Chapter Text
August 12th.
201M2026.
Emotionally exhausted, I park my car in an empty lot to think about everything that happened.
I try calling Olivia again, but it goes straight to voicemail.
We've had fights before, ugly fights, but never the I-don't-want-you-in-the-house kind of fight.
I try texting her 'I'm sorry,' but my message just says 'sent' and never gets delivered.
Where am I even supposed to go? It's not like I have anywhere to stay.
My parents are probably already living on the other side of the country or something, and reaching them has been getting harder these last three years.
I couldn't stay with the Paynes. I'm tired of getting them involved every time Olivia and I fight.
Damien probably wouldn't mind if I crashed on his couch for a few days, but I don't want to bother Liz. I'm sure she's already got a lot going on, being pregnant and all.
I haven't spoken to Ben at all since high school, so I don't want to show up out of the blue asking for a place to stay. And I wouldn't want to have to deal with Mia, either.
I don't think I can even afford to stay at a cheap motel in the meantime. Not that I really want to do that.
"Am I going to have to sleep in my car?" I ask myself, lying my head on the steering wheel.
Although...
There is someone I know who has moved back to Volcaldera. And if what Uncle and Auntie told me last time we spoke is true, then it's not like he's got much going on in his life right now.
I set my GPS to two-thirty-seven South St. Hammond Street.
I'm sure Anon wouldn't mind helping me out.
We're family, after all.
***
God, what time is it? I slept through the day again. My internal clock is fucked up beyond all repair. I grab my phone from my computer desk and glance at the screen.
9:21 p.m.
Fuck...
Ugh, why do I even care? It's not like I have to go to work or anything. That pension is enough to pay my bills and order some pizzas now and then. I don't have any plans today either, besides replaying Rock Ring 2 for nostalgia... again.
It's not like I have much going on in my life right now. I might as well go back to sleep.
As I turn on my bed to face the wall, I hear a knock on my door.
Who can it be now?
If living in Skin Row for a few years has taught me anything, a knock on your door at night can only mean trouble; the stab-your-guts-and-steal-your-X-Rox kind of trouble.
Shit, I wish I had kept a piece from my time in the Navy.
For more than one reason...
I stay in bed in complete silence, waiting for whoever's on the other side to either leave or make their move. If they start trying to force the door open, I'm going to have to grab a knife from the kitchen and apply some of the basics of CQC.
"Anon? Are you there?" I hear someone call from the other side of the door. I don't recognize the voice, but they know my name.
Shit, did I forget to pay rent again?
No, I'm sure I paid the landlord last week.
Who the fuck could that be, then? Is someone out to get me?
"Anon, it's your cousin, Inco. Remember me?"
Inco? My dipshit cousin?
We haven't seen each other since his family moved away from Rock Bottom all those years ago.
What the hell is he doing here?
"Hey, I know it's late, I'm sorry…” Inco continues. “I tried calling, but you didn't answer. I was wondering if we could talk for a minute."
Now I remember: his family moved to Volcaldera Bluffs a few years ago. He never bothered to visit me until now. I don't even know how he got my phone number. What the hell does he want?
There's only one way to find out.
I groan deeply and get up from bed, doing a tactical maneuver that involves planting my face on the ground.
"Yeah, just a sec..." I mumble against the cold floor.
I get up, pull on some pajama pants over my trunks, and throw on a hoodie before heading to the door. Peering through the peephole, I'm blinded by the shine of a bald head in the corridor outside.
Yep, it's my cousin, all right.
He's wearing some office-casual clothes that look way too fancy for this part of town; black button-up shirt, jeans, dress shoes... It's like he's begging to get mugged.
And what kind of retard wears sunglasses at night?
My cousin, of course.
I unlock the door and open it slightly, keeping the security chain in place. I take a good look at Inco and scan the corridor behind him. He seems to be alone.
"Yeah?" It's all I manage to say.
"Hey, cousin! How's it going?" He asks casually, like it hasn’t been literal years since we last saw each other.
In reply, I just stare at him through the door gap. I can see in the reflection of his sunglasses how tired I look right now.
He gets visibly awkward by my staring and starts rubbing the back of his neck.
"Do you mind if I come in?"
I let out a long sigh and remove the door chain.
He steps inside and looks around, trying (and failing) to hide his clear disgust at the less-than-accommodating state of my apartment.
He avoids looking directly at the trash from all the deliveries piling up in the corner and the smell of shallow grave that I've long since gotten used to.
I flick on the room lights and return to the kitchen, leaning back on the counter while he looks for a place to sit; It's either my computer chair or my bed. He settles on leaning back on the wall, and we both just stare at each other again, waiting for the other to speak.
"So, how have you been?" He finally asks, still trying to hide how awkward this whole situation is.
"I can't complain…” I sigh again. “How about you? Haven't heard from you since you and your parents moved to the Midwest."
"Yeah, they never stay in one place. You know how my parents are.” He shrugs. “But, uh... we moved to Volcaldera Bluffs a few years ago, and I haven't left since."
"So, where are you living? I bet it's one of those luxury villas on the outskirts of the city. Your old folks were always loaded." I chuckle, trying to sound more teasing than resentful.
This guy was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and that always pissed me off.
I'm surprised he's even willing to drive down to Skin Row.
"Yeah... about that. My parents moved away some time ago, but I stayed. I was living with my girlfriend, you see..."
"Ohh, little Inco got a piece of tail!" I tease him again.
Of course moneybags here has a girlfriend. I bet he also has a fancy college degree and a cushy job.
"That's the thing, we've..." He shakes his head. "Sorry, I'm only talking about myself here. How about you? Uncle and Auntie told me you were in the Navy before you moved back. That's pretty cool."
"Not as cool as you think. But I got a good pension and can afford to live here carefree, so that's something."
The room falls silent again. Inco scratches the back of his neck, probably trying to think of something to say.
"Look, Anon, I'm going to cut to the chase. Things aren't that great for me right now."
What, little moneybags is having a hard time? No way.
"My girlfriend, Olivia, and I are going through some difficulties."
What is he on about? Does he expect me to give him relationship advice? Is that why he's here?
"Olivia... she doesn't want me in the house right now, Anon. That's it," he exhales. "And I've got nowhere to go. I was wondering, if you don't mind of course, could I stay at your place for a while?"
"You serious?" I ask, dumbfounded.
He just nods.
Stay at my place? That's a good joke. Mister I-Have-Rich-Parents wants to stay at my shitty apartment in Skin Row?
"You're joking." I straighten up from the counter to grab a beer from the fridge.
"I'm serious, Anon. It's just until Olivia and I fix things up between us." He quickly adds.
"Yeah, and how long would that be?" I lean back down, cracking open the beer. “Sounds like this Olivia girl kicked you out of the house."
"Nah, it’s just... a rough patch." Inco sighs, brushing it off. "She’s just upset right now, that’s all. She’ll come around."
"You sure about that?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer.
"She just needs space. It’s not as bad as it seems." He insists, massaging his forehead. "Look, Anon. I'm sorry for getting you involved in this, but my situation right now—"
"Your situation?" I interrupt him. "How about my situation? I don't exactly have my shit together, either. Look at this place, Inco. I barely have enough room for myself!" I spread my arms out, elbowing the wall and almost spilling my beer to prove my point. “You show up out of the blue, ask for a place to stay, and I'm supposed to take you in just because you're my cousin? Where would you even sleep? I don't have a couch. I don't have a spare mattress..."
"I brought a sleeping bag," he says quietly, a frown forming on the corner of his face. "I didn't want to throw this at you out of nowhere, Anon, I’m sorry. But I really need some help right now, and I don't have many options."
"Why are you going around the city at night with a sleeping bag?” I lean back, weirded out by that. “What, were you planning on sleeping on the streets if I said no?" I snort at how absurd that sounds. My cousin, on the other hand, just looks down, deflated.
“That, or I’ll be sleeping in my car…” He mumbles.
Fuck, is it really that bad? I mean, if he's willing to come down to Skin Row, then finding a bridge to sleep under isn't that far off. I feel my shoulders sag, and a strange feeling starts warming my stomach. I finish off my drink and open the fridge to get another can.
"Want a beer?" I offer him.
"No, thanks. I don't really like beer."
After that, I kept drinking while he proceeded to explain everything that has happened to him since he moved to Volcaldera Bluffs.
He attended some artsy school in his senior year, started gumping this wheelchair-bound dino chick, moved in with her after graduating, found a cushy office job to support her not-so-prolific career as a painter, and finally, after his workplace had been downsizing for the last few weeks, they axed him.
"So, she barely makes any money with her art,” I reiterate, incredulous with what Inco told me, “And when you suggested she should find a real job while you looked for a new one, she kicked you out of your own apartment?"
"I wouldn't say it like that…"
"Fuck, cousin. And I thought I had it bad." I shake my head, chuckling at him. By now, I had already finished my second can and was getting another one. "You sure you don't need a drink?"
"No, Anon. I'm fine, really."
"Suit yourself." I shrug. "Why don't you call your parents so they can wire you some money? I bet they could afford a new place for you to stay. Somewhere better than Skin Row, at least. Hell, maybe I could move in with you," I chortle.
"I can't remember the last time I actually spoke with my parents.” Inco sighs. “They never pick up the phone, not even during the holidays."
"Yeah, yeah. Our family sucks," I commiserate. "How about you? Don't you have any money saved from your last job?"
"There's... another reason why Olivia got so mad at me," Inco replies enigmatically.
I raise an eyebrow at that, but instead of elaborating, Inco just tells me to follow him. We leave the apartment and go out on the street, stopping next to my cousin’s expensive-looking SUV. I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t been jacked yet. He pops the trunk and reveals a mess of heavy-looking black cases and bags, stacked haphazardly on top of each other. Coiled cables and shiny devices are strewn about.
“What the fuck is all this, Inco?” I ask, wide-eyed at the pile of gear. “You planning on bombing a public building or something?”
“It’s photography equipment,” he finally explains. “Cameras, lenses, lights, tripods… I blew all the money I had saved before I got fired.”
“On cameras? Why?”
"Well..."
***
It was another week that had gone by too quickly. I was off work early again. This time, I had no plans to visit Olivia at the gallery. No plans to set up a date for us, either. I just wanted to get home as soon as possible.
"Oh, right. I got to get some groceries first," I muttered while driving.
I parked my car at the first supermarket I found; a Stonemart Supercenter next to the highway. As I entered the store, I could feel the blissful cold air of the AC washing away the heat from the parking lot. My ears were surrounded by the ambient noise of shopping cartwheels rolling on vinyl and the background music playing through the store’s sound system.
"Okay, let’s see..." I said, pushing my cart down the aisles. I pulled up my phone to read the list I’d written down in my note app, my face reflecting on the screen before I unlocked it.
When I look in the mirror
I can't believe what I see
Tell me, who's that funky dude
Staring back at me?
"Toilet paper, some shampoo for Olivia, some razors for me. I should probably stop by the deli and buy something for her. Maybe that might improve the mood between us a bit tonight. The way things are going, I might need to buy two entire cow legs, just so I don’t have to sleep on the couch again," I sighed.
When I looked up, I stopped dead in my tracks.
While I was talking to myself, my feet had dragged me to the electronics aisle on their own. I was now staring at a Fanon EOS 90D DSLR camera. I could hear my heartbeat over the store’s sound system.
As everything I need
Is denied me
And everything I want
Is taken away from me
I was reminded of that broken flowerpot, that single bent stem with falling petals in a water jar.
But who do I got to blame?
Nobody but me.
That would've made a really nice photo, wouldn't it?
And I don't wanna be an old man anymore
It's been a year or two since I was out on the floor
Shaking booty, making sweet love all the night
It's time I got back to the good life
It's time I got back, it's time I got back.
“It's time I got back.”
***
Inco shakes his head, snapping out of his little daydream.
"It’s like I told Olivia," he begins. "It’s both a hobby and an investment. I like it, and I’m good at it. I was planning on doing it as a side hustle before I got fired. Now, I guess I can find some gigs as a photographer to keep myself afloat until I land a more stable job.” Inco glances at all the gear in his SUV, letting out a sad sigh. “I was hoping you had somewhere I could stash all this, but I might have to rent a storage unit or something, I guess. I really don’t want to leave it all in the car, especially out here.”
Just as he finishes speaking, there’s a loud crash and some shouting from the other end of the block.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” I reply, lighting up a cigarette. It mixes nicely with the beers I had earlier, and I can already feel the buzz kicking in.
What the hell am I going to do with this guy?
I should just leave him out here. Tell him to tuck his proverbial tail between his legs and go find someone else to leech off of.
Pfft. Staying here with me. Like that’s going to work. I’d rather go back inside and…
What was I even planning to do today?
I take a long drag from the cigarette before saying anything, already regretting what I’m about to offer.
“There’s an underground parking garage for the building. Entrance is on the back street, around the corner. You can leave your car in my space, it’s not like I’ve ever used it. Your stuff should be safe there.”
“Wait, so you’ll let me stay?” His eyes gleam behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.
“What else am I supposed to do, Inco?” I exhale smoke with a sigh. “You’re family, after all.”
***
I leave my car parked underground, and we head back to Anon's apartment. All I’ve got is a bundle of clothes and a sleeping bag. The rest is in the car. I hope to Raptor Jesus Anon’s right and that place is actually safe.
We climb the stairs in silence; things are still awkward between us.
“Well, here we are,” he says, flicking the lights on. "Welcome back to La casa del shithole."
“Thanks again for letting me stay.”
“Don’t mention it,” Anon replies, heading toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“Okay. I’ll set up my stuff, then.”
“Yeah, just put your sleeping bag over there.” He nods at the floor space between his bed and the TV-wardrobe wall unit. “But I’m telling you now, I stay up late, and I’m not turning the TV volume down for you or anything."
“Oh, uh... ok. It's all good,” I awkwardly shoot him a pair of finger guns. “Your house, your rules.”
He huffs and shuts the door, and soon I can faintly hear running water coming from the other side.
I leave my duffle bag on the corner and slip into my pajamas. Then, I lay out the sleeping bag. It crackles and sticks to itself like old plastic. Lying down on it, I stare at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of dogs barking outside and distant siren wails.
Well…
This is it, I guess.
This is far from what I had planned for myself. By now, I thought I would be a successful influencer, or publishing for a photography magazine, or something. But here I am, having to sleep at my cousin's apartment in a bad part of town because I have nowhere else to go.
I have no job, no money, and my girlfriend...
I wonder how Olivia's doing. I hope she went to the Paynes's. I hate the thought of her alone in our apartment.
What if something happens? What if she needs help? I should call her just to make sure she’s fine.
As I pull out my phone to start dialing, the bathroom door swings open.
“Your sleeping bag is way too close to my bed,” Anon says, stepping out in flip-flops and a faded T-shirt of a purple-haired anime girl. “Move it closer to the TV, or I’m gonna have to step on your face when I get up.”
“Right, got it,” I reply, scooting the bag over.
He plops onto the bed and turns the game console on, the television screen lighting his face up with flashes of white and blue.
I lie back down while hearing gunshots and aliens grunting, certain that at least one of those gunshots didn't come from the TV.
Trying to tune out the noise, I mindlessly scroll on my phone until a Cavebook post catches my eye.
PAID GIG – need a photographer for a show in Volcaldera, DM if interested! read more...
My thumb hovers for a second before I click it. It’s a post from some local promoter looking for a freelance photographer to shoot a music show Friday night at a place called The Scent. Can’t say I’ve heard of it.
I do a quick Grugle search but don’t find much, just a vague address in Volcaldera’s Historical Financial District. Then, I pull up some images of the area and nearly let out a low whistle. It’s like something off a postcard. Must be a pretty high-end venue.
It’s not a magazine spread, but it’s a good start.
I fire off a quick message with my CV attached and go back to scrolling through my other socials.
Eventually, it gets late enough that my brain just taps out. I drift off, dreamless and heavy.
***
The fan in the corner clicks every third rotation.
Click. Click. Click.
Still busted.
I could probably fix it, but I won't. Not today.
I’m half-melted into the couch with my legs draped over the arm like roadkill. Some off-brand beer is warming on my stomach, probably gone flat by now, but I don’t care.
I’ve got my knockoff gas station sunglasses on even though the sun’s been down for hours. It makes everything feel quieter. Dimmer. Softer. I exhale slowly, letting it rattle around my ribs.
“Can’t believe we actually got a whole week off,” I say to no one in particular. “A whole week. No shows. No rehearsals. No recording..."
"I almost forgot what it’s like to just lie back and rot all day," Trent chimes in.
The purple Chasmosaurus is sprawled on the other couch, face lit blue from his phone screen. Can't tell if his eyes are red from the dart we chuffed earlier or just the sheer amount of screen time he had today.
"Too bad I’ve gotta drag my tail to The Scent this weekend already." I sit up just enough to take a sip of my beer, instantly regret it, and set it on the floor like a corpse I’m done with.
"Come on, Nick," Trent chuckles. "I know you love it there."
"Yeah, sure..." Trent can probably tell I’m rolling my eyes under these sunglasses right now.
Across from me, a pink Atrociraptor is slouched on a lawn chair, eyes closed, head thrown back. His second round of lean is sitting on the cup holder, and I can hear some crusty hardcore blaring out of his earbuds.
"Yo, Curtis!" I call out. "You still alive?"
He doesn't even flinch, just lazily raises a thumbs-up with one hand before it falls back to his side.
That's all the confirmation I need.
I plop my head back down, already feeling the hangover creeping in.
Click. Click. Click.
That fan’s gonna end me.
Then the front door creaks open. No knock. No warning. Just the sound of heavy boots stomping across the floor with a familiar gait.
“You’re back early,” I say, lifting my shades.
The Pterodactyl stops at the foyer and turns to me, that familiar unamused look on their face.
“You said I could crash here whenever I wanted, right?” They reply, fixing the bass guitar strapped over their shoulder.
“Yeah." I grin, lazy and wide. "Welcome back, Fang."
They groan in response and walk past the living room. I can hear them climbing upstairs and slamming their room door shut.
And just like that, the band's whole again.
For better or worse.