Vanessa [A Poor Unfortunate Soul]

20. Now Sing!

The crackling of a burning flame, prying away at wood had made the air seem matte. The mouth begged for a liquid relief, it seemed. Sleep crusted over and pulled at her eyelids when she opened them. The room was small, a simple square, if one could call it that. Depended on who you asked, really.

Two windows with drapes on either side of the room, provided for a sub-par view at the outside world. The walls were beige in color, a sure sign of age and smoke. No decor to speak of. Only yellow outlines from where some had been. A damp blue rug was stuffed under the cot she laid on, which gave minimal separation from her bare feet and the dirty wood floor.

"Drink" Derek's deep voice boomed into her. He stood in the space between her head and an opening in the wall, leading to a makeshift kitchen. That room smelt of rotten eggs and spoiled fruit. Vanessa decided she'd take her chances with the smokey one.

"What is it?" She asked, taking the mug from him. A cloth separated her tender hands from the scolding cup, with a steaming liquid inside. It smelled of tea, and not much else.

"Tea" he said, and sat down in the chair across the room. "Your shift starts at six past ten"

"My shift?" She asked, nearly spitting the hot brew out. It was indeed tea, and not much else.

"I've gotten you a job" he said, getting up and walked to one of the windows.

"A job?" She asked, putting the hot cup on the rickety table that sat in front of her. "Whatever for?" She laughed.

"One can't expect to live off another forever" he pointed out, but didn't face her.

She made a face, and considered his point. "Where are we?"

"That's a first question?" He shot back, now turning to face her. "You aren't curious of where the job is? What the job is? Or anything in the concern?" With each word, he stepped closer to her, until he sat within nose distance.

"I trust you" she said, without thinking.

He searched her eyes over. Whatever he was looking for, he didn't find it. Not in her, anyway. Never her.

"You trust me?" He asked, and traced her jaw with his left thumb. Her face seemed small in his large, warm, pale hands.

"I trust you" she repeated.

"Why?" He asked, still tracing. Back and forth, soothing her worried and setting hairs on end, all at once.

"I could ask you the same" she said, watching his hand travel down her neck to the strap that held up the white under-gown she wore.

"I don't trust you" he said, as a matter of factly.

"No" she shook her head. "Why do you care?"

"Your aunt" he said, plainly. "I'm in debt to her. Without her, I'd be dead"

"Isn't that ironic?" She said, giggling like a horny school girl.

"Excuse me?" He spoke softly and pulled away.

"She's dead" Vanessa said bluntly.

He was clearly taken aback by that, but obviously would never let her see him cry.

"Are you alright?" She asked. This time, reaching for him. Which he rejected, and stood up, turning away from her.

"You should go" he barked. "Lest you be late"

"Where am I to go?" She asked.

Without warning, he reached into his pocket and threw a folded piece of paper with the address written on it.