Casino: Part One.

She detested this place. Twelve buildings identical surrounding a half-assed pool like a goddess, all with mauve colored letters on them. She lived in "C", "C 210", of course her mis-firing mind had made that number into a phenomena. C being the third letter of the alphabet, 3-2=1, 2-1=1, 1-0=1 (111). On a whim, or rather, an uneducated leap of faith she had moved in here with him. Him, being the king of all trades, the thief of the night, Jake, previously mentioned in this book. Together they molded a sensational vision of what life would be in this recently remolded hell hole off of the worst street in the worst part of Everett. Sign one.

It had been two months since she kicked him out. He had nine shirts, two pairs of pants, a booklet of scratched to shit indie flicks, and that crummy old guitar. She had washed, folded, and packed all of his stuff neatly, hoping he'd miss her, hoping so hard her knuckles might break threw her skin that he'd see that she was "it", that the other bodies of flame didn't matter, and bite on to her thigh so hard she herself had to beg mercy. But, words were exchanged, the door slammed and the "game" began. Jake and a friend that would withstand the test of her time, but not his moved into building "B". "B 308" 2-3= -1, 3-0= 3, 0-8= -9 (-13-9), 246 inches away from her building. With every step he took outside of their door she could smell him - a rabid dog.   

They lived as two separate souls glued to shelves in the same cupboard. It would be wrong to say there was a ying and yang to Jake, that would imply that the two sides worked equally to create a whole, but there was definitely two sides. One where he took to the image of a beaten down romantic begging at her feet, kissing her forehead in her sleep, a sappy texting maniac. And the one where he sat, sewn taught to a chair in the living room, playing poker and planning which pair of legs he would pry open next. A lie is a truth the second you say it aloud to a party besides yourself. She was swimming in them. A little fish.

In a hot, sticky moment the night before she had written him a letter: a plead to (if he loved her & could be true) show up the next day, she'd be waiting. On the cover of the envelope, she licked closed with wicked excitement, she wrote "Will you please teach me how to drive?". After wedging the letter between carpet and the front door she walked the thirty seconds home, her head hung lower than the deepest root on the oldest evergreen. Her room had a fog of nag chumpa and marb reds that couldn't be aired out if fifteen industrial fans were blowing and wall was knocked out. There she sat, and sat, and sat. It is strange to look in the mirror for no other reason than to know that you're really alive. Your face starts to rearrange itself, Salavador Dali couldn't get that creative. An eye for a mouth, a tear for a nostril, a tooth becomes a chapel. The morning knocked harder than usual. She woke, head against the two mirror closet doors, her body in a knot, folded into it's self. The night before came rushing back in flames. Today is the day, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me. In the shower she scrubbed herself cleaner than she'd ever been, applied her make up like the world's very core would cool if it wasn't precise. "I am the captain of the ship" written in dry-erase marker was scrawled across almost every inch of the bathroom mirror. A favorite quote, so fitting for the time, something she strove to be but could never fully grasp. Jake's actions, or lack there of, his breath, his dick, his spot in her universe had been steering for her for a year now. Every salty lie was another suicide attempt. Her and her bathtub created a lukewarm relationship that no one could touch. But all of that could change today, the black bleached from thought.

The bedroom was flooded with light. Every symbol of "personal expression" lit up to to an almost holy extent. The Fleetwood Mac, Led Zeppelin, and Floyd vinyls glistened and danced with the vibration of the melodramatic lust of Simon & Garfunkel. She slid her window open, flung her legs over the ledge and wondered what it must be like to be a "bird". Feet and thought shuffled against spring winds, "What would it be like to just fly... like nothing matters?" It was mid-day and still no sign of Jake, the sound of footsteps interrupted thought, she hadn't seen him but perhaps he took the stairs on the other side of the building, just then the noisy, nosy neighbor from the apartment above hers landed on the lawn in directed underneath her. She peered over, trying to hide her smoke.

"You're not going to jump, are ya?" He shouted with an overly done sarcastic tone.
"Excuse me?" She snapped.
"I mean... I just worry about you girl. The police have been 'round more than once this month. One time twice in one night! I'm always hearing crying and screaming, just making sure this 'ledge sitting' isn't a cry for help"
"I'm fine, thank you"

Even with the doubt eating her stomach alive, she couldn't let the humor of that escape her, she giggled to herself. How fucking ironic, but then she starting taking the thought more seriously. If she were to jump from this window she would only break a limb and look like a complete idiot. What if she jumped head first? She could only hope to break her neck, and if she failed in that, maybe a shoulder blade, a bad gash on her skull? Not worth it, she needed a show stopper and falling two stories wouldn't do anything besides raise her medical debt by a couple grand. Jake  had used the back stairs, just as she was considering how much higher the roof was he came up behind her, his arms lifting hers and swinging her around in the air. He was here, he loved her, he loved her, he loved her!