Faultless Zero 1: OUTRO

PART ONE: OUTRO

One, two, three…

Some people…

four, five…

…have expensive…

six, seven, eight…

…taste.

On a dingy mattress in a barely-mediocre part of the city, Lethe was having the time of her life. It had taken a few weeks of generally detestable business practices, but she’d finally gathered enough money to eat. A few weeks of eating rusty nails, giant pink erasers, and the remains of the refrigerator she never used. Today… she would feast.

There were nine diamonds in total, catching the pale glint of sunrise through the window. It was a little cold outside and her skin was clammy with what felt like a fever, but she was going to enjoy this. Stretching out, she leaned back on one arm and dropped one of the gems onto her tongue. For the first time in far too long, Lethe tasted something. And it was divine.

The rest of them didn’t last long. In fact, they disappeared in minutes. When she’d swallowed them all, she lay on the mattress and smiled to herself. Content at last, she knew she had to cherish the feeling. And the best way to do that? With a happy sigh, she sat up again and abruptly jabbed two fingers down her throat. The diamonds came up instantly, scattering across the floor. After scrambling for them and counting twice to make sure she had all nine, Lethe lay back down on the mattress and examined them, holding them above her head.

Still good, she thought, relieved. It wasn’t ever as tasty the second time but it was at least half as good, and that was enough for her. Lost in bliss, she repeated the process, dropping them more carefully into her mouth this time. When they were gone, she curled onto her side and fell into the death-like sleep that came with victory over starvation. She’d forgotten to let the blinds down so I did it for her.

Seven hours later, she rose to get her morning snack - the mail.

——

There’s this threat of Spring that’s been hanging around even though it’s still supposed to be Winter. The air’s too warm. Warm air is dangerous. Did you know it makes people angry enough to kill?

The night before, he hadn’t slept. The following day, he hadn’t gone to school. At daybreak he’d finally passed out and then crawled back out of bed at sunset. The apartment was empty. Hours went by. Room cold with artificial city light, there was nothing but the door stopping him from leaving.

It felt a little edgy and very film noir, standing outside in the middle of the night. A cigarette was staining his fingers with the scent of an adolescence gone awry. The sound of a woman’s heels caught him by surprise. It was late now – too late for a girl to be out on her own. But a stiletto is a knife and hers drew his eyes; how did girls walk in those? They gave her four inches, at least, and she was still shorter than him. Though he looked away, he was certain she’d noticed him watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“A little young to be smoking, huh?” His heart lurched just a little. Flicking the ash from his cigarette, he met her with an even stare.

“I’m eighteen.” There was no way to look at her directly for too long. Her eyes nearly glowed green like an animal’s, even in the dark. Would she think it was aloof if he just looked at the building across the street?

“Of course you are. Give me a cigarette and I won’t tell.” His hands shook a little as he fished through his pockets for the pack. He held it out to her as well as his lighter but she had her own – a little gray one. Or was it white? Feeling sheepish, he slid his back into his pocket.

She might have been unnerved by the way he watched her light the cigarette and suck in a drag but he was pretty sure she hadn’t noticed – her eyes were fixed on the cloudy sky. She was pretty, in a strange way. Older than him, old enough to smoke a cigarette, with wavy dark hair that was messed up from… what? Sort of tawny, like him, with those bizarre eyes that gave away the fact that she’d been a cat in another life. Or maybe she’d been a cat that morning. He would have believed it.

“Thanks, kid.” The words came out with a cloud of smoke and she finally looked at him. He went back to staring at the building.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, amazed that there was no heat rising in his face yet. Thanks, kid. He wasn’t really a kid anymore, but that was all right.

“Got a name?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He wanted her to ask for it directly. She stared for a moment and raised a brow when he forced himself to look at her again, taking a slow drag so he wouldn’t grin.

“Me too,” she answered evenly.

“I guess we have something in common.” Nicotine made him feel more like himself. Was he the type of guy who lost it when a girl borrowed a cigarette? No, he wasn’t. Not even when they walked on knives.

She laughed a little, and it was throaty and musical at the same time. He wondered if that was from smoking so much or if it was some deep reflection of who she was. Like maybe her laugh gave away her character. What would that even mean? He wasn’t sure and he didn’t care, and he wanted to believe it anyway.

“I’m January,” she said, flicking ash from her cigarette. Working on the possibility that he’d give her his name if she offered up her own first, she waited. What a weird name, he thought.

“Like the month?”

“No,” she replied with a lazy smirk. “Just like… January.” So he wasn’t going to indulge her.

“Can I call you Jan?” His brain tried to mirror her little smile but it came out like a normal grin, because sometimes that happened when he looked at beautiful people.

“You should be calling me Miss. You look like you’re fourteen.” That one stung a bit.

“I’m seventeen,” he nearly stuttered, forgetting what he’d said earlier. At the sound of her laugh he remembered and kicked himself, but she seemed more amused than anything. That made it all right, even if he did look fourteen.

“Figured. You don’t really look that young. I just wanted to know how old you were for real.” She paused to take another drag. “When’d you start smoking, Seventeen?” She said ‘seventeen’ like it was his name. He wondered if that would stick, if they ever talked again. Would she call him that forever? What about when he got older? It was unlikely that they’d even know each other than long but his mind wandered.

“A couple of years ago,” he answered honestly. There had been some older friends – the ones his parents hated – who’d let him smoke their cigarettes back then. “When did you start smoking?” She looked up again, contemplative, either at the clouds or a memory. It was hard to tell from where I was.

“When I was seventeen.” The fact that she’d answered surprised him. Her voice was a paradox and he wanted her to talk forever so he could listen and understand. There was some kind of symmetry in the fact that she’d started smoking when she was seventeen. That meant she’d been a ‘good kid’ a little longer than he had.

“How old are you?” She glanced at him, wondering where he’d gotten the cheek to ask for an older girl’s age.

“How old do I look?” Her smirk was back, spilling smoke impossibly slowly.

“Nineteen?” The way her lips bent into a smile was wicked. It made him wonder what she knew that he didn’t. It made him afraid to kiss her because she could drink his soul with a smile like that. He wanted to kiss her anyway.

“You’re smooth, Seventeen. I’m twenty-one.”

He wished she’d meant it when she said he was smooth. Nodding, he took a drag and tried to breathe out slowly like she had. All it did was burn his throat twice instead of once. Why did she do that?

They were quiet for a while. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed until she spoke again.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Shouldn’t you?” She blinked at him, suddenly looking tired. Exhaustion made its home in the creases around people’s eyes.

“Probably,” she answered. He’d been expecting some kind of explanation for why she was allowed to be awake because she was older, but January didn’t care enough. Not about explanations or image or her age or underage smoking. It was obvious in the way she asked a stranger for cigarettes and burned her throat twice – she was moving too fast to care for things like that, somehow. What did someone like that care about? He wondered. And he wondered where she was going. Home? Great places? Upstairs, with him? Unlikely, he thought, watching her take another drag.

He didn’t know what to say so he stayed silent. “Thanks for the cigarette,” she said blithely, tossing the butt to the sidewalk with a little flick. His heart skipped a beat. Done already? She’d disappear forever. “Get some sleep, kiddo. Stop smoking cigarettes.” At her side in a second, he hoped she’d stop to listen to him.

“Wait. Why are you here? Outside, I mean.” He paused. “It’s kinda late.” Curious, she cocked her head at him.

“I’m just… walking,” she answered tentatively. “Just going home.” The light shifted again and brought out the dark circles under her eyes. He’d been right about her skin being naturally tan but it looked sallow, like she hadn’t seen the sun in a while. He wanted to ask if she was all right but it seemed like the wrong thing to say. But her exhaustion made him worry a little, and he did his best to hide that.

“Do you live far?” he inquired, if only to stall her exit.

“Why are you asking?” she said, the throatiness in her voice suddenly sounding more like she’d just woken up than a burn mark on her insides.

“Just because. It’s not safe, walking around this late. I’ll… walk with you.” Hoping she wasn’t wrong to trust him, she took up the offer mostly for the company.

“If you want,” she said over her shoulder as she began walking again. “But if you want to walk me home you have to give me another cigarette.” He held the pack out to her while they walked and lit her cigarette for her before she could do it herself. One more confused look later, she was back to staring out in front of them.

The walk was silent. She thought about asking if he had school in the morning but decided it wasn’t important since he was already up late anyway. He thought about asking how much farther it was but decided she looked peaceful, smoking and staring at nothing. Even if he wanted to speak to her, he’d wait for her to start it herself. For now, walking was more than enough. The night was surreal, with a peculiar purple haze settled over the streets. It thickened as they approached a gray building that January stopped in front of. The sign on the corner said Shear Street.

“Hey,” she said, coughing a little. “This is it. You got parents waiting back home or something?” The kid was all right. He didn’t bother her for silly things like her relationship status or her last name or her favorite film, and she liked that.

“Not today,” he replied, making himself look at her again. Despite the glow she had a dead stare if he looked closely enough.

“If you come up I can pay you back for the cigarettes,” she added casually. Amazed, his eyes widened a little. Was she inviting him upstairs? Just for the cigarettes? “Don’t get ideas. You can wait down here, too, if you want,” she finished, answering his question.

“I… Sure. I mean, I’ll come up.”

He tried not to stare at her as they went up the stairs. The lights were off in the apartment. Waiting for her to nod her permission for him to enter, he was slammed with the smell of cigarettes before he even crossed the doorway. Someone moved in one of the rooms. A boyfriend? He didn’t ask.

“Roommate. She never wakes up,” said January, noticing his glance. “I never see her.” Since she took no care to speak quietly, he didn’t either.

“Never?” he asked, dubious.

“Don’t even remember her name.” Was she kidding? Confused, he watched as she kicked off her heels and then dug through the pockets of a coat draped over a chair by the table. After placing one cigarette between her lips, she carefully handed him two more. They were black, like her nails, which tickled his palm as the cigarettes rolled off her fingers. He tried to fit them in his pack for safe-keeping but they were hundreds and his were regular, so he lit one instead, figuring it was okay to smoke if she was.

“Thanks,” he said, wondering why they were black. He’d only ever had cheap cigarettes. The color made hers seem expensive and classy. Sure enough, the smoke was smooth. “Where do you get black cigarettes?” Laughing slightly, she flicked ash onto a tray on the table.

“Anywhere. Tobacco shop. Online. Whatever,” she answered, glad that he wasn’t leaving right away. It had been a rough night and she was still hazy from things she hadn’t planned to consume a few hours ago. The kid didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t, which gave her a peculiar feeling that reminded her of home. He’d hesitated by the door, too, which suggested good manners even though he was sneaking around at night and she didn’t believe there weren’t worried parents up in that apartment he’d left behind. “You can sit down,” she said, gesturing toward a chair. He took a seat and leaned over to flick ash into the tray, which she then slid over a bit so he could reach more easily.

“They’re… nice,” he said, examining the gold band around the filter. Leave it to big business to make killing yourself slowly look sleek and expensive.

“Mhmm,” she agreed, glancing at the time. Three twenty-six. Late for everyone else. “Aren’t you tired?” she asked, curious.

“Not really. I slept all day,” he said, still amazed that she was letting him sit at her kitchen table and smoke her cigarettes. What else was she going to let him do? He tried not to let his mind wander.

“Me too.”

“Guess we have something else in common.” Grinning, she pushed her hair away from her shoulders so it rested on her back. After a while the length got annoying.

“I guess we do.” He was reminded of the fact that she didn’t know his name and figured he should tell her now, if he wanted to stay in contact.

“I’m Dax,” he said, watching the smoke. It was thicker than the stuff that came from his cigarettes, and sort of milky white instead of gray.

“Dax,” she repeated. His name sounded like a dirty word on her tongue and he wanted her to say it again. “Short for what? Daxon?”

“Yeah.” Most people didn’t know that.

“I had a little brother named Dax,” she said, eyeing him carefully and flicking away some more ash. Tense, she wondered if he already knew what had happened.

“Had?” he asked, curious, but with a sick feeling that he already knew what she meant.

“Dax died,” she said quickly, blinking. He shifted a little under her stare.

“I… Sorry.” A loaded moment passed. “How old was he?” She didn’t want to answer but she did anyway, because he asked with the kind of caution she could appreciate. It wasn’t real; if it was, he wouldn’t have asked.

“Too young. It’s been a long time. I try not to think about it.” She paused, careful to smile a little ruefully before continuing. “Got any siblings?”

“A sister, but…” He paused, wondering if his story sounded too fantastical to believe. It was true, so he knew he shouldn’t care, but some people still didn’t believe him. “She disappeared. We used to live somewhere else, like across the ocean. A little island. No one around here knows.” January nodded, contemplative. It seemed unlikely but if it wasn’t true, it was interesting. That was good enough for her.

“I guess we have something else in common, then,” she said, sounding a little more mirthless than she intended. Nodding, he looked down at the table when he grinned. It felt inappropriate to smile at something like that. They were quiet for a while and January stared at the clock, wishing she still had one that ticked. Those always reminded her that she was up too late. The sound slowed time, somehow. Digital displays didn’t provide any constant reminder that she should have been asleep.

“You can stay, if you want,” she said, looking back at him. Resisting the temptation to laugh at the look on his face, she took another slow drag.

“Uh, what?” He had seemed like the type of guy to ask for clarification. She was glad she’d been right about that.

“I mean, it’s late, Seventeen. You can stay here if you don’t want to walk home now. Don’t get any ideas, though. I’m a little old for you,” she said, smiling. She could almost hear his heart sinking from across the table. So she would just call him that forever.

“Oh.” Trying not to sound too disappointed, he cleared his throat. “I… sure, I can just sleep on the couch,” he said, glad to at least have the chance to stick around longer. He still hadn’t gotten her phone number.

“You can sleep in my bed. I don’t care. I’m just not hooking up with a seventeen-year-old,” she said, laughing under her words. She already knew he’d say yes.

“Uh, if that’s okay with you, I guess it’s fine,” he answered, confused. So she wanted him to sleep in her bed but she wasn’t going to have sex with him. It would have annoyed him if she were someone else, but it was difficult to be upset about something like that with a girl who’d seemed unattainable at first anyway.

Amused, she tossed the butt of her cigarette into the tray and disappeared into her bedroom.

“I’m gonna change. Stay here,” she said over her shoulder, shutting the door. Staring after her, he wondered if she was serious. Maybe she didn’t mean it. Maybe she just didn’t want to say she’d have sex with him. But there was nothing in her tone that suggested she might go back on what she’d told him. Briefly, he considered sleeping on the couch anyway just to avoid the whole situation, but he wasn’t that strong and he didn’t want to be. She peeked out of the room wearing pajamas and a faded, lime green t-shirt, suddenly looking a lot less femme fatale. Thankful that he’d already changed into sweats before leaving, he walked in behind her. The room was filled with the same hazy, pale light he’d seen outside. Cities were strange at night.

Without another word, she climbed into bed. He followed. She seemed to pass out instantly and he was left staring at the back of her head, resisting the urge to touch her hair. It wasn’t until hours later when he felt her curl against his chest. Sighing, he decided it couldn’t do any harm to put his arm around her. He fell asleep in minutes.

January was wide awake.