Page 65 of Embriagado

“I don’t owe you explanations,” I hissed, jabbing my nails into his skin and enjoying the look of agony in his furious eyes. But then, the scent of peaches reached my nostrils, and, annoyed, I pushed him back.

“Get out. I’m busy.”

“You’re a fucking psycho,” he hissed while collecting himself back together.

“I might be,” I said, grabbing the suitcase left by the chairman and putting it on the floor. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you must do as I say. And I say, you just got yourself a double shift for tomorrow.”

Once again, containing his rage like some petulant child, he fisted his hands and gritted his teeth before leaving my office. There was something almost appealing about his tantrums, enough to make me want to squeeze him like a grapefruit and watch all the blood drain out of his system. But there would be time for that.

With him out of my office, I was free to attend to my work. Opening my desk drawer, I pushed my gun to the side, my hand hovering over the different items before I picked out my lip balm. Taking the lid off, I put a bit on my finger, then with soft taps, applied it to my lips. After all, there was nothing worse than cracked lips, especially with how important it was for me to have a decent smile. Done, I put the lip balm back in place and grabbed the flash drive I left there earlier.

Getting up from my chair, I walked over to where I had a painting hung on the wall. It was a reproduction of Judith Slaying Holofernes by Artemisia Gentileschi. One of my absolute favorites. Taking it off the wall, I revealed a safe, and after quickly typing in the pin code, it opened. My eyes went over the folders I kept there, lists of names for a rainy day, before I placed the flash drive in a small metal box filled with dozens of others. Pleased, I closed the safe, hung the painting on the wall, and went back to my chair. There, I took a notepad and a pen and wrote something on it before attaching it to the suitcase. Per usual, my handwriting was impeccable, yet it didn’t stop my mouth from twitching as I reread the words.

14th Floor.

What a bother.

But just like I told the chairman, we all had jobs to do. And I? Well, I did mine with excellence because there was simply no other choice.

18

ARIYAN

Leaving my helmet by the door, I walked into my empty apartment.

What a long day this was.

I went straight to the bathroom, taking off my wristwatch as I did and placing it down on the shelf right next to my colognes. Then, I slowly stripped out of my clothes before getting inside the shower. The water started running, and as I waited for it to get hot, I stood there, my mind as hollow as my soul. After a few more seconds had passed, I walked under the steam, eyes closed, while the water washed down my face and body.

“It smells in here.”

“Who cares,” she said, not looking at me while scratching an old wound on her thigh. “Now, be a sweet boy and bring Mommy her cigarettes, okay?”

Looking at her petite figure sitting by the window, nearly disappearing between the mounds of garbage that had been piling up in here for weeks, I bit my lip. I care, I thought, repulsed by the stench. Sometimes, the smell got so bad I preferred to sleep outside, but not when it was raining, like it was today––

Something hit my head.

“What are you waiting for? I said bring me my smokes, you stupid kid!”

Looking down at the empty beer can she tossed at me, I picked it up and placed it on the counter, right by a half-eaten peach. She loves those. But when I looked at it more closely, I noticed the little white worms crawling through it. A shiver of disgust went through me, making me sick to my stomach, before I decided that staying out in the rain was a better solution than staying here.

That same repulsion struck me again, and without taking my eyes off the floor, I reached for the soap. But even as I scrubbed every inch of my body, I could still smell it, the stench of rotting flesh that seemed to be burned into my memory, and still feel the maggots crawling on my skin.

After getting out and drying myself, I tied the towel around my waist, leaving my hands free to apply my facial cream. Good skin was no small matter and required great care. The same went for my hair, which, from the looks of it, I’d need to dye again over the weekend. I couldn’t stand my roots showing, even if they were light.

Still in nothing but the towel, I walked out to the living room, where I turned the TV on to the news. With it playing in the background, filling the too-silent void, I went to make myself a cup of tea. This time, I decided to try Blueberry Merlot. But one sip of the hot brew was enough to tell me that Blueberry Merlot was not for me, my lips twitching before I even swallowed. I poured the tea into the sink and watched it go down the drain when my phone rang. Or one of my phones—the one I always had to answer, no matter when it rang.

Walking to my room, I quickly grabbed it.

“Hello?” I said, knowing I’d kept him waiting for too long.

“Where were you?”

“In my kitchen, making tea.”

“Were you?”

“Yes, sir.”