Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here.
Note: My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not. If you have any feedback on that or any other issues, let me know.
***
R1203- Courtney.
east side, 1 bdr.
Life was weird. How could it not be? I think the weirdest thing was the normalcy of it. There was some uncanny shit going on, and I could lose everything and go to jail any minute of any given day, but it was so domestic. That’s the word for it - domestic.
When I was working, it was all about work. Home life was an afterthought. But without that, I was able to become a domestic goddess. I was taking care of myself, I was taking care of other people. And I was taking care of any business that came along - making sure people got to appointments with social services, got the clothing and food they needed.
Getting outside yourself can feel very nice. Work could do the trick, in theory, but in practice it was abusive and soul-draining. Directly helping people I know was so much better.
But something about the building was just uncomfortable. It had seemed so antiseptic and anodyne at first, like rows of harmless little seafoam green aquaria for human goldfish. Glass cubes for the young millennium. Now, the lines weren’t so straight. The building twitched and groaned and rattled. It had to be the wind, the traffic. The construction cheaper than it first had seemed.
I drank the last of the beer I’d gotten out of Grime, and sat on the couch staring at some internet TV, hoping to get tired enough to sleep. The room was intermittently vibrating like the world’s biggest bass string and I was ignoring that like a pro.
There was a pinkish hue to the light that I was also ignoring. The beer film left in my mouth was yeasty and disgusting, but in a tolerable low key and distracting way. TV cops tried to look clever, and I hung on their words. They were small on the laptop’s screen, like little doll men.
A few hours in, the vibration overtook them. I flopped off the couch onto the floor. Everything was going wild, like a poltergeist attack or earthquake. The timing was the same though, just the severity of the vibration was more severe.
They came in twos. The second wave after I hit the floor ended in a very strange sound, like the world’s largest champagne bottle opening in slow motion, followed by and grinding collapse. I could feel my ears trying to pop from pressure.
I grabbed the coffee table and righted myself, looking around for the source of that sound. What happened? Why did I feel like I was still moving? Then another set of waves came in.
The table worked its way across the floor a few inches, like a cellphone with the ringtone off, dragging me with it. The sound happened again, but less powerful, like the pressure had been released on the first one, and now whatever was just warping loudly - like when sound effects artists used sheet metal for thunder.
I saw it then, and the second vibration confirmed it. The window had come loose at the base. It was still moored at the sides and the top, but the bottom of the window - low enough it was nearly at the level of the carpet - was bowing out, open to the air outside.
I clung to the table, not knowing what else to do, waiting for anything to happen. Within a few minutes the vibration waves slowed and weakened, until they were similar to how they’d been all day. Maybe the pressure release helped. But one thing was different.
I stood up feebly and walked closer to the window. I stopped several feet away. It was hard to tell in the low light of the apartment at night, but it looked like the bottom left corner of the window was still warped, open a few inches. I could feel a bitterly cold breeze coming from it.
Turn around, get away. I went to my bedroom and jumped in bed, bunching blankets around me for sensory deprivation. It didn’t work. The interior of the apartment had an ambient noise before, low electric and vague susurrus of water pipes. Now that was drowned out by wind, and city sounds from outside.
I hated it. If I was living there legally, I could get the building to repair, rebuild, get me into another apartment until this one was right again. But somehow, I had the feeling that if I was legal, this wouldn’t be happening. The cause and effect didn’t make sense, but the feeling was real and heavy as lead.
I threw my blankets aside and got up in a hurry putting on a bathrobe and slippers, grabbing my keys and heading out of the apartment.
***
R1208- Leimomi.
west side, 1 bdr.
Across the hall from my apartment, the closest to mine besides 1207 was Momi's at 1208. The lights in the hall seemed pinkish and malfunctioning, like they were projecting a vague static from inside their orbs. I went quickly to her door and knocked.
She took a moment to come to the door, but opened it quickly. “Courtney, hi. You… want to, uh…?”
“Come in? Yeah, if it isn’t too late.”
“Did you want to get drunk again?”
I didn’t like the idea, that I was some kind of sad weirdo who invites myself to get drunk at other people’s apartments. But if the shoe fits… “I didn’t bring any tonight.” She walked out to her living room and sat down on the couch. I followed with tentative steps. The ambiance in there didn’t seem as corrupt, but I was off balance for some reason. I sat down a few feet away from her, slouching. Maybe I was drunk.
“Oh, I just didn’t want to be alone right now. How are you?”
Momi picked up a blanket and pulled it over herself. Beneath that she was just in a t-shirt and underwear. We needed to get her some pajamas, or a robe. “I’m OK. What’s going on with you?”
I was struck by her cuteness. I loved the way her thick eyebrows were quick to turn up in the middle, looking sad or confused even when she was feeling less keyed up. “It’s just been… a rough day.” I needed to lie to her and myself about this. “Or maybe I’m already drunk and was just feeling sad.”
Her legs were making a tent of the blanket on the couch between us, but it flattened out as she reached out to me with her feet. They settled on my thigh, only a little cold, in thick socks. “Aww, are you stressing too much?”
“I am.” Because this is all about the stress of the situation, nothing to do with the building falling apart around me. I put a hand on one of her ankles, and tried to convince myself some more. “Patrick is too busy at work to take care of Perry, even with the hours he gets back from not having to commute. So I’ve been checking in on him at regular times, right?”
“I remember that.” The blanket covered her legs but wasn’t long enough to reach higher. She pulled the collar of her t-shirt over her mouth and crossed her arms.
“It’s not off to a great start. He doesn’t like me at all. I wish we could get that dude some hobbies or something. Even getting the TV set up would help a lot.”
“I never had my own TV before. Sounds nice.”
“Aw, baby. We have to get you things, so many things.” I closed my eyes and lolled my head back.
“It’s OK, I don’t need anything.”
I looked at her like, are you for real? “You don’t even have a bathrobe or pajamas to keep you warm around the house. Or slippers. Unacceptable!” I wagged a finger at her.
The collar slipped off her face as she smiled. “Heehee, I dunno. I’m OK with the blanket. It’s nice.”
“Not enough. Pajamas and slippers and a TV.”
I looked out over the room. She had some noise playing - a crappy radio station coming out of a clock radio near the window. She still had small piles of random shit in odd places, not taking ownership of the environment. Disappointing. One chair was occupied by her old coat, an opened pack of disposable razors, a single shoe, and an unopened package of extra maxi pads. The coffee table was littered with the detritus of meals - silverware and plates disposable and otherwise, food stained styrofoam and cardboard and paper boxes.
“Hey,” I said, “If you want I could pick up for you around here. I know it’s hard to keep up the will to do that every day. I have a little time to kill.”
“No, no.” She put her hands up around her neck. “It’s not your responsibility. You’re not my mom.”
“Why not? I could be your mom.”
She shook her head. “No, my mom was bad and mean. You can’t be my mom.”
“Not everything has to be like the worst version of itself. If somebody has a crappy car, it doesn’t mean that every other car is crappy. So, Mama Courtney - doing it right.” I rubbed her leg. “Why not?”
This time she put up her hands in protest. “No, no! You can’t be my mom. It’s just creepy.”
“Why is it creepy for me to be a mom?” I was genuinely offended, if just a little.
“Not that, you just can’t be my mom. Because we’re… like this, like… friends.” She tried to explain with her hands, but it didn’t help. Looked like she was doing a hand jive that ended with her hands clasped together around an invisible moth.
“I guess I can accept that.” I waved it off.
“We are friends, right?” There was a tone in her voice that alarmed me and I looked back to her face. Again with the raised brows of sadness and confusion. The vulnerability made it more sad than cute this time.
“Yeah, honey. I didn’t mean anything by that stuff.” I rubbed her calf gently again. The radio bargled out the same shitty song that was playing when I first came in the room. “...I kinda wanna put on better tunes, but I don’t wanna go back to my place yet.”
“You can change the station if you want.”
“Really? I will.” I got up and went to that corner.
By the big window, I could sense the vibrations thrumming through the pane. It turned into an unpleasant static in my skull so I did my best to focus. Twist the knob. Commercials, barely perceptible fuzz stations, commercials, and then… Some saccharine pap channel for the office crowd - music fit for a Walgreens. But at least the channel had fewer commercial breaks and less repetition. Celine’s version of “All Coming Back to Me Now” was just past the crescendo and winding down to the end.
I came back to Momi and she took her feet off the couch so we could sit closer together. I obliged, sitting close enough we both just had elbow room. “It’s the played-out love song channel, hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” She smiled sweetly. “Do you wanna share the blanket?”
“Huh? Naw. My legs are fine. It’s more like, just my fingers and face that are cold.”
“So put your fingers and face under the blanket.” She threw it up over me like a human-catching net on Planet of the Apes.
“Agh! Ambush! Treachery!” I pushed the tangles of fabric around and soon she was under there with me. Both of us had our legs hanging out though. “Great, now your legs are cold.” I poked her in the arm.
“It’s OK. I like to have my face covered.” She did, but it was getting a bit much for me. The trapped breath was oxygen poor and moisture rich, even within a few moments.
“Why do you like it?” I had taken my contacts out and she was a fuzzy warm cartoon of herself.
“Do you ever feel like you’re being watched here?”
“Oh god, why did you have to say that? I know we aren’t, but of course it can feel like that, and now I’m gonna feel like that too.”
“No, oh, Courtney, I’m sorry.” She took my shoulders in her hands, held me close. It was even muggier and hotter than before.
“I know, it’s just… Can we..?” I pulled the top of the blanket down. “Hoo, I couldn’t breathe in there.”
“Ee, do I smell bad again?” She checked herself out in fear, sniffing at her t-shirt.
“No, oh why can’t we talk to each other tonight without misunderstandings? Literally all I meant is that I couldn’t breathe.” My eyes rolled around and came back. I put an arm around her shoulder. “You’re clean and smell just fine, and you’re cute and you’re doing good, OK? And we’re going to be OK, and there’s nothing wrong with what’s going on right now. And we’re not being watched, I promise.”
“How can you know?”
“Easy, because if we were, they’d have kicked us out by now.”
She was quiet a moment. “Alright. OK, I’m sorry.”
“While I’m making sure we’re all good, no misunderstandings, let me also add that you have nothing to be sorry about, and maybe I don’t have anything to be sorry about, and maybe--”
She kissed me on the cheek. I had been flopping my head around like a melodramatic muppet, but she arrested it just like that. She was so warm and nice on my cheek. I turned, feeling her cheek with mine. Then suddenly, she pulled her head back and sucked in her lips all frightened.
“Are you OK, Momi?” I didn’t know what to do with my face and could feel it doing all kinds of strange things.
“Was that OK?” She didn’t know if she should move back on the couch, but clearly was not comfortable with the moment she’d created.
“I don’t know, you’re so young, and were just in a bad relationship, and I’m so much more experienced I’m like an old ho, and like..” I shook my head. “Is it OK?”
She looked around, as if expecting an NSA agent to be standing behind her in stern judgment, then looked back. “I’m not that young, god. Is it OK if I want to kiss you?”
“Mmm,” I looked around, head reeling, trying to calm my nerves, ride the wave. Life is like surfing, which is something I’ve never done and will never do, but still. You have to take opportunities or you can lose them forever. I could feel the sexiness draining from the situation by the nanosecond. Did I want to be prudent, or have awesome makeouts with a beautiful lady?
Like surfing, you pick which way you’ll move in a flash of a moment, and hope it goes well. I kissed her on the lips.
Grime was a very sexy dude with his manly way and gently firm moves, but Momi was really beautiful, in the way that sneaks up on you. She looked like any normal person, like your cousin or your bank teller or the pizza delivery driver. But you get to know her and it comes over you in bits and pieces. As the stress of living for an abuser evaporated, her smile was easy and adorable, lips full and wonderfully sculpted.
Her eyes were black as wet ink, perfectly catching any light to shine with emotion. The shape of her eyes and brows was sensitive and rich. The second word there, rich, what do I mean by that? Full of meaning, maybe, heavy with a powerful depth of feeling.
Her wide nose was the perfect bow on her wide body, which is something I didn’t know I was really into until I was really into it. Every part of her soft or strong, bigger than me, holding me by the arms, making me feel small but safe.
And the most magical part was her hair, massy and shining and black as hell, soft, silky, just all over the place. Ann Wilson called from 1985 to register a complaint of jealousy. I remember liking the girls from Heart a lot when I was a child, especially Ann. Now I got to live part of that fantasy, in a different but completely perfect way.
Well, it wasn’t completely perfect - nothing is. But we kissed. I kissed her, she kissed me. There’s always an awkward shuffling of limbs in that. Making out in a sensory deprivation tank, that would be cool. Or a swimming pool.
So, imperfect tangle of limbs happened, but it was worth the struggle. At first we were side by side, bodies twisted to face each other. I was more flexible so I had to twist more, which wasn’t comfortable, but her strong arms holding me helped. I did everything I knew how to do, moving tongues, nibbling lips, sucking face, feeling out how she preferred it. That’s medium pressure, shallow tongue, rare nibbles, lots of caressing my face, neck, and arms, which I returned with zeal. I had to push her hair back sometimes to keep it from getting in our mouths, which was fun - I loved an excuse to touch it.
She pushed let me go to catch her breath, but left one loving arm around my shoulders. I kissed her on it and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. Let this dream be a good one.
“You drank a lot of beer, huh?”
“Heh, um, yeah, I guess I did.”
“Courtney, is it OK if I say..?” Her voice went too small to hear.
In the silence, I could hear our breathing, feel the vibrations still running through the building, and hear Richard Marx singing “Angelia.” I didn’t like much of that, but I had to think about how to handle the question.
“Depends on… how important that is to you, like, if the word is out there, do you feel trapped by it? I don’t want you trapped by me. Not now, crap.” I looked at my hands. “Maybe it’s too late. I could get you thrown in prison.”
She grabbed one of my wrists and stared me down. “If I go to jail it’s because I did it. The thing I wanted to do.”
“OK, I believe you.” I loved her with my body right then, but my mind was locked on thinking of her as someone in my care, someone I needed to protect and help. I had no idea what I was going to say or do. I hoped my confused look wouldn’t make her feel sad. I couldn’t stand that thought.
Her big dark eyes searched me and she asked, “Can I say it?”
My eyes burst with tears and I covered my face. After a few ragged gasps, I managed to tamp down the hyperventilation. “Don’t.”
She was crying then, but didn’t go away. She let go of my wrist and held me with both arms. “Why not? Do you..?” She broke up into sobs.
I let go of myself and returned her hug, squeezed her tight with my bony old arms. “I can’t hurt you, I care about you too much, and I don’t… I don’t know if we can… I don’t know if it’ll be wrong, be a bad idea.”
We cried and held each other for a good long time, and I realized this was the second time we’d done that. What was wrong with me? How did that come to define my relationship with this beautiful lady?
It seemed to go on for half of forever. When her breathing calmed down, she turned away, put her hands on the edge of the couch and looked at her knees, at the mess of blanket on the floor.
“Courtney, I don’t know what I was cryin’ about. You’re smart and that was real nice. I’m so stupid.”
That was a huge relief. I wrapped my arms around her again. “No way, you’re smart. Feelings got nothing to do with brains anyway, you gotta be true to yourself. Hey. I care about you too much, so much it kills me to see you sad. I’m dyin’ here.”
“Stupid.”
“Maybe I am, shit. Just, maybe we don’t kiss again until we know what we’re doing here, have an idea what’s going to happen. Patrick had a good idea and maybe I can try to do it too. He was like, ‘I’m just gonna do this until I have enough money to move somewhere legal.’ And I’m like, duh, that’s what I should be doing. He has a job, I should just get a job again and save up, right?”
She looked at me, cute despite her eyes being a puffed red mess, face wet. “Where would-- Could I--?”
“I’m taking you with me, wherever I go.” I looked to the window, to our blurry reflections floating like sad ghosts fifteen feet out in the night sky. “Shit, maybe it’s time for us to move the fuck out of Seattle. Kiss Walter and this bullshit economy goodbye.”
“Ew, I don’t wanna hafta kiss Walter.”
“It’s an expression, baby.”
“I know, but it’s too gross now.”
I smiled too broadly and she smiled too. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
The devil spoke to me, and I added, “One more kiss until then?”
She didn’t know what to do but moved her lips a little. I swooped in like a succubus and gave her a fiery dramatic kiss. No tongue, high pressure, arms holding her as strongly as I could. I had to touch that hair again, pushing it aside, stroking her neck and cheek, then letting her go, one little light peck on the way back. “Anybody could love you, Momi.”
“Oh man,” she smiled and looked at me sideways, “You’re evil.”
Hey everyone, hope your all having a good Monday. I apologize for the lack of releases last week. I went house hunting and failed to finish getting the videos ready for being made public. (I thought they we're ready, really!) Expect this week to be business as usual with a high chance of a bonus video dropping in there somewhere.
Irgendjemand findet es anscheinend witzig, den Strom genau dann wieder anzustellen, wenn wir durch die Tür weiter wollen. Irgendwann reicht es dann aber nicht nur mir mit dem Mist, sondern auch dem Typen und eine Verfolgungsjagd beginnt, die am Anfang allerding eher wie ein Wettrennen aussieht, wenn man sich mal ansieht, wie der Kerl losrennt.
Und sogar ein wenig Bioshock-Feeling kommt in dieser Folge auf, auch wenn das nur von kurzer Dauer ist und wir leider auch keine Bienen oder Krähen aus unserer Hand schießen und auf die anderen hetzen können. Schade, aber man kann halt nicht alles haben.
