Page 24 of Voracious

She’s in a haze and I’m taking advantage by asking for what she wouldn’t willingly give, but a name finally falls out of her.

“I needed money so I could keep the free money. Amon only wanted one hit.”

Pulling out every memory I have, there’s no one I know called Amon. What is the cunt doing to her? Using her fucking body after years of living that shit when she can come to me and I’ll give her it. I own the house and I have enough to never work again.

Her face contorts with a cry, but no tears or sound, and she’s so fucking vulnerable right now my heart aches.

“I’m really tired, Dima. For the first time, I think she’s dead and I’m just so…tired.”

Maybe hope is what’s keeping her alive, there’s nothing sustaining her without it. Hope with a double helping of violence. Her lashes flutter and I gently shake her shoulders because that one little disc is still in her eye.

“Take your contacts out then I’ll put you to bed, okay?”

She doesn’t react and just stares at me, through me.

I’ve fucked up, misjudged the loneliness inside her and spat out hate when she’s already seen too much of it. I don’t move her and stroke her cheek like that makes it all fucking better. Her lips move with no sound, and I move my ear closer, trying to pick up the conversation she’s having with herself. There’s nothing but air and that’s my fault for taking the piss out of her when she’d talk to herself.Keeping one hand on her back, I pick up my phone and there’s no hesitation as I send Vlad a message.

Me:

Have you heard of someone called Amon?

Vlad:

Stay the fuck away from him.

That’s unsettling as fuck. If I needed proof that he’s a cunt, it comes from king crazy’s warning. Vlad usually has professional respect for other psychos, it’s why he tolerates Ana despite saying he hates her. Like recognizes like. But she’s got herself involved with a someone who hurts her. The longer she remains blankly mouthing to herself, the deeper the ache embeds itself inside of me.

1 Endearment: little fox

TEN

Ana

Iwant the world to stop for five minutes. Not a long time, just five minutes so I can work out why my mind is breaking. It’s the hair, I know it is. I haven’t seen dark hair around my face since I was nine years old. I’m not that girl, she died with my old name. But now it’s back and I can’t convince myself that B is off living a good life because we swapped places. The girl with dark hair and weird eyesisme.

But if she’s me, then B isn’t real and she’s not happy. If she’s me, then Ana isn’t real. Either way I don’t exist, and I don’t know anything. The 104 days are back, and I keep moving my lips, my tongue, anything to talk but no sounds come out. They won’t. It’s the 104 days and I’ve forgotten how to make words again. So, I hold my ears and keep talking. If I keep talking, I know things. If I know things, I’m a person, ghosts can’t know things, people who don’t exist don’t know things. I exist.

Why does it hurt? My face isn’t throbbing, but my brain hurts and convinces my body to feel the same. I want to call for a mother and father I never had, like normal children do. My lips move around the unfamiliar titles as though a phantom will spring from the walls and take it all away. But B is gone; she hada dad, and he took her away. B is real, and Ana is real, and Nina is real. Everyone is real and I know things.

Maybe my mother died giving birth to me and like Marlo said no one could find my father and they tried to give me a life. But he knew him, he gave me the name accidentally. There’s no reports on the man, he disappeared years before I was born. Is he looking for me? No, he can’t be. No one is looking for me because I don’t exist.

No one looks for ghosts.

Ants.

So many ants. They crawl over me, and I choke as I try to speak.My throat burns as I force the words out, voicing what I need to be Ana.

“I want to kill someone.”

There’s no one to hear me but like the 104 days I talk to myself. Something warm moves on my back, making me flinch because I was alone and a voice I recognize without the gentleness speaks to me.

“Okay, let’s go.” The warmth keeps moving over my back and the voice is there again. “We’ll go whenever you’re ready, lisichka.”

It’s soft and coaxing me out but I can’t leave the room. They locked it from the outside. It won’t open and I can’t talk.

The warmth chases the ants away, they stop crawling on me and I blink into reality. I’m not in that room talking to myself anymore and Dima is trying to smile at me.It looks weird, like everyone else’s. They’re not smiling atmebut a fake person. He doesn’t move or let me stand despite the agreement. He does something I’ve never seen before and takes edge of his t-shirt, blows into the fabric, then gently presses it against my sore eyes one by one. It feels nice, soothing the stinging but he has to stop. People who are nice are worse. They hurt the worst because they bring the disappointment too.

Shuffling away from him, I look around with one blurry eye. I’ve got used to the film over the world so I’m not actually part of it, but Amon must have knocked my contact out. Or it went into the back of my head again. I wonder how many are hiding there. It could be like a treasure chest and if I die like a normal person, they’ll just see a bunch of little plastic contacts. The thought of a coroner’s reaction has me wanting to laugh and my cheeks twitch until I see my sticker.

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