Krisis Kontrol

The Blackest Day (18+)

The anticipation seems to make the world stop turning altogether. The minutes crawl by as you desperately try to lose yourself in your needle and thread. You finish the hem on the bottom of the skirt and look at the clock again; it's only quarter to eleven. You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling; you close your eyes hoping that the time will pass faster if you look away from the clock.

The episode ends and the commercials start. Upbeat music starts to play loudly from the TV; you reluctantly pull your head off the back of the couch and look at the screen. Pictures are popping up on the screen with spotlight filters on them and clips of a club scene in the background. Photos of drag queens with their names in bright pink font are flashing in turn: Alaska Thunderfuck, Detox, Alyssa Edwards, Tatianna, and Roxxxy Andrews. The final picture to appear is Katya's promo photo for All Stars. The last screen informs you that there is an All Stars Two Australian tour happening in a couple weeks.

You dart over and grab your phone off the table. You search for the website to find the tour dates; the tour is only two weeks long but the thought of having Katya gone pains you. You heave a sigh and toss your phone beside you on the couch. Shaking your head and feeling sorry for yourself you raise your needle again. You unravel a few feet of thread and turn the dress over to start an invisible stitch across the neckline. You take a break halfway through to watch Willam during the wet t-shirt contest, it lifts your sorrows a bit. With Willam and Katya being friends, the possibility of meeting Willam one day makes you giddy; you smile and return your focus to your work.

Your phone vibrates quietly against the cushion and you pick it up again; your heart leaps up into your throat, it's Morgan:

'Can't find the slippery bitch anywhere.'

'How do you misplace a six foot tall hooker?! On a scale of one to Mel Gibson how drunk are you?'

'Bitch, I don't know. I'm just letting you know that she's probably on her way now.'

'Thanks, tips. How long has it been since her number?'

'About twenty minutes? I don't know I was busy with Raven. Could have been ten, I don't know.' You toss your head back and groan loudly.

'Excellent. Carry on, old faithful.'

'If I wasn't so drunk I would have some shady response but I can't even be bothered with you right now.'

'You're cute.'

A key rattles in the lock on your door and your heart nearly stops beating. You run your fingers through your hair and cross your legs trying desperately to look as nonchalant as possible. You check the clock on the microwave and it's only quarter after eleven. You hear her heels thump against the drywall as she kicks them off. The door clicks shut and the rumble of the wheels on her suitcase against the hardwood gets louder.

She emerges from the hallway with her suitcase in tow and a heap of black fabric that you would only assume is a dress slung over her shoulder, hiding most of her outfit. She's wearing a blonde, wavy, shoulder length bob with blunt cut bangs, the waves have turned into a frizzy mess from her performance. With an exasperated raspberry she pulls the dress from her shoulder and lays it on top of her suitcase. With the fabric out of the way you see what she's wearing, or what little she's wearing for that matter.

There's a long, black jersey with "Sad Goth" embossed in white across the front draped over her slender frame. Black panties are peeking out from under the hem of the shirt and a pair of black, thigh high socks are stretched over her long, lean legs. You uncross your legs and sit up in your seat; you push your needle into your spool of thread and sit it to the side without taking your eyes off of her. Her blue eyes are sparkling at you from underneath her smoky eye shadow and long lashes.