¿Cómo se llamaba?" he clicked his fingers as his name slipped past remembrance.
"Andrew Arnold," I recalled immediately.
He nodded. "The bastard is greedy for hush money. He talked a great deal on his selfishness and the lengths he'd go to protect this city with his thugs in masks and cut in blood money. There is to be an increased police presence on the streets. A crack-down on dealers. He warned of exposing the homes I lie in. He's a politician of greed, hiding behind deceit and false promises."
"That infuriated your father, no doubt," Vyacheslav remarked.
"You know of my father's temper," Cole acknowledged, "he wanted to shoot him where he sat. But the bastard is slippery. His confidence warns for caution. His brazen shows are tempting to replicate and out-do but ..."
"It'll feel like walking into a trap," I finished for him. "It seems too easy to shoot him dead. Like it's just how he wants you to react. Storming into the house was a test or... a smear of his balls across the floor. He feels like he's invincible, like he has the one-up on you."
"Then we'll burn this city down," Vyacheslav said.
"Not yet. Soon." Cole promised. "He's threatening for conformity and compliancy or we're all looking at jail time. Puedo oler el hedor del traidor entre nosotros. I'll kill the rat and whoever harbours him."
"¿Y qué hay de los oficiales?" Vyacheslav raised the question of the loyalty of the officers Cole paid for.
"Who knows," Cole pressed a hand on my back to stand and he bid Vyacheslav a good night's sleep, telling him we'll return to the conversation tomorrow with the rest of the men. He switched the flip on the light. The door closed with a soft click.
I headed to the bathroom. He closed the door after us. "I can't trust him neither," he murmured quietly, leaning against the wall. "Svetlana perhaps, but his loyalties waver, I know that."
I tore open the packet to the toothbrushes, handing him one. "You'll figure it out." We didn't speak more on the subject. It was private conversation for when we were alone.
After a quick shower, a change of clothes, a murmur of conversation, I slipped under the covers. He rested his head on my chest, sighing deeply, a leg in between mine, half on top but comfortable. I brushed through his hair with my hand until he fell asleep and then followed suit. Exhausted.
***Â
its like 6am, im tired as shit too. ima make the next chapter romantic as hell. if you know me though you know the good happens before the bad, and this bad is gonna be the type of bad where people won't come back from it.Â