Chapter Two
It always starts like this. My vision starts to blur and the depth of the dirty brick walls plummets into a single plane, like I’m staring into an abyss that never ends. Pins and needles prick their way over my body and I fall backward, sinking through layers of sticky black sludge. I land with a thud and David is before me speaking urgently. His eyes are lined with confusion and anger.
“Piper, I don’t like what you’re doing. Please, for the sake of our mother and our friends, put an end to it now,” he says to me. We’re at our place in the mountains, the stars peering onto us like frail paper lanterns. I look at him seriously, my hand over my mouth, mind reeling at what he’d said.
“You don’t understand, David. I love him,” I reply, feeling tears brim my eyelids.
“… … ….” David’s lips are moving, but the noise coming out of his mouth is like raw static.
“I can’t hear you. What’s going on?” I ask. He looks like I just slapped him in the face.
“I can’t believe how selfish you are! “… … … ” He shouts, then comes the static again.
“David, I think there’s something wrong right now. I haven’t done anything!” I cry frantically, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. He brushes me off and gives me a hard stare.
“People are going to get hurt, Piper. I need you to understand that!” he shouts.
“I don’t understand, David!” I plead, “How are people going to get hurt?”
I hear more static come from his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to notice, he just keeps talking, clearly thinking he’s telling me something important. Frantically, I look around for a clue as to what is going on. When I turn back to him, David’s face starts to deteriorate and his body fades away to dust.
“Hey, are you okay?”
I groan as consciousness slowly seeps in, my eyes heavy like lead weights. My body’s sprawled on the uneven cobbles, my skin dusted with grime and motor oil. I peek open an eye to see a tall, lanky guy with messy black hair crouched above me. His eyes are sunken in like he hasn’t slept and his skin is pale and smooth-looking. His dark wool jacket is tattered at the edges from years of wear and his white tee’s adorned with the logo of a band I’ve never heard of. He breathes in deeply. “Well, if you’re unconscious, I guess I’ll have to resuscitate you. Good think you’re pretty,” he drawls.
“I heard that, a*shole,” I mutter. He backs off quickly, letting out a short chuckle.
“So you are awake!” he exclaims, holding his hands out to the fake sky as though praising a miracle. I open my eyes completely and haul myself to a seated position, ignoring the black spots in my vision and cringing at the small tears in my vintage leather pants. “Whoa, be careful now,” he says, reaching a hand out to help me, “you should probably go see a doctor or something.”
I ignore his gesture and brush off the dirt. Maybe it would be different if this didn’t happen as often as it does. Maybe I should see somebody, but therein lies the catch: as soon as I swipe my ID card, the Corp knows where to find me. Better to deal with cash and the underground and stay hidden.
“I’m alright, I just forgot to have breakfast this morning,” I mutter in response as if it explains anything. I plant my hands firmly on the ground and attempt to hoist myself to standing, but vertigo catches up with me and I fall awkwardly back to the street.
“Here, let me help you,” the guy says, his tone firmer, less lazy. Begrudgingly I accept his hand and he easily lifts me off the ground, holding me steady until I’ve gained my balance. This close to him I see that he has soft blue eyes hidden beneath his messy fringe. His angular nose is brushed with freckles that contrast with his paleness and his lips are full and pink. He’s cute.
“I’ll be okay, really,” I say, though in reality my head’s still spinning. I can’t tell him that this happens to me more often than I’ll ever admit. He edges away as soon as I’m steady, and there’s a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. Oddly enough it steals a smile from me, like he’s sharing a secret joke with his gaze.
“Well then,” he says, placing his hands in the pockets of his black jeans and rocking back on his heels, “why don’t you come out for coffee with me?”
“Are you serious?” I sputter. I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out whether or not he’s messing with me. In these parts you never really know. He laughs softly.
“Why not?” It’s not every day I find a pretty girl passed out on the street who brushes herself like it’s nothing. Call me intrigued,” he says. I honestly consider it for a moment, thrown off by his brazenness. I’m not usually a fly-by-the-pants kind of girl; I like structure and order. Names, handshakes and conversations about the weather are supposed to come before coffee. I remember the time and shake my head wistfully no.
“I wish I could, but I’ve got places to be right now,” I reply. He grins off handedly, lips crooked.
“That’s too bad, Red. You sure I can’t walk you anywhere?”
“I’m okay, really. And don’t call me Red,” I scold, self-consciously stroking my hair.
“Then what should I call you, when I do?” he asks playfully. This time I can’t help but smile, embarrassed to the point of blushing.
“Piper,” I reply.
“See you around then, Red,” he says, then spins on his heel with a wave and disappears into the crowded streets. I watch him as that small smile dances on my lips. I didn’t even get his name.
Just as I’m about to jam my key into the lock of my shabby, paint-peeled apartment building door I realize that half my stock of Ten is gone.