It was all hands on deck at the registers and it was bedlam. Fortunately, Matt and Leon were both working nearby registers and I could chat with them briefly. I'd only known them for a few months but it made the job far more bearable. I didn't tell them what had occurred the day before, but did ask if either had heard of Wayward Souls. Neither had.

  “Is Tracy working today?” I asked between customers.

  “Dude, everyone is working today,” Leon replied.

  "When does she go on her next smokebreak?"

  Matt laughed. "Trying to go for a ride on the Trace-cycle?”

  “Anyone?"

  Leon turned partway to face me. “She’s leaving right now.” He pointed with his head. I just managed to catch a sight of nicely filled khakis fading into the holiday crowd. I immediately set my lane to closed, helped who was left, and bolted.

  "If Sherrie asks, I got sick," I called back. It wouldn't work as an excuse, but getting written up was fine. Until now I had been a model, if unenthusiastic employee. I wasn't sure why I was so willing to upend everything, but I think subconsciously I yearned to get away from this. Hopefully I wasn't throwing everything away with no landing.

  Tracy was lounging at the smoking table outside. Her black and white Gothic phone covered iPhone had her entire attention. In her right hand she occasionally took an idle drag off her cigarette. Her hair was dark, artificially so, at odds with her pale skin. A few streaks of blonde-dyed bangs framed her decadently made-up face. Her blue eyes (framed with an illicit amount of eyeshadow) flicked to me as I said "Hey." They then flicked back to her phone. “What’s up?” she asked, with all the interest afforded to a retail person who wasn’t obliged to listen to someone for the first time in their day.

  I gathered my courage for what was likely to be my most awkward ask ever. “Are you interested in making some money?”

  Tracy took a drag off the cigarette before rolling her gaze back over to me, phone briefly forgotten. She looked me up and down thoroughly once before she said “Depends.”

  No stopping now. “My roommate is one of those shy guys- shy but sweet.” I added. “I was thinking of uh… getting him a date for the holiday. You know, feel a little wanted and stuff.”

  “Like an escort?” Tracy asked flatly.

  “Uh yeah sorta like that?” I managed.

  She rolled her eyes with the gravity of a dying star. “What makes you think I’m interested?” She went back to her phone, pointedly ignoring me.

  “Matt said you offered to blow him for fifty.” I shrugged, hoping I wasn’t about to be hit with HR. Tracy didn’t seem the type but I was putting myself at some risk here.

  “Well Matt’s not your gross nerd friend,” Tracy’s eyes didn’t move from the phone as she took a pull on the cig.

  “You haven’t even seen him! Also I can offer more.” I thought of the $500 from Danielle. "How does four hundred sound?" That would be most of the money but I wanted this to work. More than most things in my life, it felt less like something I was obligated to do and more like something I wanted to do.

  Tracy barely considered and didn't look up from her phone. "Double it. My asshole landlord got a property manager so I can't fuck him for rent anymore."

  "I can't afford that!" I considered it briefly. “What about six?” I’d pretty much be tapped dry. I didn’t know how I’d pay for things, but maybe Carl had some money I could get once he consigned his soul to me. Phrasing it so bluntly made my stomach churn slightly.

  “Ugh, fine. Do you have it?” She looked up at me.

  “Half now, half after?”

  “Asshole. Fine.” She looked expectantly at me.

  I peeled off fifteen twenties and put the rest back. She snatched the bills from my hand. “I’ll be over tonight. You’re paying for drinks.”

  ***

  I came home, leaving the thirty rack on the table. Hopefully Tracy wasn’t looking for anything more substantive because that was all I could do.

  Carl looked up at the box. “Bad day at work bro?”

  “It’s the holiday season, every day sucks.”

  “Special occasion?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  “Hook a bud up?” Carl didn’t get up from Genshin.

  “Not now, Carl. Maybe later.”

  “Dude, it’s five o’clock somewhere.”

  “Later. I have an early Christmas present for you.”

  Carl turned to look at me. “Dude. Gay.”

  “Fuck you Carl.”

  “Fuck you Jeremy.”

  I tiredly flipped him the bird and went to my room. I needed to do laundry but the laundromat had just upped their rate by fifty cents. Not much, but it just added more to the ever consuming fire of debt. It was insanity that I was getting ready to throw away six hundred but was blanching at a little extra to do laundry. But laundry had no promise of more. Surely there'd be some kind of financial incentive to pursue this. You didn’t serve Hell as a charity. I should have asked Danielle if there was some kind of wage.

  Not wanting to follow those thoughts to a dark conclusion, I hopped on Facebook to do some idle browsing. Unfortunately, I was immediately greeted by the sight of my mother posing with her husband in front of some bed and breakfast. They were tagged as being someplace in Vermont. It looked exactly as expensive as I would expect a New England B&B to look. My mom’s husband, Daryl, smiled emptily into the camera, the same infuriatingly placid mask he had when he told me I needed to be on my own and work for a living. This wasn’t in response to kicking me out or anything drastic like that. I had (after much deliberation and consternation) called to ask for money for groceries to tide me over until my next paycheck. My mom had been all but ready to send a little money over so I could eat but Daryl butted in on the Facetime (They were vacationing in the Smoky Mountains at the time) to tell me that they had discussed it and that I could not expect to have parents bail me out whenever I have trouble. It was the first time I had asked for money since being on my own.

  Daryl owned some granite countertop company and believed that made him an authority on everything. My financial struggles were clearly due to “lack of budgeting” and inability to “tighten up my finances”. I still loved my mom, but Daryl had swept in and browbeat her into marrying him, despite my mother’s claims earlier that she wouldn’t remarry to honor my dad. I just wanted her to be happy, but hadn’t realized how that could coincide with my mother marrying an absolute prick. Since remarrying, my mom had barely been home. She had just retired (and used her refunded PTO to get new countertops- how she met Daryl.) He convinced her to spend her time living the life she couldn’t when she was forced to take care of me on her own after dad passed.

  If I wasn’t still concerned for my mom and what she was up to, I would have blocked her a long time ago- seeing Daryl was that infuriating. My older sister left some gushing message about how gorgeous it was and how jealous she was. Lizzie wasn’t at odds with Daryl the way I was. She thought they were a great match and that my mom deserved time for herself. Lizzie could afford to say that- she spent her time at home working on “content creation” all day. Her husband owned some startup flush with venture capital. It had been ages since she worked a job. I didn’t reply with anything. I hope mom had a good vacation. Whenever it ended.

  Scrolling through the petty dramas and shitty positive facades of my peers gave some little relief. Social media didn’t have much use, but distracting me from my own shitty life almost made it worth it. I was busy scrolling through an especially heated exchange between a former coworker and her ex-husband when I got a text.

  “I’m outside,” read the text, from the number Tracy had given me earlier.

  I got up and left my room. Carl was idly doodling on his tablet, staring intently at one of the girls on the screen.

  “Commission?” I asked, hopefully.

  “Yeah, but this guy is really, and I mean really into feet. I almost turned him down, but I also need to get that wall scroll before it runs out.” Carl didn’t look up from his work.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “And pay your half of the utilities. They’re going to shut off the power again,” I said.

  “Fuck dude, I can’t finish this that fast. Can you spot me?” Carl asked, completely sincerely.

  “You mean like the last two months?” I said, with more than a little venom.

  “Dude, uncool. I’m trying.”

  “Well we have company, so hopefully the power doesn’t go out.” I walked to the door.

  “Company? Matt and Leon?” Carl looked up from his tablet.

  “Nah, I got you a present.” I walked out, leaving Carl utterly confused.

  At the downstairs of the complex, standing at the base was an unhappy looking Tracy. Her coat looked warm enough but her head was uncovered and her leggings looked barely there. She looked up at me through irritated eyes that swam in a sea of eyeshadow. She was hugging her torso crossly. “It’s fucking frigid out here,” Tracy spat.

  “Hey uh, before we go inside, I have to ask one teensy little favor.” I shifted back and forth on my feet nervously even though I was trying to be casual about it.

  Somehow Tracy’s eyes narrowed more. “What?”

  “Well at some point when you’re… ‘with’ Carl…”

  “When I’m fucking your friend, you mean,” Tracy interrupted tersely.

  “Yeah, when you’re doing that, if I say ‘Oh God stop,’ or something like that, just uh… pull him out. Stop fucking.”

  “What, are you going to be watching or some shit?” Tracy asked. “It’s gonna be extra for freaky shit.”

  “I won’t! Please believe me, I won’t want to watch. But I do need to um. Need to give him a baaad case of blue balls.”

  “I thought you were doing this for him.” Tracy beat her hands against her coat a few times in a futile effort to remain warm.

  “It’s the only thing I’m getting out of this and I need you to do it. Please?”

  Tracy’s gaze flicked to the side as she considered this. “You brought booze right?”

  “Thirty rack of Key,” I offered.

  “You really know how to charm a lady,” Tracy groaned. “Fine, deal. Now can we go upstairs so I can fuck your friend? I can’t feel my fingers.”

  She bounded upstairs and I let her inside. Carl looked up boredly, and then his eyes grew wide.

  “Welcome to my shitty apartment,” I said with a flourish. “Carl, this is Tracy, a friend from work. Tracy, this is Carl. I have to live with him.”

  Tracy raised a hand half-heartedly in a wave as Carl quickly spoke up, “More like I have to live with him. Fuck dude, why didn’t you tell me you were gonna have a chick hang out? I would have changed my pants.” Carl pulled himself to his feet and ambled over to her, sticking out his hand. She shook it with a slight tilt of disgust to her features.

  “Well, let’s get this party started,” I said not without some measure of resignation. I tore open the pack and divvied the cans. We all popped them open at more or less the same time, but before anyone could bring it to their lips, Carl held his can aloft and solemnly said “To crushing your enemies, seeing them driven before you, and hearing the lamentations of their women.” I cringed inwardly while Tracy muttered “Intense” before slamming her drink.

  Tracy immediately grabbed another one, paused, and grabbed a third. I didn’t completely demolish mine and instead took healthy drinks every so often. Carl finished his, grabbed another, and plopped back on the couch.

  “So where do you work, Carl?” Tracy asked, boredly.

  “Oh I’m a freelance artist. I couldn’t handle the shackles of corporate servitude.” Carl gave an airy wave. “It pays the bills.”

  “His parents pay his rent,” I responded testily. Probably not a great move to paint Carl with a negative brush, given I wanted Tracy and him to be boinking before the night was over.

  “Dude. Uncool. My parents appreciate my art and want me to have the chance to be an artist. Just because yours don’t love you doesn’t mean you should take it out on me.” Carl drained his second can and stared at me coldly. “Beer me, bro.”

  “Awkwaaard,” Tracy murmured.

  “Sorry, dude,” I muttered, halfway sincerely. I pulled out another can and gave it to him.

  “So,” Tracy said with some measure of strain, “You’re an artist?” She was a trooper, bringing it back to the present

  “Come and pop a squat. Let me show you an artist at work,” Carl said, positively purring. He hunched over his tablet, eager to show off his drawings. It was almost endearing how animated Carl could get about his work. Like an overeager child looking to a parent for praise. But Carl was usually more intent on showing old completed works. He didn’t have much in the way of new work, the kind that paid for utility bills. That undid any potential endearing qualities about his presentation.

  Also, the art itself. It was drawn well but was rather… bawdy. The proportions were grotesque mockeries of the female form. Each woman was depicted in helpless poses with painfully aroused gazes lingering on the viewer. Most were covered in fluids of unknown provenance, adding a further debaucherous gleam to the already ribald imagery. Carl was good at what he did. He was also disgusting at what he did. Why he would settle on showing her this at all was beyond my comprehension.

  “Holy fuck, the size of her tits,” Tracy remarked, actually sitting down on the couch and giving a focused eye to the pornography in front of her.

  “Yeah, Rosaria is stacked. I’ve got some drawings of her that are pretty well-regarded in The Scene.” Carl puffed self-importantly.. “Wanna see some of them?”

  “That outfit is bitchin’,” Tracy remarked. “Yeah, show me what you got.”

  I tried not to let my surprise show. I actually didn’t imagine this being a possibility. I watched in morbid fascination as Carl dramatically showed off each character, both in game and in his drawings. Tracy oohed and aahed at the proper times and seemed to really appreciate the “aesthetics” of the Genshin ladies. It probably goes without saying, but Carl didn’t spend time drawing the male characters, and hardly lingered on them in the game either.

  I attempted to play hype man a bit (not that Carl needed any help with his ego.) I would point to nice details in the drawings, like the cute expressions on Hu Tao’s ghosts or a detail in Nilou’s garb. Tracy ate it up. In fact, I started to suspect that she actually was quite enamored with the characters and maybe even Carl’s depraved little doodles. Maybe she was genuinely interested. Maybe she just wanted to get paid. Or maybe, it was the power of getting drunk on shitty lite beer. I played the gracious host and made sure to get them another drink when they finished. Both parties were well and truly sloshed when I decided it was time to withdraw.

  I didn't go terribly far. I went into my room and retrieved my Implement. It was dark and heavy, and cold when I picked it up. Even after sitting in my hand, it never seemed to warm up. Shivering slightly, I went back into the hallway and I leaned against the wall next to my room. If the lovebirds came this way I could duck into my room. If they stayed in the living room, I could listen from here. With the way the drinks flowed and Carl's penchant for rarely leaving the couch I assumed the latter.

  It didn't take long for my suspicions to pay off. The conversation started getting quieter, punctuated by light laughter or throaty noises. I didn't listen too closely, but it was impossible to mistake the rhythmic creaking of the couch for anything but what it was. There was occasionally a panting moan from Tracy.

  Carl, instead, had instead decided that he was the master of dirty talk. It started with the typical trash from pornography: "Oh fuck yeah baby, you're so tight. He continued trotting out his lecherous lines. In fact he did so for quite awhile.

  I had placed a lot of faith in two things- firstly that Carl likely consumed an excessive amount of pornography. I've been around enough to know that doing so deadens the traditional sexual response. Secondly, I was hoping Carl was so piss-drunk that he could barely get it up, let alone finish in any reasonable time. If Carl could cum quickly, it would undo my plan as it were.

  "Yea you're a dirty little slut, all for Carl." Was he really referring to himself in the third person? “I’m gonna make you mine,” he growled loudly.

  I started re-evaluating my plan, because for some reason I had glossed over the fact that I’d be listening to Carl having sex. And even if I had thought about it, I probably wouldn’t have thought his repellant personality would carry over. But also it was his first time and all he had for guidance was internet porn. Not the best teacher. But no porn ever taught him what next came from his mouth: “I’m an artist, and I’m about to paint your insides, girl.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or gag, but neither was the right answer. He was apparently ready to cum and here I was deciphering his awful dirty talk. I launched myself into the living room.

  Tracy was lying spreadeagle on the couch, looking rumpled but unbothered. Carl was a red-faced, panting mess. He was halfway on the sofa to get his ideal angle and leaned slightly to compensate for it. Tracy made eye contact with me and huffed a sigh. Carl immediately yelled “Dude what the fuck!”

  “Tracy, it’s time,” I said, my face heated in embarrassment.

  “Oh right,” she drawled. She pulled Carl out with a wet sound and scooted away from him.

  “Congratulations Carl!” I said, injecting as much false enthusiasm as I could. “You’re not a virgin anymore!”

  “What? Dude, no, I’m not some virgin. I just had a long dry spell going.” Carl said.

  Well crap.

  “Well, I’m still doing you a huge solid," I said. “Can’t you just do one little thing for me?”

  "I have the biggest case of blue balls. Merry Christmas? Asshole."

  "I just want a thank you," I pleaded.

  Carl’s eyes narrowed. “Dude she’s mine.” Tracy quirked an eyebrow elaborately at that proclamation.

  “Nothing like that! Just let me know how much you appreciate this… and let me have your soul?”

  “Oh what the fuck dude, that shit again? Did you join a cult? Did you ruin my boner for a cult?” Carl sounded very accusatory.

  “Umm, what if we call that your Christmas present to me? You can get off scot free. As it were,” I sideyed a very bored looking Tracy, who had not covered herself up at all. She looked pretty nice there actually. I shook my thoughts away and hoped any alcohol haze went with them.

  “Oh hell yeah dude, I can take your present back. Done! Anything else?”

  “Yeah.” I darted forward and pricked Carl with my Implement. Carl’s eyes widened but then he seemed to go slack. Blood welled at the wound, just a slight cut on his chest. The blood did not dribble down and instead seemed to collect, bubbling around the wound. The mass practically reached out toward me. My eyes opened in shock, until I realized that if it was like when Danielle had done it to me, the blade needed to collect. I held the Implement up to the blood and it flowed over the blade, seeping into it before it reached the handle. I stared at it in morbid fascination.

  “Fuck dude,” Carl said. “Sweet knife, where’d you get it?” He didn’t seem out of sorts at all. Maybe the Implement sort of blacks out its victim?

  I looked up at him. “You can finish rocking Tracy’s world, artist,” I said. Was Carl now under my power? How would I know? I didn’t want to try anything too weird. Tracy was wide-eyed but also her eyes had the glassiness of intoxication. I was hoping she wouldn’t remember much. No one should recall a night with Carl. Praying that they wouldn’t remember too much of a jet black dagger that sucked Carl’s blood seemed a flimsy hope, but it was all I had. I grabbed a beer (the last one, holy fuck they drank a lot) and headed to my bedroom with all the composure I could muster.