The Same Song

by Sina T.Z

The sound of the cars’ horns begins to shake the thin tiny windows of the old apartment. Although it is far past midnight and the sun has not yet decided to show its ugly face to the ever-corrupted surface of this city, taxis and important employees who are thirsty for money like desert dogs for water never cease to stop punching the steering wheels and shouting curses heavier than a fat pig on a Sunday roast. There is not much light on this side of the room except for the pale reflection of the moon which can barely cause some contrast between the objects of this closed space. There are several pictures on the walls and they also shake whenever a tram moves outside of the window. The room is filthy and sunk in useless items and also laundry among which a man’s raincoat and a tie can be distinguished; since everything else obviously belongs to a woman who has witnessed a few decades

His ears start to twitch. The noises in this neighborhood are worse than any registered sex offender in any part of this town. It might have become ordinary by now for her, but he doesn’t belong here. So, no matter how exhausted his brain and body are, his ears can no longer bear such torture. But before his eyes give in as well and his blinders decide to part ways, his nostrils start to get wider. He smells something. Something horrible but not too strange. The smell of iron. No, not iron. The smell of blood which has gone dry. His brain already knows what to expect to see and this sends a shiver down his spine. While he does his best to keep his eyes shut, a drop of salty tear runs down his cheek. He is not sure why this is happening to him. But he has this strange feeling that this nightmare is not going to end any time soon.

There is a woman on the bed, lying motionlessly on his left. She is as naked as a girl can be with all her cheap yet shiny accessories around her ankle, wrist, and tiny neck. Her skin is whiter than snow and her nails were probably polished a few days ago. A flock of her long black hair is sitting on her small perky breast that is not moving at all. And there it is. What he has been dreading the whole time. A hole, not bigger than a few millimeters, right on her head. Dark red, almost black with dried blood on it. Her eyes are closed; she must have gone without even realizing it. Or maybe she had realized it but it made no sense to her anymore. He doesn’t know. In fact, he doesn’t know anything of any value here. He doesn’t even remember her name. he doesn’t remember much of her face or even her body. There are no recollections of this damp and stinky room in his mind. He lies there still to comprehend just how deep he is in shit right now. It takes his heart a few minutes to pump enough blood through his body to finally make him move.

He springs up. A tiny fraction of light is enough to penetrate right through his brain and squeeze its cells like mush in its tight grasp. He growls with his lips closed and his eyes pressed shut. This headache will be the death of him. He knows it. By stretching his arms and moving his hands around blindly, he manages to find a wallet on the computer desk on the other side of the room. He opens it up but there is nothing in it. But his eyes catch a glimpse of a few bills, so he grabs them all and stuffs his wallet as fast as he can. There is no oxygen left in this room. He wants to run out of here but he just realizes that he is also without any clothes. Marching through the untidy pile of garbage that she might have called “personal stuff”, he finally finds a white shirt, a dark grey pair of pants, a light grey raincoat, and a thin dark tie. What makes him feel even sicker is that he doesn’t even recognize whether these are actually his, or if they belong to someone else entirely.

But there is no time for hesitation. What if someone wants to come and check on her? He cannot take this risk. He has no memory of actually doing anything to her but explaining that to someone else will not be easy at all. They will definitely think he is guilty and they will lock him up. “Poor girl” he whispers to himself, but there is not much that he can do right now anymore. So, he walks toward the door of the apartment, but before touching the knob, he stops and looks at the naked girl once more. She is beautiful, even now that she is gone. He pulls up the blanket and covers her delicate body. “goodbye” he mimes the words on his lips without actually uttering a sound and leaves the apartment.

The apartment unit was on the sixth floor and he didn’t even look for an elevator. They always gave him an unsettling feeling. So, stairs were the only right choice. But, to his fortune, he didn’t see a soul on his way down and now he is walking on the street under the lights that are no longer working. Moon is slowly giving its place to that sadistic bastard. He knows that as soon as the sun goes up, the reality will hit his face. He is still in shock and disbelief but his heart has gone slower and he has full control over his steps. His right hand though, is still shaking from time to time. But he considers these shivers not too unordinary. As a matter of fact, these twitches are the only familiar feeling that he has right now. He puts his hand into the raincoat’s pocket to hide it from the eyes of the invisible watchers. There is a pack of cigarettes in there. He takes one out and with a lighter that was in the pack as well, he lights it up.

He has put a few blocks between the apartment and himself, but while everything looks relatively familiar, he cannot quite understand where he really is. There are only a handful of people, mostly homeless, on the street with whom he tries not to make any eye contact. Starting a conversation at this moment is nothing less than a nightmare. This place is so dirty and the air is still so damp that he feels as if he never really left her room. Cars drive by him and the smog leaving their exhausts in this chilly winter makes this place look even less bearable. As the initial shock begins to wear off and the sweat on his forehead starts to dry, he starts to feel cold and more intolerant regarding his headache. “Fuck, I need some pills” he whispers. His neck moves around and his eyes follow with a little delay to look at the stores around him. The pace of his steps does not change.

He keeps walking for a few more minutes until the half-dead neon light of a pharmacy captures his attention. The door seems to be closed from the distance but he takes his chances anyway. The pain is growing by the second and he feels like a child running away and being only a few minutes from getting eaten by the monster chasing him from the darkness. “I’ll steal some if I fucking have to”. He thinks without actually considering his decision thoroughly. There is not a single memory that would indicate that he is actually capable of doing such a thing. But no memory at all means endless possibilities. So, he walks faster and approaches the door of the drugstore. The sign “we’re closed” is hung on the other side of the glass door but a shadow is visible behind the counter. The sun has risen enough to cause a blinding reflection of itself on the door to make it even harder for him to be sure whether there is actually someone in there or not. He knocks on the door a few times. His patience is running out. The window looks fragile enough to be broken by a solid punch. He tightens his fist and the door suddenly opens in front of him.

- Good morning, sir. Please, come in.

There is an old man, standing at the frame of the glass door. He has lost more than half of his white hair, and his beard has grown in an ugly fashion. It is visible that self-care has not been his strongest suit for many years. He is wearing a white lab coat which is probably as old as his age with a shabby light blue shirt underneath. He looks neither friendly nor hostile. His teeth are half gone and his back is a little bent. It could be because of the piercing reflection of light or just simply because of his old age, but his wrinkled eyes are the form of a straight line which would allow the old man to have only a very limited vision. The man walks in without returning any curtseys.

- How can I help you, young man?

- Pills for my headache. Strong ones.

- I see. It must have kept you up all night that you’re here this early.

- Can I have the pills, please?

The old man doesn’t seem to appreciate the tone of the young man’s voice. He looks at him again; this time analyzing him more thoroughly. The man’s face seems vaguely familiar to him but he can’t quite get it yet. So, he turns his back to him and scans the shelves to find some tablets. In the meantime, the young man looks around the store impatiently, checking out the posters and reading what is written beneath them. He soon realizes how useless it is to try to read something with such a massive headache. Before being called by the pharmacist, an old poster of a man attracts his attention. It is almost buried behind the newer posters. Only one eye and a small part of his face is visible to him. His vision is blurry but the picture looks so familiar. So, fucking familiar. It looks like… him!

- Sir, your pills. Will you pay in cash or by credit card?

His neck turns to the pharmacist and his eyes follow the motion with a second delay. He reaches for his wallet, puts down a bill next to the bag, and grabs the pills. Without saying another word, he rushes out of the store, while popping 3 pills into his dry mouth. The old man watches him from behind, lost in his thoughts, trying to think where he had seen the young man before. But his memory is not as kind to him as it used to be decades ago.

A mixture of chilly breeze and a young sun’s warmth slap his semi-bearded face as soon as he steps out of the store. The stench of alcohol and trash fills his nose. He walks a few steps towards a trash can but before making it there, bends over and throws up heavily. He feels as if all his insides come out of his mouth. It hurts like hell and makes his head dizzy. A few people walk past him and lay their judgmental eyes on his mess. He doesn’t make any eye contact. They don’t know the pain he is in. They can’t possibly fathom the nightmare that he is experiencing right now. He wipes his mouth, pops up a few more pills, and starts walking again. A sudden idea pops up in his head. “My DNA. It must be all over her. They will definitely find my DNA on… or even in her. They will know it was me. They will find me. I have to go back now. Oh God… I have to see her again. No… No, I can’t do it. I can’t go back in there. Be smart. They are going to be waiting for you there. They expect your return. Don’t be foolish. You can’t afford to be foolish now.”

While being lost in his thoughts, a taxi pulls over next to him and the driver makes eye contact. He looks back at the driver and then looks around. This neighborhood is like hell for him. The air is toxic. He can’t breathe this shit anymore. Without giving it much thought, he opens the door and sits in the back seat.

- Where should we go?

- Far away from here. Anywhere that doesn’t stink so much.

- I need an actual destination.

- Take me to a big park. Somewhere with fresh air. I am suffocating.

- I’ll take you to the national park then.

- Yes. That will do.

The driver stops looking at him from his rear window and focuses on the road ahead. He is clearly not from this place or even this country. His skin is brownish and his hair is darker than the night they had just passed. He is younger than his passenger, probably in his early 20s, and the light on the end of his cigarette never dies. The radio is on and the speaker is reporting a sports event. It is not very clear what sport exactly, but the taxi driver is listening to it carefully. His passenger is sitting loosely in the backseat, enjoying the effect of the pills he has just taken. His eyes are stuck to the hideous walls and the buildings with tasteless graffiti on them. The ever-moving picture of the walls and the trees takes his exhausted and intoxicated mind into a trance stance; somewhere between sleep and consciousness. His mind starts conjuring images that only he can see, and his eyes go half closed.

****

It is an old apartment building. The wallpapers are a hundred years old at least with a design that can’t be actually understood. Most of the furniture is made of cheap and weak wood and there are lamps everywhere. With all those lamps all around the place, it is still surprisingly dark and gloomy. There is only one picture on the main wall of the living room with a serious face of a young woman on it. There are traces of beauty on her face if you look at each part separately, but the overall look is quite unsettling. People are coming and going and the young boy doesn’t know any of them. They are all dressed in black and while the women try to pretend that they are sad, the men laugh almost too loudly and talk about sports and politics. There is a woman sitting on a big armchair near the window who looks a lot like the woman in the picture, only slightly older and considerably scarier. People walk to her, say a few words, and then leave without getting a word in return. The woman is looking out of the window; at something that no one else can see. She finally gets tired of her point of interest and turns her neck towards the little boy. Their eyes make contact and the boy freezes at his place. He is afraid. He is sad. He wants to walk towards her and hug her tightly. But he also wants to run away and never look back. Her eyes… her beautiful eyes… there is nothing more beautiful than them.

****

- You can get off now. We’re here.

He snaps back into the reality. The taxi driver is waiting for him. He gives him the money and steps outside of the cab toward the entrance of the park. It’s almost noon now. He feels sick and hungry and although he is sweating, he feels incredibly cold. There is a stand by the gates and he buys a small sandwich from it. The park is gigantic and the trees are tall enough to give you the sense of walking inside a jungle. There are people — young and old — moving and crawling in every corner. Some impolite kids with dirty clothes and chubby cheeks run around the trees and shout. He hates them all. But there is an upside: the air. He can finally breathe again without having to vomit. His headache is getting a bit better as well. He remembers only a fraction of what he saw in the taxi and no matter how hard he tries he can’t quite understand much from it.

Now that his stomach is full, he decides to sit on a bench and rest a bit. There are quite a lot of benches all over this park but most of them are occupied by either older folks who are in the middle of a heated chess match or by some young lovers who are in the middle of a heated make-out session. Approaching neither of those groups sounds tempting to him. So, after walking for a few more minutes, on one of the less crowded roads, he finally manages to find a green bench a few meters from a giant tree. The sun is almost at its highest position now, which means the chair is only half covered by the shades thanks to the tree and the other half feels like molten lava. He sits on the shaded side and closes his eyes.

“What is the next move now? I don’t know anyone in this town. I don’t even remember my own name right now. Where should I go? How long will it take for the police to test my DNA and find my location? Will they hang me for this? How can they hang someone for a crime they can’t even remember they have committed or not? Maybe it is all a setup! Maybe I was drugged by someone and then put next to a body to be framed for murder! But I can’t even prove that. There is nothing I can do to prove my innocence… not to them, and certainly not to myself.”

The train of his thoughts breaks as an incredibly attractive woman sits on the opposite side of the bench. She is covered in sweat and her pink cute outfit suggests that she must have been jogging up until that second. Her skin resembles a cold and delicious chocolate milk in the middle of a summer, her big and round eyes are greener than the tree above them and her curves suggest that she has spent the better half of her youth in gyms. Her top and shorts match in style and the brand and the size were intentionally chosen in a way to leave nothing to imagination. She breathes noticeably fast and her eyes are on her cell phone to find the music application and stop the song she has been listening to through her white earbuds. After putting her phone away, she stretches both of her arms to each side of the bench and puts one of her athletically gorgeous legs on the other one. She takes a few deep breaths and then acknowledges the presence of the man next to him.

- What a lovely day, isn’t it?

- Isn’t that part of the bench hot?

- I like the sun. not only because of the vitamin D (she smiles), but the way it makes me feel alive. This winter is too cold for my taste. I will enjoy any sunshine anywhere that I can.

- The man stares at her in silence.

- I’m an architect by the way. Have a huge firm on the northern side of the city. After having hundreds of people working under me all day long, I need these quiet weekend runs.

“So, it was the weekend”. Thought the man. Not that it would make any valuable difference, but at least now he had a tiny clue about his life.”

The woman continues talking:

- I have never seen your cute face in this park. And believe me, my eyes never let a face like yours go unnoticed. You actually look kindda familiar to me, but I’m not quite sure where I have seen your face before.

- You have never seen me before. I’m sure, I haven’t seen you before either.

- Maybe. But something tells me that you are more than just a pretty face.

- I’m flattered. But now I’m only a man enjoying the fresh air in a vast green environment.

- I had a boyfriend like you once. It would have taken special treatment to get him to actually talk. But you know what? I like the silent type. Adds to the mystery. Normally, every person that I see at work is an open book, but the quiet ones like you can at least give me a challenge.

“She obviously enjoys the sound of herself a bit too much. If she wasn’t this hot, I think no one could actually tolerate her mumblings for more than a second. It’s kind of strange how, in the middle of this shit that I’m stuck, I still can’t kick the thought of her body in my grasp out of my mind. There is something seriously messed up with me.” He continued to think as she continued to speak.

- Do you enjoy the company of the stronger women? The ones who can achieve whatever they want, that people bend in front of their will, and the ones who can make more money in a day than you ever can in a year? Do you find a woman like me attractive, mister?

Her words threw the man back in his thoughts again. A strong woman. Yes, he was always attracted to the stronger ones. He was also afraid of them, but conquering a woman of that level always boosted his self-confidence. Sleeping around with a stripper or a college girl was way too easy for him to provide any actual joy. But dominating a woman like this one in bed would taste like a true victory. This taste was familiar to him. He couldn’t remember any other women that he had ever slept with, but the feeling of doing such a thing was way too understandable. And being understandable in this situation was indeed a rare thing.

- Please let me ask a question, before answering yours. You claim to be a woman of wealth and culture. You run a successful business, take care of your shape and your tone suggests that you’re the type to get what you want at any cost, if necessary. Now, why should a woman of your level seem so desperate to have a nobody that she has just met in a park? This part puzzles me.

She clearly didn’t enjoy the nature of the question, but showing anger would only reflect weakness, and she could not bear the thought of being weak in front of a nobody.

- Let’s not get off the rail now, sir. Your eyes have been glued to my breasts ever since I sat on this ugly bench and you have had difficulty swallowing your own saliva as soon as I started talking to you. Now, which one of us do you think is more desperate to take the other one out of their clothes?

He smiled with bitter self-confidence. This reaction was strange to him as well. He had no idea how smooth or how cruel he could be in the presence of an intimidating woman. This conversation brought him even more familiar feelings. The feeling of being humiliated. The feeling of being loved. And the feeling of being scared.

- I am a man of priority ma’am. I only pay attention to what is the most valuable to me. And here, your body is what I consider valuable. You have clearly spent a lot of time and energy making it look the way it is today, and I must admit, even a gay man can be turned on by it, which I think deserves congratulations. If your words were as half interesting as your curves are, I probably would have enjoyed this conversation much more and I could even call myself desperate. But you know you were going to spread those shapely legs for me as soon as you set eyes on my loneliness. You knew I would be an easy target to control. You knew I would be drooling all over your drop-dead beauty and that’s why you chose to sit on this bench. The truth is that you were desperate for dominating some fresh meat from the very beginning and I must say well done. You are good at what you do.

- Clearly, not as good as I thought I was. This is unfortunate that I am no longer eager to listen to your aggressive words and definitely not in any mood to keep my legs more than a few centimeters apart. You might think that you are clever, but you still don’t know how wrong you are. Goodbye.

She stood up, put her earbuds back inside her ears, and resumed her jogging. This conversation was shockingly bizarre even in his situation and the way he handled it brought him no joy. In fact, he is more confused about who he actually is and this rush of negative feelings aggravated his headache once more. He knows that the effect of the pills will wear off pretty soon and he will need something much stronger to make him go through this nightmarish day. Even the fresh air does not soothe his pain anymore. So, unwillingly, he stands up and starts moving towards the gates. A part of him is still angry and depressed about the conversation he just had with the woman. The victory of winning an argument had just cost him some good time, away from all this mess. However, deep down he knows that in his situation, sharing a bed with a stranger is not probably the best idea. What is the best idea, though? “Perhaps a few drinks wouldn’t hurt” he thinks. And that’s how he chooses the next destination.

On the way to a bar close to the national park, he keeps his head down and his eyes focused on the sidewalk to avoid any kind of human interaction. He has had enough of those already, and he doesn’t think he can handle any more of them, at least not without some alcohol in his blood first. The moon is about to wake up again and punch the sun in its face to send it back to another night of sleep. He wishes to himself that one time, this blow becomes fatal and that the sun never wakes up again. “The earth would freeze over and we would all die happily ever after.” He thinks to himself with a mental smile which has no actual physical output. He takes out another cigarette and lights it up. His body itches for the sense of peace that it provides for him and he indulges ever so willingly.

As soon as he opens the door to the bar, he realizes that this was the best decision to make. The place is rather small with dimmed lights and only a few old bastards in cut-out jean vests and white mustaches playing the pool or some darts and enjoying their beer in what you can more or less call silence. The whole place is painted dark green and the furniture is either black or brown. The lights are all yellow and there is no sight of a karaoke machine in any corner, which is also a relief. Listening to what other people want to choose is a form of torture and must be banned in every country. Music is something personal, like a religion. Once you give yourself the permission to make someone else listen to your taste, you are no better than a buffoon with human clothes, and believe me when I say this: all buffoons belong to the circus.

- You definitely have some interesting opinions stranger.

He looks around in shock and realizes the sentence was from the bartender who is cleaning a glass of beer behind the counter. He is confused about what she just said because he is pretty sure that he wasn’t thinking aloud just a second ago. But apparently, he was mistaken.

- I’m glad that you find them interesting. I have a lot more where that came from.

- If you promise that all of them are as foolish as the one you just said, then I’m willing to hear them.

The man smiles. He genuinely smiles. Which is the first time he does that during this whole day. He looks at the bartender. She is a woman in her late thirties with blonde hair which is tied up behind her head. Her eyes are somewhere between brown and blue and there is no evidence of makeup on her face, yet she looks relatively charming. She is wearing a green tank top with black jeans and the size of her breasts is noticeable from the furthest corner of the bar. She is smiling at him and making witty and sarcastic comments, which could be simply a part of her job as a bartender, or she could be actually interested in what the man has to say. He decides to believe in the second one.

- Alright, we can strike a deal. You make sure that my glass is not empty and I’ll make sure that you will not get bored. How’s that?

- I could work with that.

- Great then!

- What’s your poison?

- Actually, the more poisonous, the better. Pour me something heavy.

- Had a difficult day?

- You could say that.

The woman brings up a bottle of whiskey and fills a shot. The man watches her in silence. Drinks the first shot and starts with a question:

- Do you disagree with my opinion about music?

- I think music can be enjoyed in good company as well as in solitude.

- That’s where you are wrong. A “music” that is enjoyed by a group of people at the same time is nothing but a worthless piece of entertainment, made for the simplest of minds. A real piece, on the other hand, is like a lover. Only “you” can understand and appreciate that lover. And it is obscene to do such a thing in front of a bunch of simpletons.

- So, everyone else in this world is a simpleton?

- Not everyone. But it’s quite a hassle to find a person nowadays with whom you can actually enjoy a meaningful conversation.

- By meaningful, you mean the kind that we are having right now?

He starts laughing and proceeds to drain yet another shot.

- No, no. Please don’t make me laugh. What we are having right now is simply a little game to determine whether we are worthy of having an actually good conversation. Look at it as a test; if you pass, you will get to experience the good parts.

- I’ll admit. This is becoming interesting. So, tell me. What is a meaningful conversation?

- Very good question indeed. But before I answer that, let me ask you another interesting question.

- Go ahead.

- Why did I use the word “lover” to describe a good piece of music?

- Hmmm… because if we are lucky, we only get a few of actually good ones in our lifetime?

- Now, that’s what I call a curious answer. I already believe that this conversation is going to a good place.

- So, what is your reason for calling it a lover?

- Because only a lover can let you experience a true sense of exhilaration. It is only with them that you can reach the pinnacle of physical and mental excitement and you can truly know yourself. I strongly believe that a person is unknown to themselves before they can taste the sweetness and bitterness of making love to the right person.

- You mean falling in love?

- Nah… falling in love is too overrated. Having an escalated heartbeat for an imaginary version of a person that you have created in your mind and doesn’t truly exist is nothing but a scam to fool the youth, empty their pockets and put a leash around their necks. Feeling the taste of flesh under your teeth, on the other hand, well… there is nothing more real than that.

The woman looks genuinely invested in the conversation. The facts that no new customer walks through the door and the older folks are already drunk beyond redemption are also helpful to keep her focused. The man is getting warmer by the second. The pain is escaping out of the window and the excitement of taking part in this conversation is starting to rule over his existence.

He continues by asking another question:

- Have you ever fallen in love?

- Once, but it is ancient history.

- What stopped you from falling in love again?

- I suppose I understood the same thing that you explained. In the end, it’s all about reaching that peak. And love was neither the easiest nor the most efficient way to achieve it.

- And that, my wise lady, is why this conversation is becoming more meaningful. Can I have another shot?

- I’ll be in charge of when you can have the next one. You can keep talking for now.

Her strong will excites him even more, but he tries his best not to show it just yet.

- You also mentioned something about religion? That should also be like a good song or a good lover?

- Religion is for the gullible minds. Some people never grow out of believing in good stories; not that I would call any religion an actual good story, but the sheer number of people who believe in such nonsense is a testament to how convincing it must have been for them. I personally never cared too much for them.

- So, what then? You are an atheist?

- No, I’m simply not insane. Or maybe I am. The joy is in not knowing whether you are the crazy one or the rest of the people. Most men and women would agree that the majority should decide the level of sanity of an individual, but also most men and women still fall in love, get married, have babies, listen to pop music, and have a shitty job to afford a place they hate to provide for a family they resent. So, who’s to say who is crazy and who is not!

The woman bites her lower lips and continues with a shameful curiosity.

- I’m interested to know your type in women.

His smile dries on his lips. This question should have been simpler than the other stuff he has just shared his opinion about, but for some reason, it throws him back into the depths of his mind. another piece of random memory pops in his head and sparks like a lighter with enough gas to light up just one more time.

****

It is the same house again, but it is much darker than the last time and quiet too. There are no signs of people moving around like a bunch of hungry cockroaches and the lights are almost all switched off except for the main chandelier in the center of the living room. The woman is still sitting on her chair and this time, her gaze is fixed on the little boy. Her eyes show a great deal of sadness and the reflection of light on them suggests that she has been forcing the tears back all this time. Her lips, however, it’s hard to read what’s on them. One could describe it as a crooked smile, another would see traces of fury, but he knew… he knew exactly what they meant. So, he obeys, as he always does, and approaches the chair. The bruises on his arms, wrists, and thighs that are always well hidden beneath the pile of clothes that he must wear itch horribly with every step that he takes. He sits on the floor right next to the chair and stares at the shabby and worn-out carpet under his knees.

- You have been a good boy today. Come here. Let mommy caress your hair.

The boy does as she says, shivering uncontrollably.

- Remember, that daddy will be watching over us… even if you don’t see him anymore, you still have to be a good boy. Do you understand?

The boy’s face is now covered in tears and his heart is racing as fast as it possibly can.

- I didn’t hear your answer boy. Do you understand? Do you understand? Do you…

****

- Did my question upset you?

The man blinks twice and now he is back at the bar. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and tries to conjure up another smile; this time not so genuinely.

- Oh… not at all… women… good question. My mom always used to say… that I… never mind

- Seems like I struck a nerve. Let me guess… you’re still living with your mom?

He closes his eyes for a second. Anger is making its way up to his head and his ears are now red. But, for some reason, he decides to play this game differently. “Nothing can be more confusing and twisted than the truth” he thinks.

- To be honest, I have no idea where I live.

- You don’t look like homeless people.

- That’s not what I meant. I think I might have a place in this god-forsaken city. I just can’t remember where it is.

- Interesting. Do you remember your own name?

- That is indeed a good question. Do I remember my name? when I woke up today, I didn’t find any ID in my wallet. So, I guess no… I don’t remember my name.

- Alright Mr. Nobody. You don’t remember your own name but you have all sorts of opinions about everything else?

- Isn’t that fascinating? Who I am is not relevant… How I think is what really matters.

- When you woke up this morning, where were you?

- In someone’s apartment. A lady… perhaps even a lover. I can’t remember the nature of our relationship. However, the fact that she was not wearing anything could indicate that interesting things might have happened last night.

- So, why didn’t you just ask her about the nature of your relationship?

- Because she couldn’t answer.

- How so?

- I left her apartment in the middle of the night.

- Why?

- My headache was killing me and I couldn’t breathe no more.

- His anxiety is building up faster than he could anticipate. The events of this morning feel so distant, yet too close. He looks at the bottle and asks for another shot with his eyes. The bartender obliges and he empties yet another round.

- How was she like? Your lover?

- She was… calm.

- You don’t look like the type who would choose calm girls.

- Since you’re such an expert, what kind of girl do I crave?

- The type who would listen… but also tell you to sit on your knees and be a good boy.

- “How the fuck did she know? Can she read minds?” he thinks with visible terror on his face. But he can’t let her break him down. No… he just can’t.

- Do you like to tell me to get on my knees and be a good boy?

- Depends.

- On what?

- On how good you can actually be.

- Try me.

The woman looks at him with a victorious smile on her face. She puts the lid on the half-empty bottle and puts it in a paper bag. Then she turns around and talks to a younger boy working at the tables

- I’m gonna have to close shop early tonight. Take care of these old dogs and make sure they leave soon. See you tomorrow, kiddo.

The man looks at her in disbelief. Waiting patiently to hear her next words.

- We’re going to my place. Now. Get your ass up. You’re about to show me how good you can be.

He stands up in a flash. His heart is coming out of his mouth. Everything about this day feels unreal, but this certainly is worthy of a prize on its own. The bartender wears a black jacket and tells the man to follow her outside. They don’t take hands or utter another word. She raises her hand for a taxi and then gets in immediately, leaving the door open for the man to sit next to her. She tells the cab driver where to go and then leans back on the seat. The man is still tipsy and he feels both excited and scared. He stretches his hand to touch hers but she slaps his wrist.

- A good boy does what he is told to do. And I can’t recall giving you any permission to touch me… yet.

He takes a deep breath and laughs hysterically. His stress is getting out of control, but he can’t wait to see where this night is taking him. Everything else before this, feels like a vague dream that never actually happened. Maybe they actually were some tasteless imaginations. Nothing felt more real than the adrenaline in his vessels right now. She looks at his face.

- You have one of those faces.

- What faces?

- The ones that you feel like you have known them almost all your life.

- Maybe you have.

- Maybe…

The driver stops. They are now in a very dark alley, but this particular spot is lit by the neon lights of a pharmacy. She gets out of the cab and tells him to wait. He sticks his head to the window and watches the steam forming on the inner side of the window. Everything feels unreal. The pain is almost completely gone now and a pleasant numbness has taken its place in his head. His heart, on the other hand, is pumping too fast that if it was any other day, he would actually become concerned by it. The woman returns with a small bag in her hand and orders the cab driver to go to the next destination. She looks at him with a smile, like a human looking at a lost puppy.

- Don’t worry little one. We’re almost there.

They get out of the cab and walk toward an old apartment. It’s not tall and it’s in a rather secluded part of the block. No light is coming out of any of the windows. She puts a key in the keyhole and lets herself inside the apartment. The man takes a deep breath and follows her with only a few seconds’ delay. They use the stairs to reach the third floor and then enter the unit. She doesn’t turn on the lights. Instead, she takes off her jacket and after putting the bottle and the bag on the counter, walks straight toward the bathroom and closes the door behind her. He stands a meter in front of the door frame and looks around the apartment. The place is relatively clean and there isn’t anything special to capture his attention. Although the lights are off, the reflection of the moon has made a quite pleasing scenery. After a minute, he walks toward the kitchen and looks for a glass. Then he proceeds to open the bottle and pour himself a dose of the poison. The taste calms him down a little bit. He looks inside the bag on the counter and finds a pack of condoms and a few pills that he assumes are painkillers. “I already like this one a lot.” He thinks, this time with an actual smile.

She finally comes out of the bathroom and starts looking at him.

- Should we play a song?

- I told you how I feel…

- I know you did. What makes you think that I should agree with your opinion?

- Do as you please, then.

- That’s more like it.

She approaches the stereo device in the corner of the room and turns it on. A track begins to play and it sounds very familiar to him. He must have heard this before, but he can’t remember when or where. This memory loss is making him angry and nervous but the song has a soothing tone to it that calms him down.

- Do you like it?

- I think I have heard it before.

- Really? Can you remember it?

- Not really. It just sounds painfully familiar.

- Good then. I like things that are familiar… and painful.

She takes a step toward him. He still has the glass in his hand. She takes off her top as she gets closer. There is no bra underneath. Her big bare breasts fill his eyesight with pure delight and pleasure. Although she is not quite young anymore, her body is still heavenly and beautiful. He puts down the glass and gets closer to her, but before he can put his hands on her body, she takes his hands and tells him to sit on his knees. He is not too happy with her tone but he satisfies her wish. The floor is cold and rough but the view more than makes up for it. She slides her fingers down her pants and pushes them downwards slowly; putting up a breath-taking show. He is losing his mind. Drunk, exhilarated, and painfully erect, he snaps her off her feet and puts her on his shoulder. She laughs aloud and lets him take her to the bedroom. He throws her on the queen-sized bed and takes less than a second to fly out of his clothes. She is staring at him with unending lust in her eyes and an evil yet sweet smile on her lips. He opens the condom pack and then joins her in the bed. She spreads her strong legs and embraces the delicate figure of the man. Her legs are placed on his shoulders and her toes are locked tight. He takes a bite out of her neck and as he pushes himself inside her, he whispers to her ears:” You are mine now”

****

It is past midnight now. His body and his mind are at rest. He can feel the satisfaction in every inch of his body and this pleases him. Everything else that happened before this night now feels like a meaningless joke. He still doesn’t remember who he is but that doesn’t bother him very much. He smiles and closes his eyes and the night embraces him. His eyelids hold each other once more and his breath becomes steadier. But before he can fully leave this realm and enjoy a much-needed sleep, a small frown shapes on his face. His nostrils begin to twitch. He can smell something… it’s familiar… disgusting… and most of all, terrifying…

It smells like iron… but no… this is definitely not iron.

The end.