Cotton Swab| MxB (Book One)

FIVE // This Is Why I Don't Socialize

A/N: there is a warning in this chapter. Beware of ⚠️WARNING⚠️ if you want to skip feel free to.

Cotton Swab

Kick.

The pebble skidded ahead a few feet and rolled to a stop. I closed the distance and kicked it again. My apartment complex made its appearance in the distance, a dark silhouette standing out against an orange sky. I knew I was in the area when the litter became abundant and the smell grew worse. The streets were quiet. Store windows destroyed and doors kicked in. All left standing were a couple gas stations and mini marts, then the few apartments in between—most of them abandoned or running on pennies a day.

Kick.

I recalled the events to lead up to this moment. We had an . . . exhausting conversation. A lot of persuasion. Maybe not persuasion—I don't think that's the right word. Maybe more like beguilement. Suit had an alternative. There's no way he's out to save some random's skin on some "personal chauffeur" motive. There's more to it. And I don't like it. Unwillingly pulled into his scheme. It's either this or jail time and I think anyone with half a mind would rather drive some rich fuck around the city over a life behind bars. I already know my wimpy ass wouldn't survive. After the whole shit show with Suit and Tree Man, Suit said he would give me three days to come up with a response. That's three days I'm a free man. Three days before I decide if I want to end up behind bars or end up behind a steering wheel. For I'm not even sure how long. Without context it seems like being some rich perv's chauffeur would be the better option. But I'm not so sure.

It's officially been four hours since I woke up in that bed—half shot in the ass. I've spent the last one walking back to my apartment. Unbeknownst of my own location and recent endeavors with Tree Man standing over top of me. Menacing. Unflinching. Never wavering with no emotion. Face frozen in a permanent sneer.

God, what did I do?

Kick.

The pebble bounced into a sewer drain and I shoved my hands into my pockets in disappointment. I'd been kicking it for blocks now, hoping it would make it home with me.

Game over.

My wrists are sore and inflamed from the restraints and I certainly fit in with the scenery. Eventually, I will have to go retrieve the car as well. Somehow. I'm not even sure where I was heading to upon the accident. It was all a blur and pressing for some kind of recollection made my brain hurt.

Luckily, I still had the key to my front door. I managed to make it back to my complex without confrontation. Which is unusual considering I was on foot.

I guess I look that cracked out, huh.

I didn't see Krisha at the desk. The storeroom door was shut and I could hear faint moans coming from the other side. I entertained the idea of interrupting them—that dirty bastard Harold could stick it somewhere else—but decided against it.

I ascended the familiar stairway to my apartment room "529" on the third floor. The light flickering above greeted me. I've always hated stairs. Not only did they tire me out but they gave me time to think. And there was nothing I disliked more than being left in my own thoughts. Sadly, there is no operating elevator.

I crossed the corridor swiftly and smoothly until I made it to my door, identical to the rest in the long yellowing hallway. Though upon pulling my key out of my pocket to unlock it I froze.

No way.

There. Before me. My door was ajar a couple inches from the frame. As if intentionally left opened.