Sector 2

Chapter 13

I didn't go back to the apartment that night. After fleeing from the glide, I ran out of the wealthy district of Sector 2 and walked through the streets mindlessly. Judging from the uneasy looks I received from fellow pedestrians, I knew I looked terrible. I'd already gotten looks in Sector 2 because of my hair, but these expressions looked more... fearful. My eyes were red and teary, and small patches of blood were smudged across my hands. Not to mention the pistol poking out of its holster.

I pulled my hood over my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets. My heart throbbed with anguish, and I couldn't stop my lip from quivering. I kept my head down as I watched tears fall upon my torn, zipped-up leather jacket.

Sector 2 was only half as packed as Sector 10, but the hustle and bustle grew overwhelmingly clamorous in my ears. There were many cafés on this street, and many conversations I did not want to hear. A man in the distance emitted a booming laugh. A dog erupted in barks as a lady hurried to shush it. The dog was barking at me.

I decided to grab a skateboard leaning across the brick wall beside me and escape the commotion. The wind rushed to my face as I left the pavement and skated along the road. The emotion combined with the gale forced the brimming tears out. I found myself searching for the ground again, holding on to my hood to stop it from following the wind.

Could I have saved Jon? Even if I did, he wouldn't have been the same. His hollow eyes haunted me. Before he tried attacking me, his aura already felt so flat. All his previous joy was lost; it was as if he had transformed from a full page of intricate writing and ardour to a blank one, where only some words remained visible among eraser shavings.

Sometimes I felt like I was living in a tragedy. Jon, on the other hand, should've lived amongst happy endings. I chuckled – I felt like I was losing my mind.

Suddenly, a loud horn blared, and I immediately clutched onto my ears. When I looked up, I realised I had absent-mindedly veered towards the middle of the road. The horn came from a car driving towards me at a swift speed – exceeding the speed limit by far. I raised the front of my skateboard to turn, but the bumper caught onto the backside of my skateboard and sent me plunging to the ground. I landed on a vacant stone pavement and started laughing hysterically. The skin on my hands were torn and I could feel warm liquid drip from my forehead. How daft of me.

Soon the hysterics died down, and I curled up and started sobbing into my hands. Aren't emotions distasteful? Recognising that I could be a mistaken for a drunk, I soon dragged myself to a nearby secluded alleyway. It felt so painfully familiar. I ran my finger across the source of the blood and felt a few gashes across my temple. I smeared the blood across the bricks as I slid to the cold floor, weak and hurt.

Sleep and exhaustion took a hold of me.

---

"Oye, dama."

I was lightly shaken awake by a recognisable friendly face. My eyes felt warm and puffy, and my back was sore from being restricted to leaning against a wall to sleep. The face which came into view belonged to the very barista who served me coffee yesterday.

Yesterday.

The sky was gloomy and dark and the icy cold bit my nose. The dried blood on my temple felt like icicles against my skin. The air was still.

As soon as I moved my neck, I felt it throb like a plea to cease any movement. I refused it and focused on getting up. I staggered before finding my footing, the barista offered an arm. I drowsily blinked at him. "Why are you helping me?" I slurred.

"You look like you've had a rough night," he replied simply. I didn't take his arm, but I did follow him into the café. Our entrance was announced to no one with the tinkle of the bell attached to the door and the man sat me down at one of the seats. He retrieved a wet cloth from behind the counter and handed it to me before retreating. "Would you like another coffee, miss?" he asked. "Don't worry, it's free of charge."