《THE VESSEL, Volume 1: Stay Alert》 Prologue: Regenesis "Blink." And so she did One worried, frantic woman rushed through the bathroom hallway of a bar. This woman was blessed, yet the pain of such light burned her very soul. Even at that very moment of determination, as she kicked down the empty woman''s bathroom stalls one by one, chasing an apparition, she falters. How much pain will it take for her to learn? How many trials of karma must her soul endure for her to realize that the person she once loved is gone? Whoever this was, it wasn''t her childhood friend. Whoever this was, it wasn''t her love interest. Whoever this was, they weren''t even human. No¡ªIt''d be safer to assume that whatever that thing was, it''s below human. It was toying with her, using her humanity to satisfy its lack thereof. It wanted her to relinquish her heart, to relinquish her humanity, to relinquish her emotions¡ªthat way she won''t suffer and it wins. Should she finally just give up to relieve the pain? No one loses, right? She would get left alone, and it does too. Yet the idea of letting something likethatwin at all sickened her. As she left the woman''s bathroom dissatisfied and even more irritatingly worried, she thought to herself, "No. Not a chance." It wouldn''t let either of them go. A tie between them, a conjoined chain of the soul¡ªthe chain of chains, sprouted from ambition, its petals bloom the cause of causes: The ego. The human spirit. Determination. What''s right. Who''s in said right. These words and phrases are used to describe a never-ending war. A war for what? Justice? Revenge? Atonement? Settlement? Peace? All of the above? Or none of the below? It did not matter at the moment for her. She pushed these spiraling thoughts implanted into her by that withered thing out of her mind for the moment¡ªjust for the moment, as theywillreemergelike a weed. "The men''s bathroom..." she thought, a little hesitant. "It''s the only place left... and the only one that''d make sense." As she was walking in, another man walked by her, noticing what she was doing. The man was holding a beer bottle, clearly intoxicated beyond words. He stumbled around, even though he tried to steady himself as he prepared to speak, approaching her. "Hey, lady!"the man says, slurring his words. "You can''t go in there!" The woman stopped, still facing away from him, only facing the direction of where she needed to go. She slowly looked at the man, not moving her head, projecting a look of emptiness, yet clear annoyance. "I''m busy here, Bottle-Face. I''m an agent. So kindly mind your own fucking business," she said sternly, yet showing an eerie calmness. The man sloppily walked closer to her, gesturing his words with his beer bottle. "Agent?! Bullshit! I don''t care who you are, lady! The rules are the rules. Who the fuck do you think you are¡ª" The man was cut off by the woman inches away from him, grabbing his beer bottle, looking him directly in the eyes. Her gaze was an eerily still one, yet with undertones of rage. She knew the man as the bar''s annoying, nosy number one patron. His pathetic sense of pride for being a bar''s number one customer both sickened and annoyed her. "I am who the fuck I am,"she exclaimed, her grip on the bottle almost shattering it. "Either you act like you saw nothing, or I''ll leave you seeing nothingpermanently. Do you want your ''Bottle-Face'' nickname to be a literal one?!" The man could hear an audible "crack" before he pulled away nervously, almost falling backwards from his stumbling. "I... You-you crazy bitch...! I''ll tell the barkeep about this!" he exclaimed as he sloppily "ran" away to the barkeep, almost slipping over the freshly cleaned floor. "Loser..." she thought to herself, rolling her eyes. She tossed the beer bottle in a neighboring trash bin. Wiping her hand on her jacket in disgust, she gives the bottle a look of disrespect. Just then she remembered. "The bathroom...!" She''d wasted precious time, time she could''ve better used to catch "him". "Calm down," she thought, racing through the bathroom. "It''s only been a couple of seconds." She tried calming herself down, marching into the men''s bathroom after a swift kick to the door with her right foot. She walks in, ready to knock out the first man that she sees if they say anything. However, as she raced through the bathroom, something caught her attention in the corner of her eye. The mirrors. Somethinginthem. Something that she recognized, but wished that she didn''t; similar to the feeling that one might get when they meet a family member they cannot stand, but must accept, for they are family. It was her. Five feet, eight inches. Slightly muscular build. Tangerine-Colored hair that starts a tad spiky at the top, but flows smoothly into puffy curls at the shoulders, forming a ''weird spiral'', she thought. Her hair was growing too long, now reaching slightly below her shoulders, annoying her with its roughness that''d poke at her neck. Her attention then focused to her face. Unlike the person she once found fondest, she unfortunately knows herself all too well. The same sharp jawline, yet soft facial structure. The same thin, yet sharp eyebrows... The same emerald green eyes that welcomed none. The same empty look on her face hiding a maelstrom of emotions. She''d had enough of herself, she thought as she turned away from her own gaze, making her way to the public bathroom''s window with a rushed walk. The window was shut, yet unlocked. She was almost prepared to break it in order to save time, but she refrained. ''Marthy''d kill me if I did that...'' She knew Marthy, another nosy person, as the bar keep, but she also saw her as a motherly figure. She respected her, so she instead opened the window hastily. A loud thud echoed through the bathroom. "Damn!" she said under her breath. "Not so fucking hard..." After jumping out of the window and landing soundly on her feet, she remained crouched for a second, waiting to listen for any potential movement. Nothing. To any outside observer, her behavior and path taken would seem rather strange, random¡ªor even deranged. Yet, to her, it made perfect sense. She was following one thing that led right to who she was chasing. An intangible footprint that no one else could see. The smell of blood. It was dark and eerily quiet. ''Now that I think about it...it''s a Saturday. There should be more people hangin'' out around here...'' she thought. When she was sure that there was no one around, she stood up, ready to march forwards towards the smell of gore. However, something stopped her: a vibration in her right pants pocket followed by a loud guitar power-chord sounding and echoing throughout the parking lot. It was her phone''s notification. "Dammit," she exclaimed out loud. "Shut up, Tom!" She looked at her phone, gripping it tightly in anger. On the lock screen, there were more than five messages that all said the same thing. "Don''t go to the Sovereign Sake, tonight. The suspect is there. I''m sorry, I know that you''re off duty. He''s never gone there before, but you frequent. Remember: you''re not allowed within 300 yards of the suspect without my presence. Wait outside of the coffee shop for me. I''ll send this message until you reply back. I don''t care if it''s through words or an emoji, I need to know that you''ll listen to me this time. For once." Quickly muting her phone and stuffing it back in her pocket, she walked as quickly as possible towards the smell. To where it lead, she didn''t know, and little did she care. As long as it lead tohim, it''d be worth it. So she walked, walked and walked¡ªall the while having memories of him. Memories that where both comforting and discomforting at the same time. Her mind went back to who he once was¡ªwho she once knew. It liked to go back to the good times they once had. It almost made her want to forget everything else in favor of only remembering those times. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. But that''d be selfish. She had to do it. No other way around it. Shecouldspare him, letting her heart decide¡ªbut that''d bebeyondselfish. Change...she promised them she will. So she was stuck and forced to act, forced to clean up her mess. Life is messy, and the more sloppily you eat from it, the more painful it''s going to be to clean up the mess later. In her mind there was nothing that she could do but act. For her there were no victors in war. For thatthing... It was about who breathed last. All that she had to do was simply not care like him. Equal it in savagery. This was a duty, no emotions must be felt, no unnecessary thoughts conjured¡ªsimply do as you must. All that she had to do was clean up her plate; the flies had started to spread. Easier said than done whenthatusing your childhood friend as its gloves. She once again pushed these spiraling thoughts out of her head for the time being. Speeding up, she neared a building. "Okay...it''s not him. It isn''t anymore. He''s gone. Don''t let it win again. This timehasto be the last time. Put an end to it, dammit! Clear your mind,"she exclaimed before stopping in front of an old fence. "When you see his face, pretend it''s not him! You don''t know him! He''s just the prime suspect! A killer!" Beyond the fence stood an old abandoned factory. Windows broken, walls vandalized, dust blowing in the wind... It was something out of a horror movie. It didn''t help that the sun was setting, casting forth a red, bloody hue over the surrounding area. She did not care. Vaulting over the fence effortlessly, she makes her way to the front door. Strangely enough, the door was left ajar. She smirked nervously, both excited anticipation and dread filled her soul. "Bingo." she said quietly. She stepped inside, pushing open the surprisingly light door with a shove. It was dark, which she expected. Holding up her phone, ignoring the now twenty-five plus messages from Tom, she casts the phone''s flashlight into the darkness with a press of the flashlight button. The cold temperature, darkness and smell of rust in the air could not compare not the intense smell of blood contaminating it. It was the only thing that she could concentrate on. "Where the hell are you...?" she thought to herself, the smell of blood ever intensifying in certain directions. She could barely think straight. "No footprints..." she observed while crouching, inspecting the dust-coated floor. "Could he have taken a different path? No...it wouldn''t make sense for the door to be opened like that if that was the case." As she got up, she kicked away the ground''s dust in annoyance, gritting her teeth. She kept looking around while shinning the light. "What if that door was always opened?" she thought, approaching a staircase leading to the second level. "No," she thought, grabbing on to the staircase''s railing. "There''s usually a lot of wind in Bowie this time of year. That door''s not that heavy...it sways. It would''ve either been closed or left opened completely..." She started walking up the stairs after inspecting the lower level completely, following the smell of blood. She continued her deduction, attempting to ignore the staircase''s slightly worrying metallic creaks. "All of that...yet it was left partially opened... No, he definitely came through here specifically." She reaches the third floor¡ªthe last floor. Peering over the end of the internal balcony, she made sure that there was no movement in the lower level. After she was sure there wasn''t any, nor in the second level¡ªwhich she could see clearly from this height¡ªshe made her way to the roof via an access ladder, it''s structural soundness questionable. She proceeded nonetheless. Emerging from the top of the ladder, she cautiously grounded herself to the roof. A floor of gravel, the roof spanned quite a distance and was quite flat. By all accounts, it was a very sound roof visually speaking. However, thoughts of it caving in and her falling to her death plagued her mind. She was deathly afraid of heights, evident by her legs that slowly started to shake. She looked down at them, clenching her fists. "Come on...move...! You''ve got to. It''s just some height... I need to reach him¡ª" She''s cut off by a voice behind her. A rather deep, yet soft voice. "Reach who?" She froze in fear. A unique fear that made all other fears disappear. She dared not move, like a deer in headlights. No¡ªlike a man in the jungle frozen in place, unsure of what to do after discovering that a panther was lurking just above, eyeing him. The soft wind whispered through the silence, caressing her unease...until finally... The voice broke the silence. "Jeez...you always were a buzzkill," the voice says with a sigh. "Fine...I guess I''ll start." She felt cold hands place themselves on her shoulders, squeezing them. Along with the voice came a horrifically evil and frenzied presence pressing itself against her neck, the sound of the wind completely stopping behind her from the mass that was now towering over her. "You found me¡ªgood on you! Running from you..." it paused, its voice now directly next to her left ear, its breath as cold as corpse''s, "is nearly impossible with that nose of yours, hound." She starts breathing heavily, gritting her teeth as she squeezes her eyes shut. She was ready to turn around and pull out the gun she was concealing in her jacket''s left pocket. She felt that it knows. "No, no, no..." She felt it tighten its grip on her shoulders. "You''re not supposed to look at the devil..." it said, its breath even colder than before. She shakily stammered words. "S...spare me the embar-embarrasment-ent. You were always cringe like-like-like...that." It spoke once more, it''s timbre sounding like it was smiling. "Try that again but with some more guts¡ª" It could not finish its sentence. The woman escaped its grasp, stumbling for her gun. The woman fell to the ground slightly, catching herself with her right hand, bent over. She shakily reached towards her gun with her left, screaming, "Fuck!" She grabbed the gun, aiming it at where the voice came from from below her chest, the world seeming upside down from where her head was positioned. The barrel of the gun rests comfortably on... Nothing but the air. There was nothing there. She flipped herself over on her back, holding herself up with her right arm, ready to jump on her feet despite her fear of the collapsing floor. The gun rested itself on her hip, its mechanisms sounding loudly from the shivering hand that held it. Looking around, she realized that there was really no one there. Did this really happen? Or was this another episode? She lowered her head in shame and ever-growing sorrow. She was so close. She heard him, right? She felt him, right? She could''ve talked to him. Maybe come to some sort of agreement. With her vision facing the ground, her legs semi-crossed, her body slumped in surrender... Too weak, she once again failed her mission. She closed her eyes.... "It...really was nothing. I got carried away again..." She paused, sighing, putting the gun back in her pocket, eyes still closed. "I really thought that he was here... You were right, Tom..." she said, relieved, yet disappointed. There was silence for a while... Then another voice broke the silence. "Iamhere, Rosa," a familiar voice sounded, it''s tone cheery and innocent, yet familiarly deep. She looked in front of her suddenly, gasping. She was met by a young man''s face staring at her inches away from her face. The man had a sharp jawline contrasted by a surprisingly feminine face. The hair, the eyes, the build...and most intensely of all: the smell. The smell of a familiar cologne. Everything in front of her eyes screamed familiarity.Toofamiliar. He was sitting cross legged across from her, their faces nearly touching. His dark-brown, sharp hair covered his eyes with its two sharp bangs. The same freckles decorated his cheeks, and so did the same ashy black sweater, white pants and red boots decorate the rest of his body. It was him. "It''s been so long," he says softly. There was silence as both of them stared at each other, her face''s unsureness and surprise captured perfectly via reflection on his sky-blue spheres. She was unsure what to believe. Was this really him? Orit? "V," she began. "V...V¡ª" She couldn''t finish her sentence; the man spoke for her. "Yes! Me!" he said joyously. "I missed you too!" She was stunned. She was about to get up to run away, when suddenly the man reached into his pocket. She prepared herself to quick-draw, hoping for no hesitation on her part this time. "Still don''t be believe me?" the man asked. "I''ve got something that''ll remove those doubts!" The man pulled out a charm that resembled a pseudo crucifix, dangling it in front of her face. Its shiny, metallic body reflecting both of their faces in halves. "See?" he asked. Upon seeing it, the woman burst into tears, her gaze still fixated on the charm. A stream of pent up feelings¡ªof longing so intense... A broken dam that''s been holding back a reservoir for years. It''s finally been broken. The man smiled, putting the charm on her. Suddenly and without warning, she hugged him. "What kept you so long, dum-dum?" he asked, a bit of a giggle to his words as he hugged her back. There was a genuine warmth to his hold as apposed to the cold, withered hands that''d pressed themselves on her shoulders not moments ago. Her crying intensified. "Hey, hey, hey! Relax! It''s okay! Jeez, no need to shower me! I already did that earlier! Didn''t sting my eyes this time, by the way..." he adds, squeezing her comfortingly, swaying a bit to calm her down. "It''s-it''s..." She paused, snorting snot. "It''s really you..." she whispered with a quiver, her voice silent and calm for a change, more genuine than it ever had been in her life. The man pulled back from the hug, holding her shoulders, smiling warmly. "Yeah, it''s me." They peer into each other, the woman wiping her tears and snot with her jacket''s sleeves, smiling. She sighs, saying, "Let''s go take you to the police station. We''ve got to¡ª" As she tried to get up, she realized something that made her heart sink like a vessel in the ocean. She couldn''t move her body at all, save for her eyes. And the man''s grasp on her shoulders was now like a hydraulic press. She was immobilized. "What are you doing? What''s going on?" she asked, trying to move. She could not. Panic started welling up inside of her in response. "Hey! Stop! Why can''t I move?!" The man did not answer. He simply looked at her, smiling warmly, immobile himself. "Vincent! Say something! What''s going on?!" She was almost screaming at this point, realizing that she was truly paralyzed. She started hyperventilating, looking around frantically with her eyes, tearing up once again. "Stop! Let go of me!" The man finally spoke. A sad, reluctant tone behind his words. "I''m sorry, Rosaline." She looked at him, a feeling of betrayal and pure despair piercing her very soul. "Rosaline?" she thought. "He only calls me that when he''s mad or plotting something...!" "What''s going to happen?!" she screamed pleadingly. The man only smiled. "Who are you? Because I don''t remember you, yet I can feel you. Who am I? I seem to recall, yet I can''t feel. In diversity there is divinity, in unity lies the trinity." "What are you talking about?!" she cried imploringly. He simply maintained eye contact to comfort her. "Let''s try again..." The floor broke open beneath them. As they both fell down, time seemed to slow down. Their sitting positions unchanging as if they were frozen in place. She wanted to scream¡ªshe was about to die... but she couldn''t. It was beyond strange to her. It was almost as if her mind knew. Once again. She soon felt no fear, instead, the fear was replaced with acceptance and pure, longing sorrow¡ªthe feeling of distance becoming an emotion. The feeling of exhaustion from seeking a conclusion. "Will I see you again?" she asked rather calmly, looking into his eyes. The man chuckled a bit, smiling lovingly. "Always." Mere feet away from the floor, the man said one final thing to his friend before the end. "Blink." And so she did. Episode 1, Part 1 - Hunger Eyes blink. Tired, baggy, sky-blue eyes. Underneath is a song of freckles haphazardly adorning his cheeks. The boy pushes away his overgrown, straight, pink-red-dyed hair. Mouth''s dry, and so are his eyes. This marks the third time he''s woken up. Prolonged REM for him is nothing more than a pipe-dream. Has been for the past few days. He''d rather not awaken; he was invested in the fascinating story that his subconscious weaved together from strings of memories and feelings. Though it was sad and emotionally draining, there''s beauty in that, he thinks. He hates those sorts of dreams, the ones that pull you in and captivate you, then end abruptly right before the payoff. Cliffhangers: he hates them. Slowly rising from his bed¡ªas if he didn''t look vampirish enough¡ªhe dreads opening up the blinds, so he doesn''t. He allows the cold of December to fester under his sock-wrapped feet as they press against the white carpet. Chilly¡ªfreezing, even. Just fine for him. The way he likes it. Helps him sleep. Well, better to say what "sleep" is for him would be outright hellish without these temperatures, achieved by leaving his room''s window slightly ajar. Usually, he''d fear some dark, featureless silhouette slithering its way in through that window crack, but his new medication has been helping him stay clear of these unrealistic, childish fears. This is Bowie, Maryland. It''s safe here¡ªalways has been. He''s seventeen¡ªturning eighteen next month. His room isn''t too big, but it''s definitely as organized as any room can get. Posters of his favorite games, like Detroit: Become Human, Cyberpunk 2077, and his favorite manga series, like Tokyo Ghoul and MONSTER, adorn his walls. To his left, a simple office chair in front of small computer desk. No computer in sight, though. It''s reserved mostly for reading, evident by the wooden bookshelf next to it, filled with the actual copies of his favorite manga and novels. To his right, however, is a nightstand. He looks at the medication bottle on the far end of it, the one that''s next to his charging phone. "Chlorpromazine," it reads. An orange, cylindrical bottle. Generic. All he could get. Not because of the money, but because of his dismissive psychiatrist. Life''s usual somber emptiness... it''s actually being washed away somewhat by these tablets. It''s a little disturbing, when he thinks about it, how humans have gotten this far medically. These past few days have been stressful, they''ve been difficult, but because of these tiny little edible pebbles, he''s able to continue. Maybe things will get better, he thinks. Yeah, things will be alright. Maybe this is the cure. His cure. His answer. Will it satiate him? Will he finally be sedated¡ªalleviated? Altered enough to be happy with things? Yes, that may very well be the case. "Chlorpromazine." So why hasn''t he opened the bottle? He holds it in his hands, gripping the cap with the other, ready to unscrew. Within this bottle lies feeling alright¡ªfeeling okay. Stability¡ªaway from fragility. After a couple of seconds of debating, he impulsively opens the bottle and swallows his daily dose of normality. But as soon as it hits his stomach, the moment that he feared most comes. Extreme, gut-wrenching pain overtakes his entire abdomen. Pain like no other. A strange pain, one that no outside observer would notice. Only he can, as he stares into his swirling eyes in the mirror. ''Should''ve known better than to think this time would be any different,'' he thinks, walking to the bathroom and looking at himself in the mirror. ''Damn... Even something as small as the medication triggers this insatiable...'' Hunger.
It''s practically all he knows at this point. "Vince," his mom, a surprisingly tall ginger woman, taps him on the shoulders, startling him. "You''ve gotta eat something. Just a tiny bit." "Wish I could, mom," he says, getting up, abandoning his bowl of strawberry cereal. "But I''d rather keep my sanity." "Have you tried meditation?" she asks innocently. "Yes, mom. It does nothing. It''s hunger." "But it can''t be, honey," she says, picking up his cereal. "Doctor said so." "I don''t think this hunger is purely psychological, mom. He basically called me crazy," he says, tucking his arms into his boxy, black backpack''s straps. "Partly why he gave me the new meds." "But they''re working, right?" his mom asks, eating the cereal herself. "On my mind only," he says, walking to the door. "Still something though, I guess..." "Hey," she says, placing a fairly large plant pot on the counter. "Can you do your thing?" "This again?" he asks, sighing. "You know it''s just confirmation bias, right?" he peers into the empty pot''s soil. "What are you trying to grow this time, anyway?" "Potatoes. Just touch it, hun. It''s gonna work. Remember that time when you were tiny?" "No," he says, patting the soil. "At Marthy''s house, we were trading crops as usual. She couldn''t give us any of her corn because it all withered over night. You were with me. You really don''t remember?" "Sorry," he traces a spiral on the soil, concentrating from the edges to the center. "Well, you''d always come along with me. She''d usually have some corn ready for us a week or so before Thanksgiving, and we''d give some of our own crops to her in exchange. Suddenly, you disappeared. Never knew when it happened. We were just talking, then poof. Looked everywhere for you. Turns out, you were frolicking in the dead cornfield. Except the corn around you looked brand new¡ªas if it''d never died." "Oooh," he says, sliding the pot back to her. "So that''s where it all started." "From then on, the corn never died once! Once! Actually, it grew out of hand¡ª" "Wait, did she use that corn to make the fake Sak¨¦ at her bar?" "Yeah! Well, aren''t you just a detective? Wait, how''d you know it''s fake?" "Finlay," he says. "Wait, you''re not hoping to start your own bar with these potatoes, are you? Like I said, it''s just confirmation bias... There''s no way they''re gonna grow. It''s winter, after all." "It''s not confirmation bias! And I''m not. I''m just using your talents to give us some free food Just accept it, you''re a little miracle boy and that''s that!" Vince blushes, scratching his head. "Eh...I''m gonna go to school now." "Aren''t you forgetting something?" his mom asks teasingly. "I forget a lot of things, mom. It''s basically my thing." "Especially kissing your mom goodbye," she says, frustrated, her mouth full. Vince kisses two fingers and throws them at her as he walks out of the door with a smile. She aggressively swallows, slamming her fist on the counter. He can hear her cussing him out as he walks out of the door, admitting a chuckle. The ice-cold wind instantly hits him in the face. He feels as if the wind waited for him to exit. He instinctively pulls up his red coat''s hood, tightening it. Though he barely minds the cold, frostbite still hurts. And though he''s fully kitted out in winter clothing, he can still feel the cold slowly seeping into his legs. Without a moment''s hesitation, he quickly makes his way to the bus stop, unafraid of slipping on any ice. December has just rolled around the corner today, but there''s no snow or frost in sight. At the bus stop, with some minutes to spare, he pulls out his phone and wireless earbuds, launching his music player and quietly jamming out to the beautiful melodies and angelic vocals of Spandau Ballet''s "Gold". His foot taps to the beat, his hands sway as if he''s directing an orchestra, and his body flows with the music. Another escape. His mind creates visuals¡ªpleasant ones. Ones he prefers over the dreary images of the real world. This world suits him more. That and the world of dreams. These worlds satisfy him, as apposed to the emptiness that reality brings him. But these are deserts, and he''s not a kid anymore; there is no nutrition in simply eating sweets. And just like a dream, it comes to an end. The bus has arrived. Vince sighs, hearing the pressure leaving the vehicle. If it weren''t for that, he''d have still been jamming out in pure ignorance. That would''ve been embarrassing, he thinks as he walks up the bus''s stairs. Instantly, the horrid smell of body odor and the stressful cacophony of screams and laughs fill the atmosphere. ''They''re like animals. Caged animals...'' he thinks, picking the front bus seat. Unfortunately for him, it''s already taken. Taken by a particularly annoying caged animal. Kurt McCready. Vince''s eyelids drop in disappointment as he looks upon the short, Scottish kid with the bowl cut and brown hair gaze up at him with a spitefully satisfied smile. If they were all be dogs, Kurt would be a Chihuahua, only ruling because his dad is a Saint Bernard only in money. He imagines his chubby dog, Trigger. ''No,'' he thinks. ''Not a Saint Bernard. Trigger is a Saint Bernard. They''re cute and noble. His dad''s more like a coyote. Opportunistic and cunning.'' "You gonna do something?" Kurt asks in a provocative yet mellow voice. Vince rolls his eyes before making his way to the back of the bus. The deeper he walks in, the more animalistic the people become. He wonders why they''re like this. Monkey-like one moment¡ªcruel even, and uncaring...civilized and confirming the next when they''re adults. ''They''re all like that,'' he thinks as he sits down on the cold, empty seat at the far end of the bus. ''We all are, I guess. If not for our parents and society...I wonder how we''d be without that...'' He lays his head on the ice-cold window of the bus, the rocking of which occasionally causes his head to hit the glass. ''If I never had mom to guide me...or dad¡ªthough, he never got to...If every kid was free to do what they wanted and grow up without any external influence...what would the world become? Pure anarchy...?'' His eyes start closing, the poor sleep from last night catching up to him. ''Yeah...that wouldn''t be good. But it''d sure be fascinating...Maybe the world and its mechanisms domesticate us...trap us. Though, it probably doesn''t have a choice...if that system didn''t exist, I''m sure the world would be...'' "Over," a stern male voice says. "Class was over a while ago." Blink. He does so. First seeing his hands, his gaze slowly moves up until it meets his teacher, an average-sized, half Asian man with a thick, sharp black moustache that points every so slightly upwards. Black hair adorns his head, contrasting with his cyan polo. He''s holding a textbook, and in front of him, at the corner of the desk, is a black nameplate that reads "Mr. Yu". "Fell asleep again?" he asks Vince, an eyebrow raising. "Yeah, sorry..." he admits, looking down at his papers. "Vince, this is the third or fourth time since the start of the year," he says, closing his book abruptly. "What''s been going on?" "Not much, just not able to sleep well is all..." Vince says, beginning to write his name down on the paper. "Insomnia? Is that it?" "Yes," he says before his pencil snaps in two. "Because it seems to be more than that. You can talk to me, you know?" "Really, I''m fine." "Well, your pencil clearly isn''t. Come get a spare one." The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. He gets up, embarrassed. Thankfully, his hair partially masks his face; two sharp, long bangs that conveniently mask his eye sockets. Though he tries to comb these away every morning, they always manage to find their way back to their eye-covering position. Mr. Yu hands him another No. 2 pencil, which he takes sheepishly. "Not so fast," Mr. Yu says, stopping Vince before he goes back to his desk. "Let me see your eyes, Vince." "Um... Uh... Why?" he asks, facing away. "If you don''t, I''ll fail you," he says frankly. "...Fine," he says, turning around, raising his bangs up, a guilty expression underneath. His eyes were twitching in an uncanny way. "You''re not telling me the full truth," Mr. Yu says, crossing his arms, plopping his feet on the table. "Did somethin'' happen with your mom?" "No." "Has she...laid off the caffeine at all?" he asks, his tone shifting to a more considerate one. "Not even a little." "Is that what''s bothering you?" "...Got me. Gonna go back to finishin'' that¡ª" "Vince, you don''t have to tell me anything. I''m your teacher, not your dad," he says, Vince forming a slight saddened, culpable frown. "But I can''t deny the fact that you''ve been performing very poorly because of something external. I know you. This whole year...I''ve noticed you making more and more mistakes¡ªnot to mention cutting corners. You don''t have to deal with things on your own, you know?" He''s right, Vince admits to himself. He knows that he could and can always tell Mr. Yu whatever''s on his mind. Any of his issues, any of his worries, William Yu will always be there to listen, advice at the ready. Yu, himself, as he stares at the sleep deprived, red-haired boy in front of him, remembers when the same boy was a more bright, brown-haired version of himself. Kids his age go through these phases, sure, but Vince either hit it late or something else entirely is going on, because Vince out-right defied what it meant to be a teenager. Never loud, never impulsive or bratty... He still remembers when he''d get straight A''s or B-pluses in his chemistry class. Ever since the beginning of the school year, he''s been nothing but hardworking¡ªeven calling to tell him his latest record time for finishing homework. "It''s just...edgy, teenage things. Nothing serious." "It''s serious when it''s affecting your academic performance, O''Bright," Mr. Yu eases up with a sigh. "But, fine...just get back to work. But I''m gonna help you finish it." "Oh, alright. Thanks." Vince says with an awkward smile, scratching the back of his head. "Aaaand...that''s time," Mr. Yu says, silencing his smartwatch''s alarm. "Two whole minutes earlier than before. Good job." "And...how''d I do?" Vince asks, resting his head on his fist. "...A little better." Mr. Yu says, organizing the papers. Vince shakes his head slightly in disappointment, looking out the window next to him. Mr. Yu, who''s on an opposing desk-chair in front of him, notices, looking at the spot that he''s looking at. He''s looking at some withered roses that are outside, on the edges of the school. "Poor roses. Winter''s destroying them..." Vince says, the cold of the window pressing against his knuckles. "They''re actually just black," Mr. Yu says, walking to his desk, storing Vince''s papers in the drawer. "What?!" Vince asks, amused. "There''s such a thing as black roses?!" "Thought you''d know that," Mr. Yu says with a smirk. "You good with plants, after all." "You really buyin'' into my mom''s delusions?" he asks in disbelief. "She''s definitely got an imagination. It''s endearing." "Wait...what...?" Vince blushes. "CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT THE PRINCIPAL WANTS TO REMOVE THOSE ROSES?!" Mr. Yu exclaims, surprising Vince. He rushes over to Vince, pointing to the roses. "I planted those myself! Cost me a pretty penny! Got them imported directly from Ulaanbaatar!" "What...where''s¡ª" "Mongolia. Damned Principal Hard-Ass thinks they''re parasitic." "Didn''t know there are black roses in Mongolia." "Me neither." Looking out the window once more, Vince witnesses a wasp, a particularly big one, fly on down to the bulb of the rose. How a wasp is both out and flying about in these temperatures is beyond him, but what fascinates him more is what the insect is currently doing. As it wedges its body inside of the petals and wiggles its butt in what might be joy, its happy movements begin to slow down. The cold, maybe? Did it finally get to it? Eventually, the wasp goes completely limp. Paralyzed¡ªlifeless. Suddenly, the rose begins to absorb the insect, the bug''s tint spreading to the petals, dying them a bright yellow. Eventually, the wasp completely disappears, and the rose goes back to being black¡ªall while Vince looks on in wonder and slight disgust. He snaps his gaze to Mr. Yu, who''s reaching into his teacher''s bag, pulling out two red plastic cups and a green matcha bag. "Did you see that?!" Vince asks curiously. "A random wasp outside. It just...died when it touched that flower." "Impossible. You been taking your meds, Vince?" Mr. Yu asks, unscrewing his water canteen''s cap, the hot water''s steam slapping him in the face. "''Course I have! I swear there''s...Oh, forget it. Probably just a residual." Mr. Yu pours the instant matcha into the two cups, along with some honey from a small, bear-shaped bottle he gets from his bag''s outer pocket. He''s always ready for a matcha break¡ªit''s his favorite tea, after all. Mr. Yu stirs the teas with a stirring stick that came with the instant matcha bag while adding the hot water. It''s impressive that the water is still this hot, he thinks. ''Thanks, Mitch. Your crazy Kemu recommendations actually have some use for once. Just worried it''s radioactive...'' He gently slides one of the cups of tea to Vince, whose focus is locked solely on the rose. "Want some tea?" he asks. Vince looks at the hot, green liquid in front of him. "I...can''t really say no now, can I?" "Nope," Mr. Yu says, sipping the boiling hot matcha, his throat uncaring. "How can you drink that?! Let it cool down?!" "You kids..." he says with a smirk. "This is child''s play." Vince looks down at the sloshing tea, his reflection waving about on the water. For a second, he''s reminded of his mother. The freckles that adorn her face and his are identical. But unlike him, she''s actually strong¡ªresilient. Somehow, despite all she''s been through, she carries on every day. Maybe it''s because of the caffeine...or maybe it''s because she has a son. He wonders what would become of her if he suddenly disappeared¡ªdidn''t exist. Or, god forbid, di¡ª Snap. "Hey, Vince," Mr. Yu says, snapping his fingers. "You falling asleep again?" "No, of course not," he says, flinching. There''s a brief pause, his reflection now all but gone as the water''s ripples worsen. "Hey, Mr. Yu," he asks softly. "Are you happy here?" "Hm? What do you mean?" "Working as a teacher." "Well," he strokes his moustache, a bit perplexed by the question. "I''m not sure; never thought about it. I don''t really think happiness is a concern of mine. I just...do my job." "You think parents are the same?" he asks. "Are they also just doing their job?" Mr. Yu gulps, sweat forming on his neck as he adjusts his collar. Suddenly, Vince is asking him heavy questions. Ones he wasn''t expecting, nor is he prepared for. What should he say? How should he proceed? He continues in the only way that he knows. "Say," he says, leaning in. "Did I ever tell you how I got hired here?" "Not really, no," Vince says, his face hovering over the steam. "Wanna hear it?" "Does it involve suspicious behavior?" Vince asks, leaning in. "How''d you guess?!" Mr. Yu asks, half sarcastically, loading up a photo album on his phone. "Wait...!" Vince says, unbelieving. "Check this out," he says, showing Vince a photo. The photo is of an enraged, half Asian young man being carried out of some kind of building with lots of glass windows by two large security guards. A broken glass door lies on the floor behind them. Vince is beyond taken aback. That''s his teacher disturbing the peace! He would''ve never thought that someone like him would end up in a situation like that. "That''s you! What''s the context?!" "I got rejected from my dream job," he says, sipping his tea. "NASA. I never really wanted to be a chemistry teacher, you know? Most of my family is something akin to that, however. My mom''s a doctor, and both my dad and brother are chemists. Naturally, they wanted me to follow in their footsteps. It was my niece who put the love of space in me. She wanted to be an astronaut when she grows up. Of course, now she is. It''s unfortunate that I couldn''t join her like I promised her." "Why? Why''d they reject you?" Mr. Yu pauses for a second, gripping his cup of tea slightly. He looks around the room for a second before leaning in and speaking quieter. "Because they couldn''t get past a minor traffic accident that landed me in jail for a couple of months. One mistake and your wole life is ruined." "In jail?! No wonder they rejected you!" he says. "Wait, how old were you in the photo?" "Twenty-one years old. This was back in the two-thousands. It''s a photo of a photo. Surprised my friend could even take it at all from how heated the situation was. Funny that, right before, these were the photos," he says, grabbing the phone and swiping to previous photos of him happily in front of NASA headquarters. "Yeah, I was betting everything on NASA. As soon as I graduated, I went straight for it. I wasn''t going to get any other job. Months passed by and those little¡ª" he catches himself, "suckers were still ghosting me. Guess they got tired of calling to reject me." "So you just went up to the HQ and gave them a piece of your mind?" "Exactly." "Why''d your friend come along?" "He was trying to stop me from lashing out." ''Clearly that didn''t go so well...'' Vince thinks. "Anyway, in the end, I tried looking for work as a teacher anywhere. I wasn''t going to be a chemist for any other organization, and any other job was out of the question for a stubborn guy like me. After most schools and institutions rejected me, right before giving up, this school..." he gestures around himself, "accepted me. They might''ve even known about my criminal history. Probably didn''t care. They were really eager to get a chemist onboard; the old one left had quit abruptly." "Wow...I never knew. That other chemistry teacher must''ve gotten tired of teaching uninterested kids." Mr. Yu nods with a smirk, his arms crossed. "You think I don''t? You''re lucky to have me every year." "So, what exactly was the accident, anyway?" Vince asks curiously. "Let''s just say you don''t want to get in the way of an uncle who''s late for his niece''s play." Vince gulps. He had no idea Mr. Yu was capable of such anger and determination. In way, it kind of makes him cooler, he thinks. "You feeling better?" Mr. Yu asks considerately. "That was all to cheer me up?!" "Well, yeah. I don''t reveal stuff like that easily," he says, scratching his moustache. "Don''t wanna get fired now, you know? Not after I found stability." Vince''s ears perk up. "It''s nice, you know? I never wanted to be a chemist, really. Only exception was NASA, but that was because of my niece and my love for space. Chemistry...plus teaching it, sounded like nothing but a chore for me, at first. But it was all that I had. I didn''t spend all those years studying for nothing." "So...you are happy here then?" "Sure, why not? At first, no. But now...I wouldn''t know any other life. I just had to get used to it, I suppose¡ªmy new life. Adapt to liking it." "Don''t know if that sounds pleasant..." "True, but isn''t modern life like that, anyway?" Mr. Yu asks, leaning back in his chair. "Hard to find someone who''s happy with what they do. Especially those who study hard to be something and actually achieve it. It tends to be underwhelming. When you expect, you''ll often just be disappointed. Because there''s no better version of something than the one in your mind. But when you drop expectations¡ªaccept what you have, you''ll find happiness and appreciation in whatever you get. Even if I couldn''t make it to NASA, I''m fine gazing at the stars and pointing at my niece on the ISS in the sky before going to sleep. I was made to be a chemistry teacher, it looks like. I just had to accept that," he leans in, facing Vince, "You just have to find what you were made for. Whatever it is, you''ve got to accept it. Once you do, you''ll be happier than if you had achieved whatever it is you thought you were made for. "But what do I know, right? I''m just a grumpy old dude, hahah." Vince''s eyes are wide in bewilderment. ''Grumpy old dude''? Not even close. "No, I...get what you mean. Jeez...I never thought you were so wise," he says, still processing what his teacher said. "Not sure if that cheered you up or cleared up anything that was on your mind...since I can''t read it. Did I even come close?" he asks with a slight smile and weak chuckle. "I think so." "You''re not just saying that to be nice, are you?" "Maybe a little, but not entirely. I was kinda worried about what I''d become in the future." "So, did you make up your mind?" "Nope. You actually just encouraged me to give up on my dreams." Mr. Yu nearly falls back in his chair. "What?! That wasn''t..." Vince gives a silent chuckle. "Relax, I meant that you made me realize that all I have to be is something that I''m good at. I''m good at cooking, boxing, and gardening. But I''m not sure that I can do any of those for a living for long... I''m graduating this year, and I was so worried about what I''d pick as a future. Worried that, no matter what I picked, I''d never feel satisfied. I''d always look for something...more. Eventually, I''d run out of things to look for." "Really? You don''t think you''d be satisfied with being a professional chef or boxer?" "I guess that''s just my problem." "I knew you worked hard, but I never knew you were this overly ambitious. Is that what''s getting you down?" Vince blushes slightly, realizing what he accidentally revealed. "Oh, I...Yeah. Jeez..." Mr. Yu leans in. "Hey, so you know you have this issue, but you can''t exactly change a fundamental part of yourself like that so easily. That''s fine. Acknowledging the issue is the first step to fixing it." Vince smiles, looking down slightly. "Right...that''s right. My psychologist calls it depression... But it''s not something that superficial." "Vince, you never told me you had depression. I''m...sorry, son." Vince flares a grin. "And constant, gut-wrenching hunger, too!" he gives a forced laugh to lighten the mood. It doesn''t work at all. Mr. Yu''s composed demeanor changes to one of sympathy and worry. He lowers his head slightly, shaking it. "Hey, I got something to help you on your path to greatness. It''s not much, but it means a lot to me," he says, reaching into his teachers bad, pulling out a mechanical pencil. The pencil itself is very sleek and metallic. It looks more like a pen, and it has a heft weight when Vince holds it with his two palms. His face is reflected on the dark chrome surface of the tool. It feels premium. It is premium. Who knows how much it costs? Fifty dollars? Sixty? Maybe even more. "Mr. Yu...something so expensive?" "Damned right. You earned it." "Just because I''m depressed? You don''t have to¡ª" "Oh, shut up. Don''t spout that crap. I''m giving it to you because your the best student in this class. Bunch of uncaring amateurs, the lot of them. You, though? A couple of fumbles and stumbles just shows how hard you you''ve been working." "Thank you," Vince smiles warmly, storing the pencil in his backpack''s inner pocket. "I''ll take care of it." "You better. It cost me a hundred dollars," Mr. Yu motions to the tea. "Want this to go?" Vince grabs the cup of tea now that it''s cooled down. He downs it all in one big gulp, letting out an exhale. "I should''ve savored that. It was delicious!" "Try not to fall asleep. It''s got a lot of L-theanine in it," he says, getting up, wrapping the teacher''s bag around him. "Now, you should get going. It''s Friday, and I have to go to my friend''s birthday party. He insists that I do," he turns to Vince, "Am I a bad person for picking work and studies over my friend?" Vince shrugs at the question. "I''m not your guy if you''re asking about moral dilemmas like that. Don''t know what I''d pick, honestly. Probably both." Mr. Yu chuckles, waving a back-handed goodbye to Vince as the boy walks to the exit door. As Vince grabs the door''s doorknob, a question pops into his head. A good one. Flipping around, he asks it. "Say, Mr. Yu," he asks half seriously. "I''m definitely not made to be a chemist. Does that mean I can skip class next Monday?" Mr. Yu, who was erasing something on the white board, drops the eraser, dumbfounded by the question. "Absolutely not! I better see you in my class next Monday! And even earlier than usual!" Vince chuckles, waving a back-handed goodbye as he swings open the door. But he never opened it. It was swung open for him. Episode 1, Part 2 - "Here we go once more..." In front of him, a fairly short, orange-haired girl with equally fairly short hair with tornado curls at the shoulders looms over him¡ªdespite her height¡ªas she eyes him with ferocious intent. He knows that familiar, angry face, and that familiar, orange hoodie. "Rosa?" Mr. Yu asks. "What are you still doing here?" Vince jumps back in fear, almost tripping. "Rosa! What the hell?! You scared the shit out of me!" "What the fuck took you so long?! I''ve been waiting outside for what felt like a fucking eternity! My legs almost gave out, dammit!" "Hey!" Mr. Yu slams his fist on to the desk. "Watch your language in my class, Rattray!" Rosa gives Mr. Yu a slight scowl, shaking her head. "Bellarose. Not Rattray." "I¡ª" Before Vince can even form a sentence, she grabs him and pulls him outside, closing the door behind her. Her annoyed face still lingers, her arms in her hoodies'' pockets. "Didn''t answer my question, dingus." "I was finishing work! What are you even doing here?!" "You owe me. Big time. Where''s the root beer?" ''There''s no way she still remembers that,'' he thinks, backing up onto the lockers. "You waited out here just for some damn root beer?!" "Damn straight," she says, slamming a leg on to the locker next to Vince, pinning him down. Vince, however, rolls his eyes, effortlessly pushing away her leg as he walks away. "Hey!" she yells, chasing after him. "You just like walking home with me, huh?" he asks teasingly, a smirk on his face. "Sure, buddy. Whatever you say. But who says we''re walkin'' home?" she asks, stopping in front of him. "Weren''t we going to go to that abandoned house you found the other day?" "That? You really wanna go there and potentially get killed by some homeless heroin addict?" "It was your idea! You too pussy or somethin''?" she asks, tilting her head up slightly. "Uh, no, dingus¡ªit was your idea to explore it! Why don''t you go yourself?" Rosa starts making chicken noises as they walk out of the main hallway, the sunlight piercing Vince''s eyes all the way from the optic nerve to his corneas. Vince shakes his head in both pain from the light and annoyance of Rosa as he puts on his red sunglasses. "You''re a child. I''ll go if it''ll make you happy," he says, walking through the crosswalk with her. Rosa instinctively walks closer to him as the car zoom by on the opposite lane. It doesn''t help that the one''s waiting for them stare at her like beasts about to pounce. Her heart begins to race, and the longer they take, the more she feels like she''s in danger. Without warning, she grabs a surprised Vince''s arm as she runs to the other side of the opposite sidewalk as quickly as possible¡ªand with blazing speed. Vince barely keeps up, almost tripping with each step. He''s not made for quick sprints. Though he''s fast in the arms, his legs might as well not exist. "What are you in a hurry for?!" Vince asks, panting as she walks in front of him, her black skirt flailing in the wind slightly. "And put some pants on, you dirty girl! I thought we addressed this the first time we met¡ª" "SHUT YOUR TRAP AND MOVE YOUR ASS! We got an abandoned house to check out. Might find treasure." she processes what he said at the end. "AND I WEAR WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT! I ain''t doin'' it for attention, loser! It''s just comfortable." "Blah, blah, blah," he says, walking after her. "All I hear..." he mumbles. Rosa...his friend. His only friend. "Friends" were something odd to him before. Most of them will betray you in the end, and even if they don''t, they won''t resonate with you. Not a simple negative idea for Vince, as he''s experienced half a dozen short-lived friendships in his life. Short-lived because, in their company, he couldn''t help but feel an absence¡ªas if they didn''t exist. It''d be more accurate to say that they he was their friend. No ill will towards anyone, but no affection either. He might as well have no one. For a time, he wouldn''t have had it any other way. Starting Highschool, he wanted only to focus on his studies. Then she showed up... Vince was waiting for the bus. It was his first day of highschool, and he didn''t care of what the cringy, clich¨¦ "survive Highschool" movies depicted were true. Bullies didn''t worry him, exams didn''t worry him¡ªbecause all that he care about right now was tapping his foot to the rhythm of Elton John. The cold, Autumn wind blows his overgrown hair, causing it to occasionally poke his face. Still, he didn''t care. The smooth melodies and drums assured him that everything would be alright. The world around didn''t matter. He could lose himself this sonic atmosphere for the rest of eternity. That would be nice, he thought. But he knew that soon it would come to an end, as all things do. Unfortunate. He wished it could last forever. He wished that all good things could last forever. If he had the power to, he''d make that a reality. If not for the world, then for himself. The world he inhabited was teeming with so many factors that detracted from positive immersion. Soon he''d be bored with this song, too. But before that could happen, a strange sensation washed over him. Someone was breathing down his neck, their cold inhalations lifting up his hair strand by strand. With a jolt, he flips around, only to see a short, orange-haired girl standing right behind him with a weird grin on her face. "Who the hell are you?!" he asked, discomforted. "Hey," she said nonchalantly. "I''m your new neighbor. You smell really good. Is that an Italian cologne?" "Yeah, how''d you know¡ª" Vince catches himself. "Don''t go around smelling people like that, you weirdo! I almost punched you!" "Hah! As if," she said, stowing her hands in her hoodies'' pockets. "I''m super strong. Too strong for you." "Who even are you, girly?" he asked, composing himself. "What''s your name?" "Rosa Bellarose Rattray. Don''t forget it," she said, grinning cockily. "What''s your name?" "Okay. I''ll remember you as ''Nose-Vacuum''," he said, turning the music up, walking farther away from her. "Hey!" she yelled, her voice muffled by the music. Vince tries to ignore her. People are so eccentric and annoying. No respect for personal space¡ªamong other things. They could never be friends. It''d be a waste of time. She''d be the ninth. Smack! "Ouch!" Vince yelled out, caressing the back of his injured head. "What the hell''s your problem?!" "I SAID WHAT''S YOUR NAME?!" she angrily yells out. "It''s rude to ignore people!" They were face to face with each other. Vince''s blue eyes met her green, their chests touching. "Yeah? Well it''s even ruder to assault people with your freakishly small nose!" Vince retorted. "Shut up! Your face freaks me out! Why do you have such majestic freckles?!" "I''ve never even heard of such a thing!" Rosa pushed away from him, rolling her eyes. "You''re a buzzkill." Vince was taken aback by her hypocrisy. But before he could say anything, a can was launched at him. He grabbed it in mid air with one arm effortlessly. Rosa smirks, impressed. She cracked open her can of root beer that she got from her backpack. "Let''s have some root beer," she takes a sip. "Always calmed me down, Freckles." Vince sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You''re the one who started it, Nose-Vacuum" "Okay, seriously, what''s your name?" she asks, already done with her can. "...It''s Vincent." "Last name?" "...Why do you wanna know...?" "Why the paranoia, dude?" Vince pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated...but he decided to throw her a bone. "O''Bright." "No middle name? Guess I''m specialer." "That''s not a word, Rose." "Rosa! Don''t call me Rose." There''s some silence as they waited for the bus. Awkward, painful silence for Vince, but a pleasant, satisfactory silence for Rosa. She had made a new friend for sure. She''s confident. And if she didn''t, she''d make him be her friend. "Sorry for sniffing your hair..." she says, fidgeting with the empty can. "I have a hard time making friends." "I can see why," he says frankly, his can still unopened. "Cold, Vik. Cold..." "Vince!" "And I''m not ''Rose!''" she counters. "Also, if you''re gonna be my friend, you gotta drink that root beer." Vince wanted to say something along the lines of ''who says I want to be your friend,'' but he refrained for reasons that were beyond him. Instead, he just sighed and opened the can, taking a tiny sip. Rosa watched adamantly, waiting for another. But when another didn''t come, she felt a wave of disapproval wash over her. "I can''t believe you don''t like root beer," she said somberly yet with a hint of frustration. Vince taps the can, seeing the bus on the horizon. "I uh...shouldn''t drink it." She raises an eyebrow. "Why? It ain''t alcohol." He scratched the back of his head. "It''ll kill my stomach. I''d be hungry for hours." "Then just eat," she said matter-of-factly. "Can''t eat much either," he says, a little embarrassed. "What can you have?!" "Water and meat for some reason," he said, tossing the can in a nearby trash bin. Rosa explodes in anger. "Did you just throw away that yet-to-be enjoyed can of root beer?! You''re gonna pay for that with your money! If not today, then tomorrow! If not tomorrow, then¡ª" "What did I do?!" Rosa, in a fit of rage, chased a terrified and confused Vince around the bus stop until the bus arrived. ...Vince realizes something as he catches up to her, the day growing darker. "Hey, wait a sec," he says. "Let''s take Rosie. She''s faster and more efficient." "Absolutely not," she says, quickening her pace. "We''re not taking that fucking death trap anywhere. Still can''t believe you named it after me..." "Wait up there!" Vince pleads, almost sounding tear-stricken. "My noodle legs are gonna vanish into thin air, I swear!" "Sick bars bro, but I don''t care." "Don''t you dare¡ªuh..." he pants, working up a sweat. "I got nothin''. And I didn''t name her after you! It''s my pops. Before he died, he told my mom that it''d be mine when I turned sixteen." "Remember what I said in ninth grade?" "And under no circumstances will we ever travel by bike, car, boat, plane¡ª" "Whoa, whoa, hold on¡ª" "Bike, unicycle¡ª" "What the hell?! How do you expect us to¡ª" "FEET." "True..." he says, panting heavily. "Never told me why though." "Why do you care? Anyway, house should be around here, right?" she asks as they arrive in another neighborhood, face to face with a gravel trail that leads into a thickly wooded area. The entrance to the area is dark. They''ll need flashlights. Luckily, Vince''s phone is fully charged. He barely uses it, as he''s usually too distracted with his studies and dodging Rosa''s antics to ever properly clear off the annoying "Cook & Soup" app''s endless notifications. He clears the nearly one hundred notifications from his phone after pulling it out. ''Why are they all pasta-based?! I can''t have gluten!'' "Alright, Rose," he says, turning on the flashlight, shining it into the abyss. "Be careful now." "Don''t call me that," her voice sounds farther away than usual. "WAIT FOR ME, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" he screams, running after her. ...Vince glances around; he could''ve sworn that the trees whispered his name. He could''ve sworn that the crows called out to him as they flew overhead. Gravel crunches under their weight, Rosa''s footsteps being particularly heavier than his, despite her lean frame. Vince''s legs wanted to rest¡ªrecover, but the ''Celtic mule'' that is Rosa won''t let them, he thinks. A chill runs down his spine as the wind blows in his face once more, seeping through the cracks of his clothes. "Seriously, how are you not freezing?" he asks, looking down at her exposed legs. "I''m just built different," she replies confidently, stopping for a split-second break. "Finally!" he celebrates. She begins her march once more. "Oh, come on!" "Need a piggy-back ride? Can''t believe a ''boxer'' like you has this little stamina." "I''m not a boxer, dingus!" "You punch a sack, don''t you? Your dad was one too. You got pecs and everything. Useless, though." she notices the flashlight''s beam lower to the ground. "Shine the way!" "Cut me some slack! I don''t have superhuman stamina like you!" he says, raising his arms once more to shine the path in front of them. In doing so, they both stumble upon the house. It''s barely visible in the distance¡ªRosa wouldn''t have even seen it if not for Vince addressing it with the point of a finger. "There it is," he says, catching his breath. "But we didn''t bring any weapons or anything..." Rosa flips around, walking backwards towards the house. "If shit goes south, you can just use your boxing skills. But you might wanna ask the attacker to give you some time to breathe, y''know?" "Bite me!" he retorts, following suit. "How about you use your crazy kicks?!" "Don''t tempt me!" Rosa is the first to step foot on to the old, decayed footsteps of the quaint, run-down wooden cabin''s porch. At first confident, her nerve quickly finds its place as she sees the broken windows, graffiti and structurally unsound porch''s ceiling. Still, she remains cool and collected on the outside. Vince finally catches up, resting a hand on the staircase''s handlebars. "What are we hoping to find here, anyway?" "Oh, baby," she says, tapping the support beams with her foot. "Something that''ll make us both rich..." Vince squints, intrigued. "Rich?" "Yep!" she says, walking up to the door. "Wanna know?" You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. "Not really, but I kinda got no choice but to be curious." "You''re seriously sad, you know that?" she says, flipping around to face him. "We''re gonna find..." ... Vince gestures with his hands to continue, waiting for her response. "Copper!" she says with a confident smirk. There''s silence for a second as the wind blows past them gently. "...There''s...there''s no copper in a place like this." "Yeah! Lots of copper. A gold-mine in the walls¡ª" she pauses, processing what he just said. "Huh?" "Nope. No copper in a cabins. I''m...not sure why you thought there''d be." "HUH?! YOU CALLIN'' ME STUPID?!" she asks, slamming her foot on the floor. "There''s no way! I saw some guy exploring abandoned places on YouTube! Dude said there''d be a shit ton of copper in the walls of abandoned places like these!" "Yeah...abandoned places that aren''t cabins," he says, walking up to and tapping the wooden walls. "Not sure why there''s such a rustic cabin in Bowie... And in twenty-seventeen, no less." "Why didn''t you say anything?!" "How the hell was I supposed to know that you were after frickin'' copper?!" Rosa lets out a displeased and aggravated growl as she covers her face. She tries opening the door, but it won''t budge. "Oh, great...fuckin'' great! It''s jammed!" "Whoa, calm down," he says, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It''s nothing to get this upset about." "Oh, this door''s gonna open!" she says, slamming her body against it. Vince backs away a tad, a little anxious now. He''s been here before. Soon she''ll enter full-blown tempter-tantrum territory... It''d be uncomfortable and off-putting to anyone else, but Vince is used to this. It doesn''t always happen, but when it does, it''s best to just leave her be until she calms down. Easier said than done for him. "You''re gonna hurt yourself...!" he says worriedly. "Just forget the copper! We can find some other place in the future when we''re more prepared¡ª" Rosa lets out a roar. Bam! Doof-doof-doof¡ªcrack! Her foot effortlessly goes through the door, its hinges now on the ground, Vince''s shocked "Rosa!" masked by the loud sound of the bookshelf that was once blocking the door skipping backwards, breaking into pieces as it crashes into the living room''s wall. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" Vince yells, his tone one of anger and concern. "Aaaaaaaaaaah!" she screams, pain coursing through her entire leg like penetrating knives. "My fucking leg!" "What were you thinking?!" "That door...pissed me the fuck off!" she says, trying to play off the pain with anger, not noticing her tears. "I think...I think...!" "Just don''t move! Let me see what I can do!" he says, crouching down to examine her injury. "No!" she pleads. "I got it! Back off! It''s...no big deal!" she tries pulling her leg out from the door, its sharp and jagged edges clawing deeper into her flesh like a tiger''s claws warning its prey to be still. "Shit! Nope...I...FUCK!" Vince firmly clings on to both ends of the door''s newly formed fissure, gripping it as tight as he can. He''s careful to interlock his fingers between the spikes as he pushes the hole apart carefully. Rosa screams in pain as she feels the large spike that''s imbedded itself in her shin slowly release itself from its spot. She grabs his hand, beaming him a vulnerable, pain-filled look. She shakes her head, the tears landing on Vince''s hands. Spurt! A man, who''s walking his dog past the entrance of the house, hears what sounds like the scream of a banshee. His dog is the first to react, darting away at amazing speed, nearly causing him to fall face-first on to the pavement from its fearful pulling force. Almost. He quickly outpaces the dog. "Nope! We''re leaving this fuckin'' town, Minx! I gotta call my wife!" he says, his tiny dog violently flailing in the wind behind him as he sprints. Rosa''s throbbing leg would probably thank her for allowing it to rest on the ground if it were alive. Blood floods down her leg and pools on the ground, feeding the grass, yet tainting it in a dark crimson lake. Though, if her leg were alive, it''d probably be dead by now, Vince thinks. She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, her eyes squeezed shut like vault doors. Vince remains by her side, unsure of what to do. The injury is grave¡ªbeyond that. He can see what looks like something white peaking out from under the skin. Thankfully, it''s not sticking out, he thinks. "I''m sorry," he says sincerely. "I shouldn''t have even found this damned house...!" "Just shut up," she says, collapsing on to the grassy ground in-between chocked gasps, holding her leg. "Always piss me off...how easily you apologize for things that aren''t even your fault." "I''m going to call an ambulance," he says, unlocking his phone. "No! Don''t you dare! It''s be cheaper to die!" she yells, slamming her fist on the ground. "Just...get me the curtain from that window..." "Not a chance! You wanna get a disease?!" he says, taking off his coat and sweater, exposing his torso to the elements. "Use my sweater!" "Don''t fuckin'' kid me! Only disease I got here is my damn anger...and you," she says, taking the sweater from Vince. "Your leg''s almost gone and you still insult me. Good to see you''re still hanging in there," he says with a stress-filled sigh. "Don''t be so sure," she says, getting ready to wrap the fabric around her leg. ''I''m strong,'' she says in her head. ''I''m strong...'' "Let me do it," he pleads. "I''m strong," she says out loud, gritting her teeth. "I''m... strong!" She starts tightening the sweater... But that''s where she stops. She can''t proceed. The agony won''t allow her. Too embarrassed to look over at Vince, she tries tugging on the clothing once more. No luck. Too much pain. Once more. This time, she fights through the pain, perhaps out of a need to prove her strength. No luck. She''s too weak to tighten it enough. The worst possible time for her weak arms to be put on full display. A river of both physical and emotional misery streams down her cheeks. She lets her head hang low, unable to do anything. But then a hand presses itself on her shoulder. And then another gently settles itself atop her own hand. "You are strong," he says gently. "Come on. Let''s do it." Pure conflict swirls itself inside of her. But before she can dwell on it, paralyzing herself, her body acts for her. She braces for the next wave of pure anguish. ...But it never comes. Vince carefully ties a knot, fastening the sweater even more to her leg. A tight, even audible squeeze¡ªyet no pain. It''s as if his hands decided she''d feel no pain. Her mind? Is it playing tricks on her? "What...what did you do?" she asks weakly. "Helped you out. See? You didn''t die." "Usually, you''re the one that needs my help..." "Can''t go ego tripping every day," he says, getting up and offering her his hand with a worried smile. She looks at the hand, unsure of what to do. Without pain to stop her, she remains paralyzed... "Come on," Vince says warmly. "There''s no shame in it." She smacks his hand away, getting up on her own. The pain really is all but gone. But in its place, a familiar, dull pain in her heart sprouts once more. "Let''s just...go to the Sovereign Service. I could use a root beer," she says, walking away from the house, towards the entrance. He looks back to the broken door and bookshelf. The entrance to the house is pitch-black. The wind picks up, and the whispering starts once more. He walks after Rosa, leaving the house behind. Sighing somberly, he puts on his coat, looking up at the faint stars as they glisten under the sunset''s orange and purple hue, his red hair swaying in the wind, his bangs no longer covering his baggy eyes. ''What am I gonna do?'' ..."Hah!" she exults, walking through the double doors of the Service. "I come out unscathed again!" "No thanks to me," he says, rolling his eyes. "Now shut up, we''re entering the Service." "God, I hate that I have to tone it down in front of these corporate wannabes," she says rather loudly, hoping that some of the clientele will hear her. Rosa scans the room as they walk, noting the warming smell of coffee and tea in the air, along with the faint red glow of Japanese lanterns floating over their heads as they bob around like goldfish in an aquarium. Soft, pleasant electronic-jazz music assaults her ears. She would rather it be Limp Bizkit, but whatever. It''s a cafe, she thinks. Boring. "What time is it?" Vince asks, looking at his phone. "I might get the special service." Rosa raises an eyebrow as they both walk towards the main counter. "Special service? Someone gonna suck your¡ª" Vince covers her mouth. He chuckles nervously, scanning the area, seeing the dozens of facing silently addressing their disturbing presence. Rosa smacks his hand away, her teeth a little saddened that they didn''t get to bite down on it. Vince shoots her a surprisingly stern look and she quiets down, albeit reluctantly and with attitude. "My dad was good friends with the owner," he says, walking with such a careful gait it''s almost creepy. "Helped that owner fight off some angry ''corporate wannabes''. Except they weren''t wannabes at all, they were the real deal. As a thanks, the owner gave my dad¡ªand by extension me¡ªa special seat and menu item. But only if it''s passed four PM." "Why so frickin'' meticulous? What, is the secret item illegal or something?" she asks, walking with a relaxed and own-the-place manner. "Very funny," he says with drooped eyelids. "No, my dad set the time condition. He wanted to test his speed and time management. At least, that''s what Finlay told me." "Finlay?" she asks, sitting down on one stool next to Vince. "Me." A shockingly booming yet quiet voice sounds from the right of Rosa, behind the counter. She nearly falls off her stool, only saved by her hands clutching the bottom edge of the counter like a cat. Vince lets out a quiet chuckle, hoping she didn''t hear it. "Hey, Fin," Vince says, waving to a red tuxedo-wearing English man in front of him. "How are things with Marthy?" "That a question?" he asks, taking out his notebook and pen. "She might just eat me at this point purely out of spite." "Who the¡ª" Rosa catches herself, her composure coming back. "Who are you?" Finaly peers at Rosa with a slight judgmental look, but he too composes himself. Though she''s never seen him, he''s seen her at the Service every once in a while¡ªand none of those times were pleasant. "I''m the owner¡ªFinlay," he says, looking back to Vince. "Now, would you like to order?" Vince scratches the back of his head, looking up at the menu on the wall. There aren''t many items, but each one is sure to tantalize even a food-fearful person like himself. All very pricey, too. But all very worth it. "I''m not sure," he says. "Do you have root beer?" "Hey, are you gonna pay?" "Seriously?" Vince shoots her a slight look. "''Cauase I''m gonna pay," she says confidently, pointing at her chest with a thumb. "No, no," he says, looking back at the menu. "I''ll pay. Now, let''s see..." ENTR¨¦ES AND APPETIZERS * CHILIROONS (RANGOONS FILLED WITH SWEET CHILI SAUCE) $14.99 * TASTE A'' BRIGHTON (FISH/CRAB & CHIPS) $24.99 * AGGY''S SPECIAL (SECRET INGREDIENT RAMEN) $49.99 * MEDUSA''S TREAT (ALFREDO FUSILLI PASTA + MUSHROOMS) $29.99 * MARTHY''S DOG DINNER (A GRILLED CHEESE & TOMATO SOUP) FREE DRINKS * BUDDHA''S COFFEE (ITALIAN & CUBAN COFFEE FUSION) $14.99 * FAIRY''S MELODY (MATCHA & CHAMOMILE ELIXIR) $19.99 * HIRES BE DAMNED (ROOT BEER + CREAM & GINGER ALE) $9.99 * CLEAR MARRY (ALCOHOL-FREE BLOODY MARY) $14.99 5. WATER (FREE) "She''ll be having two root beers and I''ll be having the gluten-free Rangoons." "Hold on," she says. "I want some rangoons, too." Vince leans in to Rosa, using Finlay''s notebook-focused gaze to whisper something to her. "I don''t have enough money for that... But don''t worry, I''ll share mine." Rosa rolls her eyes. "That''ll be all, Fin." "Righty," Finlay says, tearing the page from the notebook. "It''ll be ready in a couple." Finlay taps on a metal window on the wall. Seconds later, a man with a long, thin, brown beard slides the window open with force. The man is holding a large knife with a red substance on the edges of the blade. He scans the area with shifty eyes, and when he sees Vince, his expression changes to one of pleasant surprise. Taking the page from Finlay, he slides the window closed, sounds of cutting and brewing heard muffled beyond the wall. "Say," Finlay says, leaning on the counter casually. "Why does your misses have a nasty injury on her leg? What''d she drag you into?" "Drag into...?!" Rosa snaps a look at Finlay. Vince puts a hand up to her. "We went to an abandoned house. It was my idea. She tripped..." Finlay raises an eyebrow. "Your idea, huh?" he looks over at her leg. "My God, what did she land on?" "A wooden spike under the grass. She didn''t see it when we were approaching the house." "What were you even doing there?" "I thought I could find something interesting in there," he says, looking over to Rosa. "Like copper in the walls. But I forgot that old cabins don''t have copper...!" "Should''ve been more prepared," he says, getting up. "Especially since those houses definitely have copper in them." A single drop of sweat trickles down from Vince''s forehead. He''s caught. ''Oh, boy,'' he thinks. ''Here we go.'' "What do you mean? You said cabins don''t have copper in the walls!" "I, uh...that''s what I heard." Vince taps the counter anxiously. "Yeah, that house definitely has copper. I know the one. But you kids shouldn''t be snooping around there." "Vince..." Rosa says with an aggravated grin, looking at him. "That''s the last time I listen to you." "I''m sorry!" he says, scratching the back of his head. "Stay away from that house, Vince," Finlay says, a tad stern. "You never know what might be lurking in it. There''s a reason it was abandoned. Joel might be there." "Wait, what reason?" he asks curiously. "Reasons." "Who''s ''Joel''?" Rosa asks. "Heh, he''s this town''s nuisance. A homeless person with a knack to screw with everyone and everything he can," he says, his expression and tone changing to a more serious one. "He''s dangerous. Breaking people''s doors in the night, stealing packages, and worst of all¡ªvandalizing." "He vandalized my cafe''s sign the other day too," Finlay says, his arms crossed. "What?! Do I have to chase off that naked maniac off again?!" Rosa, who up until now was refraining from drawing attention for Vince, bursts into laughter at what she''s just heard. Clutching her stomach, she laughs so hard tears stream down her face. "Hahahah! The image of some naked hobo being chased by you!" Vince shushes her, embarrassed. But no luck¡ªshe laughs even harder. Finlay shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. Rosa notices, slowly releasing her laugh, though not enough to suppress the occasional giggles. "Anyway, it''s nice to see you here again, Vince," Finlay says. "I''m off." "Really? So early?" Vince asks. "Yeah," he says, buttoning up his tuxedo further. "I gotta go to my little sister Aggy''s dance recital." ''Huh,'' he thinks. ''I hope he too doesn''t cause an accident in a hurry.'' "Be well," Finlay says, walking away towards the main entrance. "Take care!" Rosa silently watches him leave. "Prankster hobo..." she says, biting her lip to suppress further laughter. "Sooo dangerous." "Will you drop it?!" "I''m gonna go check out that other area while I wait," Rosa says, pointing to a passageway to the far left of the Service, leading to an unknown area. "No, you don''t," Vince says, grabbing her hand before she gets up. "That''s the bar." "Bar?! No way! Really?!" "Rosa! Don''t go!" Rosa gives Vince an evil smile before shaking off his hand and darting to the bar. Before Vince could even say anything or run after her, the waiter¡ªa young man with black hair¡ªcomes with a large plate of rangoons and two equally large mugs of root beer on the same plate. They balance it carefully as they place the root beers in front of Vince, before carefully placing the plate of Rangoons neatly next to the root beer. "Here you go, Mr. Bright," he says. "I hope your girlfriend enjoys the root beer." he notices the empty stool next to Vince. "Speaking of which, where is she?" "She ran off to Marthy''s bar..." he realizes. "Wait, she''s not my girlfriend!" "You gonna go for it, though?" he asks in a hoping tone. "You''ve known her since you started highschool, right? I could plan your wedding if you want." "That''s not gonna happen. She''d probably eat all the cake and make a mess before we could kiss." "Didn''t sound outright opposed to the ideaaa..." he says with a mischievous chuckle. Vince sighs, worried. "I better go check on her..." "Nah, you''re better off staying here," he says, looking over to the Sake''s entrance. "All jokes aside, she''s trouble. I overheard what you and Finlay were talking about, and I know that house wasn''t your idea." "Eavesdropping again?" Vince retorts, taking a Rangoon. "She''s not as bad as you think, Del. She''s just got her...complexes." "You can''t fix...that, Vince. No offense. I know you know her better than me, but I''ve had my fair-share of the victim-types." Vince''s head, with a cold and death-eyed look, slowly looks at Del, before quickly changing to one of ease and humor before Del could notice. "Hah! She''s anything but the victim. It''s the contrary, honestly." Del shakes his head in disapproval. He looks at Vince, who''s chewing on the Rangoons. "Cheff made em'' gluten-free especially for you. I hope you like em''," he says, blushing slightly. "You gonna be okay eating?" "I''ll be fine," he says flatly, focusing on the food. "You better get back to work before Finlay kills you." "Right," Del says, feeling unwelcome. "See you around." Rosa steps inside of the bar. The strong smell of cheap alcohol instantly hits her, almost as hard as hard as the sight of the cockroaches scurrying off to hide under the wooden stools. The pinewood floorboards bend under her weight, causing her to grow a bit anxious as thoughts of it caving in and her falling to her death briefly pass her mind. She notes the one, sole man¡ªa middle-aged Latino¡ªsitting in the corner of the place on a broken-looking chair, downing a Captain Roger like it''s nothing. It''s gross. It''s filthy, grimy and derelict. But above all, it''s got rock music quietly playing through the speakers that sit on the corners of the walls. Not just any rock music, but music from her favorite band: PUMCH! Her kind of place. ''This is what I''m talkin'' about!'' she thinks, standing in the center of the bar. "Kid," a raspy, female voice sounds from behind her. "Get the hell out before I turn you into Swiss cheese." She''s taken aback by the woman''s rudeness. That''s how she treats customers?! No wonder there''s no one here! "Huh?!" she says, walking towards the bar counter, eyeing the blond woman in the green, cozy-looking dress. "Excuse me?! I''m a customer?! "And excuse me," she says, placing her hands on the counter. "You look like you just turned fourteen! Let me see your ID." "Could''a led with that!" "But I didn''t. It''s my bar!" she barks back. Rosa''s face shows irritation¡ªfury, even. But on the inside, she feels right at home. She''d rather live here than with her "pig-faced" father. Rosa lets out an attitude-filled "tch", taking out her wallet from her pocket, making sure to take her time to further piss off the bartender, who''s not taking the bait; she can wait all day if she has to. Rosa takes out her ID, sliding it over to the woman while looking away with a punkish pout. While she''s verifying her age, Rosa can''t help but draw her eyes to the small picture that lays under the plastic ID cover of her wallet. She doesn''t know why she''s looking at it at all, but her eyes remain glued...and so does her heart. Dumb of her to keep it there in the first place, she thinks. Memories of a happy time flood her mind. Mellow memories. Memories of her. A saddened frowned forms on her face, and her heart pleads for her to look away. But she can''t. The picture is of her when she was all but a toddler. She''s smirking smugly, in-between two adults as she holds their hands. Rosa remembers being impatient, not baring another second that passed by without the flash of the camera indicating that she could go back to causing mayhem. She also remembers how their hands felt. Still... Her father''s¡ªtough and flaky. Her mothers...soft and welcoming. It''s like she can still feel their embrace hugging her digits through the tough leather of the wallet. The aroma of roses still permeates her nose, even though it''s been years. If only she could''ve talked to her once more...said something different. Been a better daughter. She''d still¡ª "Right," the woman says, giving the ID back to Rosa. "Get out." Rosa snaps back to reality; she had forgotten that she''s in a run-down bar. She stores the ID back in her wallet and puts it back in her pocket. "Can I at least get a glass of water?" she asks softly. She notices the shift in mood and she softens a little. With a reluctant sigh, she fetches a surprisingly fancy glass from under the counter, cleaning it off with a wet towel before turning on the faucet. "Gonna cost ya''," she says half seriously. "Name''s Marthy." "WELL, MARTHY, WHO THE FUCK SELLS TAP WATER?! IT COSTS MONEY?!" "DAMN RIGHT IT DOES! THIS AIN''T GOOD-WILL! THIS IS THE ''SOVEREIGN SAKE''!" "RIGHT, IT''S A SHITTY, RUN-DOWN BAR!" Marthy slides the glass of water over to Rosa, the cup almost tipping off of the edge of the counter. Though Rosa catches it, Marthy didn''t worry for a second. She''s the ''world''s greatest bartender, as she calls herself, after all. Rosa notes how clean and pleasant-smelling the water is, despite the state of things. She drinks it all it in one big chug. "Whoa, slow down," Marthy says. "You''re gonna choke." Slam! "Aaaaah...nice." Rosa says, a look of satisfaction on her face. "Can I get another one?" "You''re that thirsty?! Stop stallin''," Marthy says. "I''d probably get fired if I weren''t the boss. Now go." "Hold on, lady!" she says, reaching for her wallet. "I gotta pay first, don''t I?!" "Forget it," Marthy says, rolling her eyes. "It''s on the house." Rosa tilts her head in confusion. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah," Marthy says, eyeing Rosa up and down. "I just realized who you are." "Huh?" "Your dad''s our number-one patron. That man lives and breathes alcohol¡ªsecond only to corruption." "You know my dad...?" Rosa asks, leaning on the counter. "I wish I didn''t. I remember him yapping on and on about pointless shit night after night. Drives me up the wall, but I can''t complain. He practically pays for the pace with how much he chugs," she says, cleaning a glass with a white cloth. "When he mentioned he has a daughter, I almost called CPS." Rosa remains silent. "Knew it was you when I saw that swirly tattoo on your cheek. Pissed me off how poorly he talked about his own daughter. Described you in vivid detail. Didn''t mention your name, though." Rosa tightens her grip on the glass. "But you know...judging by the way he was talkin'' about you," she leans in further, now face-to-face with Rosa. "I say he was projecting. You seem alright, kid. Did you take that black tattoo without sheddin'' a single tear?" "It''s sharpie," she says, looking at her own reflection on the glass. "Just...sharpie." "Is that right? What''s it mean?" "Strength," she says, gripping the glass even harder. "Are you pittying me? Is that why it''s on the house...?" "No, kid. Listen," she says, taking the glass from her. "If you ever feel afraid or in danger, don''t be afraid to call someone. The police¡ªthough...that might not do much, since he''s the Sheriff of the county¡ªbut CPS is still an option." she notices the injury on her leg. "Did he do that?!" "JUST STOP TALKING ABOUT MY FUCKING DAD, ALREADY!" Rosa shouts, slamming her fist on the counter. Marthy grows silent, backing away slightly to give her space. "Sorry, kid." "''Preciate the free water," she says, getting up to leave. "Hope I never come back here again." Marthy watches her leave. She sticks a hand out. "Is it somethin'' I said? Kid! Hold up a sec!" Just when she thought she had left, Rosa sticks her head back in the bar, saying one last thing before leaving. "Since he didn''t mention it, I''m Rosa. Just payin'' back the introduction." Marthy sees her head dip back out of sight, hearing her footsteps fade away. With a "tch", she looks at the glass of water Rosa had drank from in her hand. "Nice goin'', Marthy," she says quietly, washing the glass in the sink. "First Aggy, now her..." "I''m going home," Rosa says quietly, walking past Vince. "I''ll pay you back for the root beers whenever I can." "Wait! What happened?!" Vince asks, eating his half of the Rangoons. "You''re not gonna touch any of the food?!" "Lost my appetite." "Then wait for me! It''s pitch-black outside!" Rosa leaves, the swaying doors singing about her absence with squeaks. "Rose..." Vince says, looking at the root beer in front of him. "They''re gonna get warm..." He feels a vibration in his pocket. Reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone, he sees a text message. FROM ROSA: "I''m hitting that house again tomorrow. You coming?" Vince lets out a deep sigh before reluctantly replying, his screen gathering oil from his Rangoon-covered fingers. "Yeah." "Ah! Here we go..." he says, pain boiling up in his stomach as he clutches it. "Here we go once more..."