The ash on the tip of my cigarette was getting dangerously long, but I didn't bother to flick it.
"I sat at one of the tables responsible for playing poker, I wear my oversized jacket, my favourite one, just to hide my small-framed build completely. Honestly, I looked like a teenager wearing his older brother's oversized jacket even though I was twenty-six this year. But this is the point. To not attracting attention.
With deep brown skin unique for a Latin man, of course coupled with black hair, a little curly at that. But contrary to the shining brown or tan skin you find at the beach surfing, my skin would be considered pale under the shining light of the 24-hour betting house. With a dark circle, a really big dark circle, under my eyes. Can't help it."
Around me, the air was thick with the stench of cheap tobacco, sour sweat, and desperation. Men double my size slammed their fists against the wooden green carpet table, cursing the card that didn't favour him.
I didn't look at him. I didn't need to. It was his choice bringing his money here expecting to win. Why should I care?
"Nice," I muttered, "Nothing beats a cigarette while winning a midnight poker alone."
I flicked my cigarette into a wooden ashtray, stood up, and dragged my feet over to the payout counter. The attendee behind the counter was a burly man named Roy, whose always keep his hair greasy. He didn't even look up when I slid my stacked chip on the table.
"You again," Roy grunted, he really can't hide the annoying look on him. "Lucky streak's gonna run out, kid. The house always gets its cut."
"Just bad timing for the house tonight, Roy," I said, keeping my voice low, casual, and completely non-threatening. I purposely let my shoulders slump, playing into the image of a pathetic, tired weakling. In a place like this, looking smart or arrogant got your throat slit outside.
Roy murmured, counting out a stack of coins, shiny and clinking. He slapped them against the table with unnecessary force. "20 silver. Take it and clear out. You're depressing the regular losers."
"Always a pleasure." I smile politely to him.
I scooped up the coins, shoving the thick and clinking into the pouch and put it in my oversized jacket. I could feel the eyes of a few lingering thugs in their respective table, drilling into my spine. They were already calculating how easy it would be to corner a scrawny kid like me down the street.
But I'm not some greenhorn you could find anywhere. As I moved toward the door, I flick the coin. A silver at that. For the bodyguard with a build around two meters tall.
"Take this as my gratitude for having me here, Sir. I hope I safely reach my house tonight" I politely nodded my head and slowly walk out the door.
"Kids these days know how to turned a fortune into a favour, huh? Farewell Kid, There is nothing to worry about. Come back again later!" The Bodyguard shouted while keeping his gaze on the thugs inside.
Easy.
I smiled faintly, pulling my hoody up to cover against the chill of the night while walking away slowly, and happily. And just when I tried to get a full inhale of the fresh air outside
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Pick it up, and read the message. 'Ed, send me the money, NOW.'
"Those assholes," I whispered, my stomach dropping. Do they have eyes everywhere? Fuck. I flipped the screen face-down. I'll just pretend I didn't see it, go back to my flat, and try to sleep. Fuck them.
My name's Edgar de Lankat. Sounds cool, doesn't it?
In an environment this harsh, the only decent thing I inherited was a family name. Let me break down how this messed-up world works.
Six hundred years ago, everyone launched nuclear bomb during the Great War, the sun vanished, and the world froze over afterward. The rich and the lucky people flocked to the tropical regions. sealed themselves inside these massive Domes and locked everyone else outside to die.
Today, having a family name means you're a direct descendant of those dome survivors. It's your golden ticket. It means you're a citizen. It entitled me to a basic education, and more importantly, it's the only collateral landlords accept to let you rent a public housing unit. The nameless morons outside the Dome? They end up as thugs or breaking their backs at some runt greenhouse farms. Most of them can't even read.
"Shitt, why am I suddenly thinking about history lessons," I grumbled. "Better get some sleep."
Morning arrived, and my peace was violently murdered. A frantic, heavy pounding rattled my door frame.
"Edgar, you pathetic little shit, come out right now, you bastard!"
Still cover with my dried up saliva, I dragged myself out of bed and crossed my cramped, suffocatingly small flat. I clicked the lock and opened it.
"Yes, yes, I'm coming. What do you ne—"
The door smashed inward. A heavy boot slammed right into my chest.
I hit the floor hard, sliding across the cheap linoleum. "Argh! F-fuck—"
Before I could even breathe, another kick landed right in my ribs.
"Who the hell do you think you are, idiot?" Brett's heavy voice boomed. He stepped into my flat, towering over me. "I texted you last night. Not only did I not receive my cut, but I didn't even get a response. Are you begging to get killed, huh?"
"I-I'm sorry," I choked out, curling into a tight ball on the floor. I held my stomach, trembling.
I didn't fight back. I'm a street punk, not a hero. But as I lay there in the dirt, my eyes involuntarily drifted to his boots. He wasn't wearing socks, and his thick, sweaty ankles were exposed right near my face. Even while getting my ribs cracked, my twisted brain noticed the smooth curve of his Achilles tendon. Damn, I really am a degenerate.
"I was already asleep last night," I stammered, raising my hands in surrender, letting my voice sound as weak and pathetic as possible. "I didn't even see the—"
Another kick to my side.
"Oh, now you know how to talk back, huh? What's next? You going to kill me in my sleep?"
"N-no! No! I didn't mean that, please, just listen to me," I cried out, fully submitting. "I-I'll pay, okay? How much do you want, Brett? I guarantee this will never happen again. I'm sorry."
"This idiot thinks he can do whatever he wants these days." Brett delivered one final, cruel stomp into my ribs. "I'll let it slide today. Just give me the damn money!"
"Ugh... fuck... I've got it. Wait a second."
I leaned against the wall, with a halted groan. His punch felt like getting hit with a baseball bat. I couldn't piss him off anymore or I'd end up in a body bag. Just let the money go. I can always scam someone to earn it back. or another betting tonight?
With trembling hands, I reached into the hidden floor stash and pulled out my leather pouch. "Here. This is all the money I have left. You can search the whole place, there's nothing else."
Brett snatched it, weighing it with a smug grin. "Hmmph. Thirty-six silver and twenty copper. You seem to have enough sincerity, I guess. Well, none of this would have happened if you'd just given me the money last night."
"Yes, yes. Thank you, Brett," I lied through my teeth, swallowing the bitter taste of bile.
"No need, as long as you're paying. I'll get going. The streets are packed today—I bet something big is happening in the city." With a satisfied smile and he pouch clinking oh his right hand. He turned his back wanting to leave. But the sudden thought makes him ask me
"Where are you tonight? Whose courage you borrow that makes you think you could stand before me? his eyes locked on me. with a mocking smile while holding the pouch-my pouch.
"Did I already told you, Brett? I'm on my sleep last night." our eye met. oh no. I immediately look elsewhere. and what is with his face? Similing so widely.. No.no.no not again.
"Ohoo, What do we have here? a little mut who learns to lie, huh?" He walks toward me, holding on my hair with his left hand. and then..
The sudden, agonizing pull at the roots of my hair is the only warning I get. Then comes the smash—a sickening thud as he launches me into the solid wall. The world spins, my ears ringing, and my legs give out. I hit the floor sideways. Through a blurred, crimson haze, I see the muddy sole of his boot rising above me. An instant later, the heavy sole stomps down, crushing my face into the floor and shattering the last of my awareness.
"It hurts... please..."
I plead with him, choking back a groan, desperate to keep him from hitting me again.
"Spill the truth. Where were you last night?" Brett snaps, his voice low, demanding an answer.
My mind races through the haze of pain. What am I supposed to say? Admit I was lying from the very beginning? Beg for another beating? There is no way in hell I'm doing that.
"Ah... ah... I was out betting last night," I stammer. "Didn't win much, though."
Despite what I'm screaming inside my own head, my mouth just spouts whatever nonsense it can the moment the agony throbs through me. Curse this weak body of mine.
"Stomach, head... ah, look at that. My lovely boot hasn't even touched your legs yet."
Lovely, my ass. He is literally forcing me to choose: hand over the last of the coin I made last night, or keep my legs intact. Of course, I choose the money. Without coin, how am I supposed to survive these hellish streets?
"I'm really sorry, Brett. Here... here. This is my last. Nothing else, no more."
I reach into my pocket and pull out nineteen pieces of silver, thrusting them toward him. Shit. What else can I say? Try to keep lying and hide the remaining silver on me? Call me a liar all you want—say that when it's your head getting slammed against the solid wall.
"You should've just done this last night, Ed," Brett says, his tone shifting into something sickeningly gentle. "I don't want to do this to you. Not to someone I consider a little brother."
You should see his face when he delivers those sweet, soothing words. He is grinning from ear to ear. A wide, twisted smile like a literal devil. Fuck my life.
"I-I understand," I mutter, my voice trembling and pleading. I admit defeat. I succumb. Like hell do I want to get beaten up any worse than this.
"Now we understand each other," he purrs, patting my shoulder. "It breaks my heart to see you like this, Ed. Here, let me give you a little something back. For our lifelong friendship."
Cting...
He flicks a single piece of silver from his pouch—no, my fucking pouch!. The coin rolls across the cold, wooden floorboards, sparkling under the dim light.
What a loser's life. Why did I even resign from my stable job? I actually thought I was going to change my ordinary life, and instead, I turned myself into a total joke.
I squeeze both eyes shut, try to hold the agonizing throbbing inside my skull and across my bruised body. Just until the heavy thud of his footsteps finally fades into nothing. Only then do I dare force my aching body up.
The heavy door slams shut, the echo ringing in the silence left behind.
"THAT FUCKER!" I roared the moment his footsteps faded down the hall. "Damn it! My entire savings!"
The money I had worked painstakingly hard to get. The money I put my life on the line to earn every single time. That fucking money was the only thing keeping me breathing in this world. And now, it was gone. Back to living, everyday, completely broke.
Again.
I slumped against the door, sliding down to the cold floor, letting out a long, pathetic groan. Now what? What day is it even? And what kind of commotion was that bastard talking about?
I squeeze my eyes shut, my hand sliding down to grope along the floor until my fingers brush against the small silver coin. My last piece of money.
A single silver coin. The pathetic remains of what I won from betting last night.
A painful smile creeps across my face, pulling sharply at my throbbing, bruised skin. I am broke, battered, and a complete loser—