Silence

Chapter 2 - Static

Conrad

The cops take forever to move. I sit there with my wrists aching and my mind buzzing, staring at this bullshit pamphlet like it's gonna start explaining itself.

Vistas and Vices - Therapy and Rehab Community.

Where the hell did that come from? I didn't see it when I got in. Did one of the cops plant it? Trying to make a point? Like I'm some strung-out junkie?

Screw that. I'm clean. Always have been. I don't touch the product. Never mix business with need. That's how you stay ahead.

Still... a community? What, like a neighborhood full of addicts? What the hell kind of rehab needs its own ZIP code?

Before I can finish the thought, the door swings open. One of the uniforms yanks the door, gestures for me to get out. I follow for a step, then pull hard-wrench out of his grip and bolt.

Not thinking. Just moving.

I can't go down for this. Not with seven grand missing and a boss who doesn't forgive or forget. I already took one beating for coming up short. Don't need another.

...

My chest is burning by the time I slow down. Duck through an alley, over a fence, and end up at DJ's place. He's not happy to see me-tight jaw, won't meet my eyes-but he still lets me in. I hold out my wrists, and he doesn't ask questions.

He gets the cuffs off. I drop onto the couch like I belong there.

"Cops?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He just shakes his head. "One of these days, man... you're gonna run outta lives."

"Maybe. But not today."

I explain what happened-short, clipped. Just the facts. DJ starts rattling off the obvious: what I gotta do, who I gotta call, how I'm gonna pay it back.

I nod, but I'm not really listening. The words blur into a low hum, like someone tuning a busted radio.

The static's back.

I hate it-but it's better than hearing the truth.

Maria

When I'm onstage, something switches. The noise in my head softens. I move like I belong in my body, like I own every inch of it. Each step toward the pole feels deliberate-measured-but light, like I've slipped out of myself and into something freer.

I let the beat guide me, hips swaying in time, golden dress catching the lights as I lift it slowly, teasing. Not for them-but through them. I hear the shouts, the whistles, the drunk laughter, but they feel far away. I'm not really here for them. I'm here for the version of me that only exists like this.

When I finally pull the panties off and toss them into the crowd, the noise crescendos-but inside, I'm calm. I spin, press my back to the pole, drop into a squat, eyes half-closed. The world narrows to breath, beat, and motion. I look out into the dark beyond the stage lights and lock eyes with someone-anyone. Doesn't matter who. I let my face soften into that practiced seduction. I let them believe I'm doing this for them. Maybe that's what keeps them from seeing the truth.

I twirl again. Let the dress fall away. Let myself disappear.

...

The rest of the night blurs-glitter, tips, too much cologne. Then it's over.

The other girls laugh and shout, making plans, inviting me to join. I smile, polite as ever, and slip out the door before they ask again. I've tried before, but it never lands right. Their laughter feels like a language I never learned. Not because I don't want to. I just can't speak it.

By the time I get home, my body's tired but my mind is louder than ever. I stand in the doorway for a while, shoes still on, bag still in hand.

It should feel like enough. But mostly, it just feels like static.

Lilac

"Why the hell isn't my food here yet?"

It's been like two minutes. Chill.

We should smack whoever delivers it. Rude to be late.

Oh come now, darlings, no need to squabble over pizza-

Take that back, you crusty b***h.

"Jesus Christ. Can you all shut up long enough for me to finish this text?"

Wait. I'm texting?

"Oh, thank God I didn't send that."

How do you get through four paragraphs before noticing?

Worse-why are you confessing your undying thirst to our dealer?

Not my fault I'm horny as hell. Blame the body, not the b***h.

"Goddammit. Why do you guys always do this to me?"

It's been 45 minutes. Pizza should be here any second.

Yay, pizza.

Why eat? We're just gonna die anyway. Might as well get it over with.

Ugh, stop being such a little funeral dirge.

If I could rip his vocal cords out, I would.

"I'd rather listen to TV static than you lunatics. At least that doesn't try to sext my plug."