Sucks to Suck – Chapter 1

She had been expecting it ever since she moved in. That moment always came and it was always just a matter of time, and having gone through it many times now, she had long moved beyond the point where it would make her sad or depressed. Instead, her mind went near immediately to practical concerns and to elaborate on a plan of action. But maybe she was being too practical, practical enough that she forgot to emulate the proper emotional reaction her roommate was likely expecting of her:

"You understand, Marion?" Claire asked, reaching to grab her hands.

Marion moved them further back towards her over the kitchen island where the both of them were sitting, facing each other over the small counter that was meant to be fake marble. Claire seemed hurt as Marion pulled her hands back, and her expression turned sadder and sorrowful.

"No, yeah, I understand," Marion told her roommate, shifting to brush her black hair behind her ear in an attempt to justify the withdrawal of hands as something else other than a gesture of avoidance.

"It’s just… Your face. You're barely reacting. Not saying I wanted to see you crying but…"

"Oh… I’m just in shock. I just woke up," Marion said, offering a brief smile meant to be comforting. "I still need time to process things."

Claire suddenly seemed a little less hurt and confused, nodding in understanding. Marion knew she was blowing it. She should be devoting much more attention and energy to that moment. Her roommate of nearly eight years was asking her to move out and she was there staring at her with a blank expression. But she was hungry and the withdrawal headache she had been experiencing for the past couple of days made it difficult for her to put on the effort to react in the way her roommate likely thought the news deserved.

“Sure, I get it… Maybe I should’ve given you some time before you woke up before springing this on you but I wasn’t sure when I’d catch you again, you’re usually asleep by the time I wake up.”

“Nightshift is fucked up,” Marion commented with a bit of a sad, resigned chuckle.

Claire joined her in it and nodded in quiet agreement, before continuing:

“You don’t need to move out immediately. It’s going to be a week, maybe two, before Brad moves in and, you know… You could still be here a while after he does.”

“I appreciate it, Claire. But don’t worry, I’m going to start trying to find a place now and should be out of your hair soon. I don’t want to be in the way of you two starting your life together.”

“And no hard feelings?”

“None whatsoever. You did a lot for me over the years,” Marion said, and it was true. “I knew that we would not be roommates forever.”

Claire sighed in relief. Marion had given her enough that she could dump out her guilt and that seemed to be what she wanted with the conversation. And Marion would do whatever she could to have it end as soon as possible. Since she realised what that was about, she had already moved on, emotionally speaking.

The truth was that she and Claire weren’t really friends. Marion knew she was likely a comfortable person to share one’s rent with, as she was exceedingly low maintenance as a roommate and she always had a polite word and a few words of casual conversation when she and Claire crossed paths in the first hours after sunset before she headed out to work and Claire went to bed. Her roommate had likely confused that friendly politeness and lack of drama for true friendship, but Marion had kept her at arm’s length the whole time and barely shared any personal details with the other woman. And the only reason Claire had never realised it was that she was incredibly self-absorbed and took no honest interest in other people’s lives. That was one of Marion’s favourite things about her roommate, perhaps the one trait she knew she would miss dearly once she found a new place.

The rest of the conversation mostly consisted of Marion nodding to Claire’s repeated reassurances about the upcoming moving-in of her boyfriend and how they would still be in touch after Marion left. She knew that wasn’t true. She doubted her roommate would follow through with the attempts to keep in touch but, even on the very off chance she did, Marion had no interest in keeping in touch. Nor would that be a good idea even if she was. In a few days, as soon as she had time to find a place and move out her few belongings, it would likely be the last time she saw Claire. And that was fine. It was like it was supposed to be. Once she felt she had put a sufficient performance, she made a pantomime of checking her phone and apologetically told Claire she had to leave.

As she did whenever she was about to leave the house, she made sure to briefly give a little tug to the doorknob of her room, to ensure it was locked. Claire caught the movement from the corner of her eye and chuckled.

“It is going to be strange to come home and not see that door locked,” Claire said with a playful tone, though there was a hint of curiosity in it too; a shadow of the question she wanted to ask but dared not to.

“Yeah, I bet,” Marion chuckled back, acting as if she had not picked up on it. “Night, Claire.”

And with those words she left the apartment, closing the door behind herself and, avoiding the elevator, she walked down towards the lobby of their building and then into the streets. The night outside was cold and wet, as most Seattle nights tended to be, and there were some sprinkles of water in the air, but after living in the city for a long time, Marion didn’t even consider that rain. For people living in the Jet City, the bar for actual rain was a little higher. She checked her cheap flip phone and walked a few meters down the sidewalk until it was picking up on the wi-fi of the café across the street. She leaned against the brick wall of the neighbouring building, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and beginning her search for online ads from people in search of a roommate. With the spike in rent prices in the city, there wasn’t any shortage of those, but she had specific criteria she had to filter her options through, and it was amazing how quickly the pool thinned out. And to make matters worse, as she stood there, considering her options, that pounding headache seemed to get worse. She could feel her throat and tongue dry, parched, and the hunger growling in her stomach.

It was pretty evident that she wouldn’t be able to focus on anything until she got something to eat. It had been a while since she had a proper meal so she scrolled through her phone, looking across her contact list. She knew who she could call. All she had to do was reach out to her and she’d be full before the end of the night, maybe even have the issue of the upcoming lack of a roof over her head solved. But if she did, if she called her, she would deeply regret it. The headache made it harder to think straight but she still had enough of her senses, and enough willpower, to push away the temptation of simply pressing 'call' and watching her problems fade away. Instead, she checked her wallet, and then looked up at a soaked paper poster glued to a lamppost next to her. Three local bands would be performing at the Donjon that night, Friday. She knew the club, it wasn’t a very long walk from her home, and while she didn’t know any of those bands and didn’t have much appreciation for metal music, she still placed her hands in her pockets and began to walk there.

She carefully walked down the wet concrete steps into the Donjon’s entrance. The rock bar was located in a half basement with the stairs leading to the entrance built on an alley in a smaller street of Madison Ave, between it and Cal Anderson Park. It was easy to miss and she suspected the owner liked it that way. As she approached the bouncer, the tall bulky figure in a black short-sleeved tee smiled at her.

“Hey, M.,” he greeted her without bothering to ask to check her ID after having done it so many times.

And as he opened the red metallic door into the Donjon, she could already hear muffled loud metal coming from within. But as she was about to enter, he gave her a long look of concern. She knew what he was seeing, and while Jay wasn’t the type to initiate an unwanted conversation with a customer, she felt the need to volunteer some information.

“Didn’t have any coffee today. Caffeine withdrawal.”

“M-hm,” he hummed theatrically and she got the sense he didn’t quite buy it, but it wasn’t his job to ask questions.

There was a small dark corridor that served mostly as a way to reduce the noise pollution from the Donjon to the outside, and past that short vestibule, she emerged into the dim-lit, low ceiling, usually cloudy with smoke, Donjon. Though that night she didn’t find the air particularly smoky, if not for the lingering mist from the dry ice smoke machine used by the band on stage. Aside from the red neon sign that hung above the shelves of liquor behind the bar, the only décor in the Donjon were layers upon layers of stickers, posters and adhesives that covered most of the once-black walls. A lot of those had been torn by time or human hands and left only white streaks of paper stuck to the glue. As an unpretentious joint where local bands performed, the Donjon was unassuming and low-key in almost every aspect. And as she entered, she could barely see the musicians playing on the small stage in the corner as the four men and their instruments seemed to struggle to fit into it, and a crowd of not much more than twenty or thirty people gathered in front of them and cheered, though she could barely hear the crowd over the song.

She ignored the fans and the band and, instead, headed to the counter to take a seat and feel the wallet in the front pocket of her hoodie. She was starving, and the music wasn’t helping with her headache, but she forced herself to offer the bartender a friendly smile as he asked what she’d want and she ordered just a beer. The exchange was more of a lip-reading exercise than a conversation given how loud the music was, but she guessed that taking orders without being able to hear the patrons was pretty much a mandatory skill for bartenders working those crowded, dim-lit underground bars like the Donjon.

The bottle of Heineken was placed in front of her on the counter washed up by the red light of the neon sign, and she found herself lost in thought staring at the reflection of the light it cast. She brought the beer to her lips and pretended to take a sip as she scanned the counter to her left and right. Her headache was making her irritable and impatient, but she focused on the task ahead. A couple was sitting two stools over from her and a trio of girls with black shirts and leather bands around their arms occupied the rest of the counter to the left. She sighed in frustration.

It would be much easier if she could find someone alone. And then she spotted the guy in the far corner, the solitary stool after the bend in the counter, almost concealed in shadow. She watched him while pretending to drink, reading his body language. His eyes were on the counter, not looking around, drinking alone and not checking his phone for the time. He was alone and not expecting anyone. The man seemed to be in his late thirties, perhaps just turning forty. Long blond hair falling over his shoulders and a beard. He would even be a little attractive if he didn’t look so washed out. Sleeveless denim vest over a Black Sabbath t-shirt that had seen better days. A teenager might pull off looking that dishevelled when out, but he could not. But beggars can’t be choosers, she reckoned, as she got up from her seat to walk around the counter.

Inside her head, she repeated a couple of lines. It didn’t need to be difficult. 'Just say hi, just laugh at his jokes and act interested and it should be fine,' she told herself as she walked over and, when she was a couple of feet away, she stopped suddenly. That wasn’t good, if he was looking at her, stopping would make her look weird, and that was the last thing she wanted. She pushed through her nervousness and walked forth to lean sideways on the counter, right next to him. Initiating was always the hardest part, she knew.

"Hi," Marion said, mouthing it over the music. "Do you have a lighter?"

She added some pantomime pulling a loose cigarette from her hoodie’s pocket to signal her intention. He looked puzzled at her for a while and didn’t say anything in response, instead pointing towards the wall. She followed his finger with her eyes to find the white plaque with the big red circle around a cigarette. 'No smoking in public places,' Marion reminded herself with a roll of her eyes. 'Right.' She offered him an awkward smile and pocketed her cigarette again, mouthing with a playful smile:

“Stupid law, hm?”

“Helped me stop,” he said, not smiling back.

Things weren’t going well for her. The cigarette was just a pretext to initiate the conversation, of course, but now that she had struck out so badly, it was hard to find another way back in.

“Well, congrats,” she said a bit louder, leaning forward to speak close to his ear. “Maybe you can give me some tips on quitting, hm?”

She put forth her best sultry voice, but it was hard to do when trying to speak over the music, and she let her fingers brush against his vest, touching his chest. If she had been low-key in her flirting until then, that should make it clear. But the old-school rocker just frowned slightly and shook his head.

“I don’t know why you hate your dad, girl, but this is not the way to get back at him.”

“I…”

“I’m divorced. You look like you needed a fake ID to get in. I’m not trying to date someone who’s just a little older than my daughter. And I’m not trying to go to jail… So… I’m flattered but scram, kid.”

Marion was dumbfounded at the rejection for a moment, but she knew enough that insisting wouldn’t salvage the attempt so she did her best to offer him another awkward smile and walked back. Her experience told her that men didn’t usually mind hooking up with younger girls, but maybe she had overshot the age gap. But it was his mention of a fake ID that really made her want to retreat as fast as possible. Demoralising as that was, she was still starving. She pretended to take another sip of her beer as she walked back towards her seat at the counter, only to find it had been taken by a couple of young ones who broke from the small crowd. She turned around, trying to scan the Donjon for someone else who seemed to be by themselves and, at first, she thought there was simply no one else. It was a bit despairing. She could wait for an hour or two for the crowd to get drunk and the attendance to thin out and see what slim pickings happened later in the night, but that came with its own set of complications that she wasn’t keen on dealing with.

And then she spotted the redhead girl leaning against the wall near the door. She didn’t seem to be having fun, and she was nervously checking her phone. It was a long shot, but maybe she had been ditched by friends or maybe she came with someone who was currently with someone else. Whatever circumstances had isolated her, Marion had to move fast before they changed. Once again, she had to mentally psych herself up as she walked toward her. Women were trickier than men, at least in that context. But it was not like she had viable alternatives.

“Hey there. Everything alright?” Marion asked as she reached the girl, causing her to look up from her phone, mildly surprised.

“Uh? Oh, yeah, no… Everything’s chill, just… My friend just dragged me here to watch this band and now she’s making out with the bass guy.”

Marion had to hold back from smiling. Expressing concern for a girl by herself tended to work especially well lately, as they seemed both relieved and grateful for it. It served as a good opening but if she wanted to get the woman alone, she knew she’d need something more.

“Yeah… I got ditched too. My friend was supposed to come with me and just texted to say she’s not making it.”

“Your friend sounds flaky as fuck.”

“She is,” Marion confirmed, “but that’s Claire.”

The girl replied with just a smile and shifted her attention back to her phone, seemingly ending the interaction. Marion resisted the urge to curse out loud before taking a moment to think. She knew the window was closing and lingering more than a few seconds in silence there would be weird now that her pretext of concern had been dismissed.

“I don’t know, maybe I can keep you company until your friend’s done with her squeeze?” Marion offered, tentatively, trying to put some softness in her voice, which was still hard to do when she had to speak that loudly.

The girl looked at her in confusion, at first, but she only needed a few seconds for her expression to turn to realisation, and she blushed softly and then smiled.

“Oh… I see… Look, you seem cool but I’m… Not into girls.”

“Oh, no, yeah, I mean-”

“Like, I super respect it and good for you but, really, it’s not me.”

“That’s f-…”

“Oh, looks like my friend’s calling me. Sorry, excuse me.”

And she got up from her leaning to wave towards the crowd in a way too vague way for her to be actually waving at someone, before moving into it. Marion clenched her fists for a moment and had to resist the urge to growl in frustration before she checked the time on her phone. The night was still young, but she was done with the Donjon. After striking out twice, she just didn’t have the energy.