The neighbors might see you if you go in through the door. Slide through the window instead. Leave the boots below the ledge: you'd just have to clean your footprints off the floor.
Return Marc's passport to the hole in the wall. Count the cash. Close enough. He'll never miss the rest. Check his phone for messages. Don't answer Layla's call.
Feed Steven's goddamn fish. Look it in the eye. At least the thing had the decency to stay alive this time.
Return the knives you borrowed two days ago from the drawer. One to cut an overripe tomato, and the other— Disinfect them both. Just to be sure.
Open the fridge door. Close it. Curse Steven's name. Throw out the moldy bread, the rotting kale he never touched. Tell yourself you'll have to shop and cook again next time.
In case hell freezes over, make a list. Use Steven's hopeful scrawl. Keep it simple: bread, margarine, jam, tea. Spaghetti, pepper, tomato, onion, tofu crumble. Steven will think he wrote it. Marc won't notice at all.
Check the time: almost dawn. Do what there's time to do. Take out the trash. Wipe the kitchen down. Wash the dried-hard dishes they left piled in the sink— Hijo, were they raised by wolves, those two?
(You know they were. You know that wolf. You know those scars.)
Re-tape the cracks around the door. Smooth it all down tight. Lock every lock in order. Steven checks, so do it right.
Close the blinds. Block out the dawn. Steven might actually get some sleep if the light stays off his face. Bundle your blood-stained gear away. Put his pajamas on.
Shave. Brush the teeth. Wash the face. Don't miss the rust-red streak behind the ear. Marc's getting sloppy. It was there before you got here.
Climb into bed. Sweep your footprints from the sand. Close the cuff around the ankle. Lie down. Shut the eyes. Fall backward into darkness. Give up. Let Steven in.
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timeasmymeasure
The invisible hand (Moon Knight TV, Jake Lockley)
Date: 2022-07-08 05:47 pm (UTC)Slide through the window instead. Leave the boots below the ledge:
you'd just have to clean your footprints off the floor.
Return Marc's passport to the hole in the wall.
Count the cash. Close enough. He'll never miss the rest.
Check his phone for messages. Don't answer Layla's call.
Feed Steven's goddamn fish. Look it in the eye.
At least the thing had the decency to stay alive this time.
Return the knives you borrowed two days ago from the drawer.
One to cut an overripe tomato, and the other—
Disinfect them both. Just to be sure.
Open the fridge door. Close it. Curse Steven's name.
Throw out the moldy bread, the rotting kale he never touched.
Tell yourself you'll have to shop and cook again next time.
In case hell freezes over, make a list. Use Steven's hopeful scrawl.
Keep it simple: bread, margarine, jam, tea.
Spaghetti, pepper, tomato, onion, tofu crumble.
Steven will think he wrote it. Marc won't notice at all.
Check the time: almost dawn. Do what there's time to do.
Take out the trash. Wipe the kitchen down.
Wash the dried-hard dishes they left piled in the sink—
Hijo, were they raised by wolves, those two?
(You know they were.
You know that wolf.
You know those scars.)
Re-tape the cracks around the door. Smooth it all down tight.
Lock every lock in order. Steven checks, so do it right.
Close the blinds. Block out the dawn.
Steven might actually get some sleep if the light stays off his face.
Bundle your blood-stained gear away. Put his pajamas on.
Shave. Brush the teeth. Wash the face. Don't miss the rust-red streak behind the ear.
Marc's getting sloppy. It was there before you got here.
Climb into bed. Sweep your footprints from the sand.
Close the cuff around the ankle. Lie down. Shut the eyes.
Fall backward into darkness. Give up. Let Steven in.
Next time you're here, do it all again.