Cat Got In

Type: Vignette - Characters: Marcus & Gabriel - Words: 1179

Third floor. Turn the key. Push the door. Stop mid-step when ears pick some noises. Someone’s inside, puking.

Oh, come on...

It’s her. The chiphead. And wasted? Fuck me. Can’t help but sigh. Tired already. Motivation’s gripping the doormat. Wanna turn around and leave. Clubs are still open. Plenty of choice. Could grab a drink. Pills. Someone.

Wait, no, supposed to lay low.

Fuck it. Step in. Slam door. Lights stay off, don’t need them. Drop the tool bag on the floor, loud. Will clean the blood later. Jacket on the coat rack. Swaps shoes for slippers. Night's fucked, better get comfy.

More vomiting? At least it’s from the bathroom.

Go to roll up shirt’s sleeves. Pause. Take it off altogether. Fold and leave it on a chair in the kitchenette. Finally notice the open window. Girl can’t use a door, heh? At least she didn't smash it this time. Get closer. Take a look. No, fuck her, lock’s busted, gonna need to change it.

Now I’m pissed.

Storm to the bathroom. Reeks of alcohol and bile in here. Flick the lights on to make an entrance. Kinda dumb. Get blinded and groan. But not as much as the mess on the ground.

— The hell you doing here?

Ass on the floor, head on the toilet bowl, the elf is heaving. Can’t see her face, hidden by long platinum hair. The only answer she gives is a raised middle finger. Weighting between throwing her out the door or the window when she starts retching again.

Rush to get her on her knees. Make sure whatever is getting out doesn’t land on the floor. Tiles are a bitch to clean. Pull her soiled hair out of the way. Hands get dirty. Don’t care, they've seen worse tonight already. Can’t let go of the elf or else she falls. No more strength? Wonder how she climbed up here. But girl does look like shit. Her plastic skin's all scratched and busted.

— Drank too much?

Looks obvious, but need to be sure.

— Y-yeah...

— Why?

Pause. Then a weak laugh.

— To forget your ugly ass.

Eh. Classic cunt. Would smile, but something's different. She sounds… She sounds sad?

Crouch next to her. Don’t let go. Force her optics to meet eyes. Finally see her face. Plastic’s busted there too. Even got some blood. Hers. Sight makes the brain go numb. Feel chest filling up with anger. Wait, no. Not anger. Concern?

Shit. Getting soft with her. But hey, can’t hurt to be nicer, right?

— What happened, babe?

Girl presses her lips. Doesn’t want to talk about it. Shame in her eyes. Tries to look away. But hold on her chin is firm. She blinks like mad. Big fat tears still roll down her cheeks. A sob brings out the snot.


Hurts to see that. Pull her closer. Sobs get louder. Big arms tight around her thin frame. Girl's crying on what’s closest to a friendly shoulder. Gripping an ork’s t-shirt like her life depends on it. And her claws fucking hurts ! Shouldn’t have given her the idea. But her chrome’s a fucking piece of art. Wanted her to be more perfect.

— Shh. Shh, it’s alright, I’m… here.

Feels strange to say that. Clumsy. Not good with people. Only good at offing them.

— Did… someone hurt you?

— Huh? No?

Gently push her away, hands firm on her shoulder. She lets go to swipe her nose. 

— What then? You look like shit.

— I got drunk, okay? Then I tried to leave but I... I fell down the stairs.

— The stairs? At the club?

A nod. Then more sobbing. Pull her close again. Not before eyes do a roll tho. Can’t fucking believe it. Know exactly which stairs she's talking about. The ones at Sue's, for the private bar. Clubbers got their back to it. But runners… Shit, whole city’s shadows must've seen her. Girl’s rep is in shambles! Not that it was that good anyway. And without one, nobody’s gonna work with her.

Nobody but me.

— I’m never gonna get rid of you, am I?

Get shoved away. Have to let go. Drunk idiot falls on her ass. Optics scream bloody murder. Girl's done crying.

— Fuck you, Marcus!

— Yeah, yeah, fuck you too, Gaby.

Stare at each other, long. Her anger fades. She looks away. Good. Don’t feel like arguing.

— I fucked up. Should have come with you.

Grab a towel and hand it to her.

— Yup.

Asked her. Insisted. Would have made the job easier. Would have kept her reputation intact. Didn’t even mind sharing the money. But the miss decided to go drink instead. Unsupervised.

Fucking dumbass.

Knees protest when getting up. Back pops when standing straight. Will need to lie down soon. Fucking exhausted. Rinse hands. Grab a goblet on the sink, fill it with tap water. Hand it to her. Remember first question.

— So, why were you drinking?

— Because I’m fucking sad and lonely, that's why.

She looks away. Topic’s over. Watch her drink. Still, think her words over. Want to help. But don’t know how. What do people do when sad? What do I do? Blurt out first thing that comes to mind.

— Want me to fuck your brain out?

She chokes. Water lands on tiles. And coughs.

Yeah, shut up Marcus.

— I said lonely, not horny.

Fair. Not in the mood for that anyway. Not my type of girl too. Take the goblet back when she’s done. Flush the toilets. Help her get on her feet. Why she so fucking tall? Have to look up now. She leans in. Forehead against forehead. Plastic’s cold. Her breath stinks. Skinny arms go around broad shoulders. Puts all her weight on me. Bitch. Still, let her. Don’t care being so close. Kinda like it. Notice all the wrinkles on her dress. Hands already pulling at the red fabric to smooth it out. Hear her laugh. She sounds tired.

— Wanna go on the couch?

She nods. Let go of the dress and grab her around the waist. Lift. Her feet barely leave the ground. Fucking giant. Can’t help but smile a little. She's heavier. Girl is putting on some more weight. Good. Can still remember how bony she used to be.

Leave the bathroom. Drop her on the couch. Grab her dress and pull it off her. Thing fucking stinks. Princess complaining about the low temperature. Shouldn't have broken the window. Go to the drawer. Throw her an old ass t-shirt three times too big. Will have to do. Have to help her get her boots off. Feeling like a damn babysitter. Except the baby's probably older than me. But when all is done? Finally lay down. Have to push her a bit. Whole body relaxes. Eyes close immediately. Feel her move to cover us with the old plaid. Nuzzling against me like I’m some kind of pillow.

— Thank you, Marcus.

Her voice’s a whisper. Did she really say that? Can only grunt in return. More tired than expected. Dozing off already. Last thing I feel is a kiss on the cheek.