Pass It On

1. let's board a plane

without no destination

taking time and gonna

need some patience

The music quietly emits itself from the small phone next to Alexandra's bed, as if it should be whispering. Her room is covered in used tissues, cigarette butts, broken bottles of beer, and the small figure on the bed is curled up, her knees touching her eyes, red hair falling out of its ponytail. Bras in every color, shape and size hang loosely from the lamps on either side of her, and her closet is empty but her room is full of clothes. Alexandra, in question, is wearing a big t-shirt and no pants, so it looks like a dress. It's a men's shirt, almost the kind someone would wear to a business meeting, with long sleeves and a high collar.

A guy's shirt. His shirt.

Alexandra gets up and walks through the ocean of garbage and clothes to the bathroom, where the medicine cabinet is. Stumbling over the weighing scale, she takes out a small bottle of aspirin with "Adrian Casallas, 642 High Street" written on the back. She has no clue where the bottle came from, nor who Adrian Casallas of 642 High Street is, but it has been in the medicine cabinet since she moved in six months ago. If he was here, he would tell her not to take expired pills, but it was the best she had now since she was in no state to go down to the pharmacy and buy something without being asked if she was homeless.

There are cigarette ashes in her hair and mascara stains on her cheek, but her skin is as pale and unremarkable as it always has been. He liked her skin. No scars, no blood - she was always smarter than that. What scars her arms lacked were plentiful in her eyes. She takes a glass of warm water and dissolves the aspirin in it, then sips at it. The ache in her body slowly starts to loosen up after a few minutes. For a wild moment, she feels almost normal.

Looking around at the state of the bedroom, she sighs and starts to pick up the clothes strewed all over the floor. Most end up in the hamper, a lone t-shirt and a pair of jeans end up on her bed. She takes a broom and sweeps up the cigarette ashes and broken beer bottles. The light blinds her for a few seconds while she draws apart the curtains, pausing to admire the view of the skyscrapers in the city. While the place is still by no means clean, it looks a hell of a lot better than it did a few hours ago. She opens a window, refreshing semi-clean air washing over her and seeping into her lungs. Compared to the tar that has been stuck in them for the last two weeks or so, it feels like she's gone to Austria.

Alexandra was never a smoker. In fact, smoking killed her dad - he died of lung cancer a few years ago, while she was graduating high school. Yet in the midst of all this pain she was hoping that maybe she could die too. The feeling of smoking was a bit strange at first, the inhalation painful and the aftertaste as bitter as heartbreak. Now, it was easy, and she could go through a half a pack a day. She noticed that the cigarettes also diminished her appetite, which didn't help much in the health department, seeing as she was nearly underweight anyway.

Sighing, she starts to unbutton the shirt she was wearing and is just about to place the t-shirt over her head when she hears a rattling at the door. The sound of keys unlocking. Panicking, she tries to slip into her jeans, but it's not quick enough; they're too tight, and he's too fast. He walks past the living room right into the bedroom, looking for her, then he freezes. For a few seconds, they are staring at each other. He is dressed in jeans and a polo shirt: the typical working man. Her jeans are still around her knees until she pulls them up hastily, hoping he didn't sneak a look at her pink polka-dot underwear, which was the only pair she could wear because the rest were in the wash...

"Well? Aren't you going to say hello?" he smiles in an attempt to be friendly, but Alexandra can see that he feels almost as awkward as she does.

"Hello, Noe. I didn't know you still had the keys," she says stiffly, and Noe hands them back in her, hands brushing against each other. The feeling of an electric shock passes through her body, but Noe gives no sign that he's felt anything. As per usual. She unconsciously rubs the mascara off her face, looking at him as if she was saying, Well?