Noxious

One - Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

     The cigarette hung on my lip as I bowed my head. The crick in my neck has moved to greet the tension at my shoulders. I brought my hands up to my lips to steady the cigarette as I took a slow drag. Smoke filled the air of the dark room, as it escaped through my flared nostrils. Running my free hand through my freshly cut hair, I clutched the left side of my head.

     She was there again – in my nightmares. So vivid, the way she grasped my hand and smiled at me. I exhaled a ragged breath, coughing a little as I ignored the sobs trapped in my chest. It was almost like –

     Stop it! My hand smacked against my head. You can't go back to that time, focus on now. I slowly rose from the rough cot I was sitting on, feeling every joint click into place. Stubbing out the rest of my cigarette in the near by ashtray, I walked into the bathroom. Feeling along the wall for the light switch, I flicked it on. Ignoring the sting in my eyes as they adjusted, I looked at my gaunt form in the shattered mirror. Subconsciously, I felt the knuckles on my right hand.

     Definitely still hurts from last week's excursions. A sound akin to a bitter laugh seeped past my lips.

     I looked at myself; the eyes that stared back at me were too similar. The fragmented glass taunted me, showing me multiple pairs of the same thing that made me break it in the first place. The dark purple rings under my eyes betrayed my numerous sleepless nights.

     My thoughts were interrupted as my cellphone began to vibrate on the nightstand beside my bed. Looking away from my disheveled reflection, I strode back into the room and picked up my phone. Squinting against the brightness of the screen, I read the time – 4:21. I checked the notification and found that it was a text.

From: Slater

Boss wants you at the house. Now.

     I didn't notice that my free hand was clenching and unclenching into a fist. How did I get this deep?

     I sent him a quick reply that I'd be there soon before setting the phone down and running my hands down my face. I barely took note of the two days worth of stubble that had grown in. I went into my dresser and pulled out a pair of dark jeans and a black tee. Throwing on the clothes, I slipped my phone into the pocket of my jeans. I quickly slid on my boots and tied the laces. I grabbed my jacket, cut off the light in the bathroom, and then strode out of my apartment.

     The sun was just starting its lazy ascent into the sky, turning the deep midnight blue to paler shades. The roads were deserted, which made getting where I needed to be that much easier, but I still drove slowly. I steeled myself as I stopped outside the ostentatious wrought iron gates. There was constant surveillance of the main grounds, and tonight – or should I say this morning – was no different. Right in front of the gate were two guards, each accompanied by two Dobermans.

     Cutting the engine to my car, I stepped out. The dogs growled as I leaned against the hood of my black 1969 Chevy Camaro. I watched as the guards exchanged brief looks before one of them stepped forward, dogs in tow, and stopped five feet in front of me. I looked at him with dead eyes, fleetingly noticing that this one was new. I cast a glance at his partner and it seemed he was new too.

     Typical – they would make me deal with this shit at damn near 5:30 in the fucking morning.

     "State your business," his tone was formal. I nearly laughed at his stone like expression.

     Running a hand through my thick brown hair, I sent the guard a glare, the movement causing my shirt to rise a bit on my abdomen, showing off the crest of my boss's family. "Why don't we skip this? The boss sent for me and I don't have the leisure of getting acquainted with you shit heads right now."