Phobia

My apartment is little better than a bedsit. The kitchen consumes one corner of the general living area; and my bedroom and bathroom are two tiny adjacent rooms. My bed takes up almost all of the available space and the bathroom is so cramped you can be in the shower and brushing your teeth at the sink.

It’s fine for me though, it’s rare I have company and since it’s all paid off I give the landlord cash for the bills each month and I’m as off the record as can be. My apartment can equally be my most and least favourite place in the world. I adore my bed most of the time, smothering it in the thicket duvets and fluffiest blankets. It can be a soothing cocoon. Sometimes, when my nightmares are bad it’s a coffin.

I go for the couch instead, fling myself onto it and staring blankly at the television. I can barely stay still and within a few seconds, I’m back up on my feet, pacing the small space as I tear the wig and pins off, wincing at each sting. What was Jonathon doing? I had to be right, that was definitely his serum, his narcotic. It had to be.

Gordon’s doubtful face filled my vision for a second. No, I knew that serum; and had it been another way I would have ended up like that poor man. Somehow it was in circulation, did Jonathon know? Did he care? What did he have to gain?

Huffing, I start moving ornaments and tidying up unnecessarily; by the time the clock on the wall chimes midnight I’m no closer to an answer. I did have to speak to Jonathon, Gordon was right there. But he’d give me little to work with, and I’d still be none the wiser.

I wish I didn’t care.


Midnight passes, the time half of Gotham falls asleep whilst the other wakes up.

I won’t be able to sleep. I know that. Years have taught me that, and I don’t fancy the cocktail of sleeping pills. There was another guy I was due to be looking in to for Gordon, some sleazeball who had gotten himself far too involved in one of the last remaining drug gangs. A decision is made, stupid as always and I started applying far thicker make-up, debating a wig as I did so. I wouldn’t bother, my scalp was raw and I’d plastered so much crap on my face I barely recognised myself.

Besides, I had certain outfits for places like the nightclub and the amount they tended to reveal meant people didn’t spend much time staring at my face. “Classy.” I mutter, fiddling with my cleavage when a few sharp raps on the door stopped me in my tracks.

“Shit.” I was already hunting for my gun when a shrill voice rang out, calling my name and I realised exactly who it was. Growling slightly, my shoes are loud as I stomp to the door and swing it open, dragging the blonde inside.

“What?” I hiss, paranoia stabbing my chest as I glance around her and slam the door shut, locking it tightly. “What is it Anna? You can’t come shouting about when…”

She grins, her pupils dilated, shoes in hands. She is off her face and I sigh. “How drunk are you?”

“Not enough.” The grin becomes a pout and her eyes fill with easy tears. “Can I stay here?” Her words are a little slurred and the stench of alcohol is already filling my apartment. I mutter a fine, watching her collapse onto the couch. “You’re not hurt though?”

She blows a raspberry in response and my anger evaporates at how simply pathetic she looks. “Ann, why are you so drunk already?” Her eyes are rimmed red and she struggles to sit up as she answers,
“Abed cancelled me.” A sudden urge to laugh at her hits me, and I swallow it down. “I mean, he’s been a regular for two years, and now he suddenly wants another girl!”

She silenced me when I went to say her name again, “Don’t even with your little sarcastic comments Keira…” She waved her finger at me, arm swaying as if in a gust of wind. Anna was a prostitute, and to give her her due, she was a fairly high class one, not like one of the girls you see standing shivering by the docks. Even so, that’s what she was, although at times she seemed to forget. We met a few years back when Gordon had been after her pimp, for lack of a better phrase. She had her little online apps now to set up her meetings. Abed was a regular, I knew the name from the number of times she had brought him up previously; her visits were weekly easily.

It didn’t seem like either of us had much in the way of friends. Then again I wasn’t sure if we could even label each other with that word. I felt like we put up with each other out of convenience rather than because we enjoyed the company. I had no idea where Anna lived, what her favourite colour was or even how old she was. She turned up here when she was said, because when I had been helping Gordon I'd been nice to her, built up a character she wanted to cling too.

“I just, thought he liked me. We had all these deep talks and he said he hated his wife, he’d leave her for me. He promised me!” She’d latched onto me mid-rant and I removed her arms gently.

“You actually believed him?”

“Fuck you,” She spat suddenly, jerking her body upright, “He was in love with me.”

“Clearly.” My reply bites just as hard, any sympathy for her fading. The tears start their trail down her rouged cheeks again. I bit my lip hard, “Go to bed, try not to throw up everywhere.” She continued to mumble under her breath and I realised there was no chance of moving her. Giving up I snatch a blanket and throw it over her. “I’m going out. If you leave before I’m back, make sure the latch is down on the door.”

“Whatever.” Her face was buried in my favourite cushion, “Go rat out some more people you fucking bitch.”