Page 18 of Scars of Silk

Shit. The doorbell rang; it was her. My last shattered memory was the swirling scent of perfume, the same perfume my sheets have been holding for days, drifting up my nostrils. Right about as I passed out.

“What you going to do about it?” My words slip together again like a drunken sailor. I can’t seem to separate them.

“Find it and shut it down.”

“Who are you, the police?”

She moves closer, her shadowy outline moving closer. “You know it’s not just about dying. What if you ended up a vegetable on a life support for the rest of your days and your poor friends had to come and visit you, sitting and holding your hand while you dribbled into a tube?”

“Hmph.”

“Or what if you were still walking around, but could no longer see, or smell, or taste?” Her outline moves again and as if she’s making her point, the delicate waft of her perfume brushes over my face. “I’m thinking you can’t see me now.”

“Sure, I can.”

“Liar.”

I have nothing to say. Why is she here anyway? She’s just annoying and making my head hurt worse.

“Go away…” I can’t remember her name.

“Sienna.”

“I know who you are, darling.” My lips seem to be moving a bit better, or maybe I’m just imagining it.

“Well, shame for you I’m stuck here. It’s almost half three in the morning. I won’t find a hotel—not the type I want to stay in anyway—and I didn’t get to do the work I wanted to do.”

“Work?” I ask, but my head is getting real heavy which is strange when lying down.

“Work. You know that thing people do, normally whether they like it or not, and then someone pays you.”

“Whatev—”

* * *

A startling buzzing pulls me out of black dreams. “What the hell?” I raise my arms as though I’m warding off an attack. My muscles screech and ache. Shit, that hurts so bad.

I want to open my eyes, but what happens if I still can’t see? In my dreams, her voice was telling me I would be blind. A tap of a walking cane filled my head. Maybe I can still hear it now. Tap, tap, tap.

Shut the fuck up, Dan.

I’m an idiot.

Three, two, one. I force open my eyes. It’s bright again, too bright, and I search around desperately for anything telling me I’m not blind; that I will see something other than bright lights and shadows for the rest of my life.

She’s there; sat on a chair in the corner of my room, her legs tucked up and a laptop balanced on her knees. Tap, tap, tap.

Thank God, I can see.

I watch her for a moment. What the hell is she doing here? Even my best friend left, so why did she stay? Why was she here in the first place? Maybe if she hadn’t knocked on the door, I wouldn’t still be here. Maybe this would all be over.

“Hey,” I croak, my throat stinging. I try to focus on the rest of the room. The curtains are shut, and actually now my eyesight has adjusted, I can see the room isn’t bright. There is daylight behind the curtains so we must be a way into Saturday by now. My luck could change and it’s Sunday and I’ll have successfully lost a day. “How long have I been asleep?”

She glances at her computer screen. “Twelve hours.”

Twelve hours? I can’t remember the last time I slept that long without the thoughtful aid of a coma or pills.

She eyes me with a sharp gaze, and I resist the urge to lift the duvet and hide under it. “What are you doing here?” I ask.