Page 8 of Wells

The admission lands somewhere I wasn't guarding. "Anyone who makes you prove you're real isn't worth the chair."

She sighs and drops her head back against the headboard. "Ending the day here is the only part that hasn't felt like work, funnily enough, since this is my only paying gig at the current moment."

"Did you get it?"

"No idea. I'll find out this week." She shrugs. "Not sure it's the one for me anyway."

She exhales loudly and looks off to the side.

Her tone is light, but I hear the weight underneath. She needs the job. She wouldn't be doing this if she didn't, I imagine. A sudden thought occurs to me. What if she gets the job? Does this end?

I ash the cigarette and lean back in the chair. The air purifier hums as it works overtime to suck up the copious amounts of nicotine I expel into the room. Outside, a siren wails past, distant and fading fast.

"You'll get it. I have a feeling you're good at everything you do."

She tilts her head, and even through the mask, I can see the shift in her expression, her blue eyes narrowing.

"That's almost a compliment, Midnight. You going soft on me?"

"Is it a compliment if it's true? Just hope I won't lose our meetings if you get the job. I've grown to look forward to them."

She laughs again.

"As long as you'll have me, you won't lose me. I may not be able to stay on until the wee hours of the morning multiple nights a week, but I'm not going anywhere."

I don't think too much about the what-if's or get concerned about something that isn't even a thing yet. I take a drag of my cigarette.

We fall into easy silence. She stretches out on the bed, one arm tucked under her head, the other resting on her stomach, her pinky lightly flicking the belly ring.

This part is more dangerous than the rest of it. The sex is bounded by anonymity and is transactional. This is talking, just staying on the line because neither of us has logged off yet.

Eventually, she yawns, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I should let you go." I stub out a cigarette. "Get some sleep, Peoria."

"Yeah, I have another interview tomorrow, and I don't want to look like a monster. You get some rest, too, Midnight. Even vampires need rest."

"I'll take it under advisement."

She leans forward.

"Same time Thursday?"

"Yeah."

"See you then. Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite."

The screen goes black. I sit in the dark, staring at the empty monitor. The city noise filters back in, filling the silence she left behind.

My hand rests on the edge of the keyboard. The other holds a cigarette, ash growing long because I haven't lifted it to my mouth in I don't know how long. My pulse has settled, and my breathing is even. The physical markers of the session have already faded, leaving my body the way they always do.

I take a drag carefully, finally, holding my face toward the ceiling to balance the ash on top before flicking it off in the ashtray. The smoke hangs in the air, caught in the faint blue glow from the other screens still running along the wall. I've got seven data feeds, every security channel in and out of Stone Intermodal, and terminal logs cycling through their automated updates. All of it is silent except for the low hum of the processors.

This arrangement is exactly what I need right now. No complications, no exposure, no risk of her becoming more than the frame I built around her. The last woman I dated taught me how expensive access can get.

She didn't have enough to ruin me. That was the part that made it worse. A few private messages, some photos. She had enough context to make a headline ugly and enough truth under it that denial would only keep the story breathing.

I could have buried her digitally, identifying every weak point in her life and pressing until she wished she had never said my name.