I’m starting to wonder if an all-expenses-paid long-term hire is really worth it. On the plus side, I’m eating consistently for the first time in years. My rent is paid up for months, my clothes are new, and I have a NICE car. But I also have a sad, whiny female hanging around me a lot, and she’s a bit of a downer – what with the “I’m so miserable” thing 24/7. Can’t even take her to bed to give her a hormone fix. Can’t kick her out, because this woman is half stalker queen, half pathos-on-tap. And believe it or not, I’m a sucker for a woman in trouble. That’s part of the reason I’m usually broke.
Want to see what I mean? Huh, didn’t think so. Bad luck. Here’s Linda’s take on things, scribed by yours truly. I really must teach her to use a bloody keyboard.
You know what sucks most about being dead? Hunger. Sleep. They’re both controlled by your body. But the cravings don’t go just because I’m dead. They’re just vague and weird. Like, I find myself drifting off to sleep and the world just fades away and I could be out for days, or only minutes. I panic almost every time I drift off, because it feels like I’m just floating away to another place. If I was alive, my body’d wake me and it’d bring me back. But I can’t find the bloody thing, and I don’t think it’d help me anyhow. Not with this. Cos it’s dead. So I get kinda hungry, and I can’t do a fucking thing about it. No steak for me. I tried to eat. What a joke. I could pick it up. I’ve gotten damn good at that. But I couldn’t find my mouth. It should be there in my head, right? So I headed over to a mirror for some help, and I get a shock. I don’t have a reflection. I looked down at myself, and I was looking just fine. Trent could see me. The bastard was hiding snickers behind his hand as he watched me try to eat. Nothing in the mirror, though. It’s like I don’t have a soul. And then I realised that even if I got the stupid burger in my mouth, I didn’t have teeth. Or anything. Fuck, what a doofus. So I’m stuck wandering around playing halloween tricks and looking for my body, tired and hungry and more and more grumpy.
See what I mean? Whiny. If I had any sense I’d get the hell out of this deal and find me some sunny beach where she couldn’t find me. The moon, maybe.
I’m not completely heartless. I do feel for her, in the midst of wishing she’d take herself off to the afterlife. I even took her out clubbing in an attempt to cheer her up. I was expecting drunk idiots to crack onto her, and then suffer some Linda-esque revenge, which always seems to cheer her up. But nope – her aura of misery kept them away in droves, while the women flocked to me.
In case you didn’t realise, I’m NOT a looker. But that ‘I want you but I can’t have you’ look is magnetic. Apparently. By the end of the night I had a pocketful of phone numbers, and Linda was droopier and more miserable than ever. Cheer-up night? Fail.
But if I ever manage to finish this contract, I’ll have a month’s worth of first dates.