NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY | updates every monday

06: hotboxing is not enough

            When I got the call from a security guard at The Lowry Hotel named Joe to tell me that Cece had been caught after breaking into the spa with a bunch of other teenagers, I don't think I envisioned the woman who greets me at the door. 

A short, soft silhouette and an accent somewhere between RP and estuary that's probably the furthest thing I've heard from intimidating. 'You're Nicolás?'

I nod as I bound up the steps.

This is a situation I'm more than familiar with. Last year, if a day passed without me getting a call from the headteacher's office, it were a breach of routine. But I didn't usually get greeted with a smile. The faint notch of a cleft lip only makes Joe's sweeter. The dark skin of her round cheeks catches the light from the hotel front. Coloured liner accentuates her eyes, virgin curls bud out of her scalp.

'You look like him.' She might be the first person to ever say that. 'I'm Joe. With an e at the end.'

I rub my wrist, hook up summat like a smile. She's just tryna be nice. It's not her fault I can barely move for the vines of dread cinched around my limbs. It's not her fault every second we waste out here adds a flood of adrenaline into my blood. I'm not sure there's any blood left at all.

'Anyway, he's inside.' Joe pushes through the door and I follow her to a lobby that calls me skint in at least ten ways. 'I'm sorry. I hope this didn't completely ruin your night, on Pride and everything. Honestly, he could've got away if he wanted. He–'

'They,' I correct.

'Sorry?'

'My brother goes by they/he pronouns.'

'Okay. They practically caught themself.'

I only register the rest of her words when Joe leads me between two reception desks into the offices behind. Did she just apologise? For doing her job? I'm the one who should be apologising, I'm the one who's supposed to be responsible for Cece. Why didn't I just let him into Spectrum? At least I could've kept an eye on them that way.

I forget everything I've ever learnt about manners the moment Joe opens the door to the security office; I shove past her, into the room, no "thank you", no apology. Cece leans back in the only chair, ankles crossed on the desk as he works on a rubik's cube.

His eyes don't move from it as he speaks. 'You took your time. You've no idea how boring it is here.'

'Pardon me if I don't give a fuck.' 

Like I could've gotten here any faster. Too lazy to take the bus, I drove to Spectrum after popping home to walk Esther around eleven. So I drove here as fast as I could, faster than I should've. My bones have dispersed into trembling atoms, my lungs strangled by the infestation in my ribs.

But oh no! Cece is bored.

He's the only one here. The rest of them conveniently got away. He's dry, cast still in place, the spiders Caleb painted set over his eyes.

I grab his chin, not hard but firm enough to catch his face in the light before he twists free. 'Are you high?'

'No. My eyes are red because I'm evil.' He rolls them. 'I can smoke one zoot without going into psychosis. Relax.'

Relax? Relax? Would I be the asshole if I strangle him?

But I should relax. I should be comforting. I shouldn't get angry. Everything Google has ever said stresses the importance of not getting angry. Don't: Get angry.