Charade

Benji

The tip of my cigarette burned bright orange. Rich, toxic smoke filled my lungs. I felt the warm grey mist swirling around my nostrils, on my tongue, tickling the back of my throat. I closed my eyes, allowing myself a moment to enjoy the way the smoke made me feel – buzzed, relaxed, but wholly alive. The sounds of a passing crowd hummed in the air like buzzing mosquitos. Hundreds of voices mashed together in my ears and I listened blindly to the odd second laughter, the cry of a baby, a child's high pitched voice, or the offbeat snap of a curse word. When I opened my eyes, the sun blinded me, and the world seemed to soften a decibel or two.

I sat on a bench in the mall, which was a long stretch of paved cement with dozens of shops either side. I suspect it was once a functioning street, complete with rolling trucks and cars and road rage, but where the asphalt must have been was now home to several benches, buskers, and sculptures. I sat hunched over on one of those grey benches, the sound of a guitar echoing from a fair distance, and waited for Vic.

As promised, I'd slipped the cash under his door that morning, but the evidence remained hidden, duct-taped to the roof of an air vent up on the rooftop, where Vic would never find it. I wondered what he did with all that money though, because he sure as hell wasn't spending it. Was he building an underground facility? Paying off a heavy debt? Bail money for his long lost love? It didn't matter, whatever it was, because I knew I was spending mine on.

Vic sauntered up to me, dressed in shiny black shoes, slacks, and a button up shirt. The man was only around forty and yet he looked like he was in his mid-sixties. But I suppose I probably shouldn't have been giving fashion advice, considering I was wearing a black shirt with a bright green marijuana leaf printed on the front and black skinny jeans that had holes in the knees. I crushed out my cigarette, which had burned almost right up to the filter, and stood.

"Morning," I said awkwardly.

"Good morning," he replied.

Silence.

"So what are we doing today?" I asked.

Vic, for the first time since I met him, let a small smile play on his lips. It wasn't friendly. It was simply Vic saying that he knew something I didn't.

"We'll start with your deception technique."

"Deception technique?" I frowned.

"Lying, Benjamin. We're going to start with your lying."

I nodded.

"Okay. But why are we here, then? If we're just going to work on lying?"

"I have a few things I need to purchase here for our sessions. So, if you'd like to follow me," he said, ushering me to the right. I nodded and we started walking together, weaving between thick crowds of overdressed Australians, with Vic's long and purposeful stride and my feeble little stumble.

The only time I'd ever been shopping was with Ashley, and I was quite happy to admit it wasn't one of my strong suits.

It was a scorching day at the tail end of summer. The leaves were curled against their branches, withering in the blistering heat, and the weather hovered somewhere between 45°C and 47°C. We'd skipped school that morning and taken to the city, where we swiped my dad's stolen credit card through every store and bought everything we could. Three hundred dollar sunglasses, clothes, makeup, CDs, movies, art sets, jewellery, and food. So, so much food. We bought enough food to last us a year and then went to our rooftop, the place where we first met, to watch the sun go down and the stars come out.

Of course, my dad skinned me once he found out how much we'd spent – something like four thousand dollars – and demanded to know what I'd spent it on. So I told him I'd spent it on porn, and he actually believed me. It resulted in a mere six month grounding, which was funny because I was already technically grounded when it happened.