That tedious beeping again, like a flatline, pecking me repeatedly in the ear.

I am all in shambles, pulling my sheets close, immersing in them, enveloped like a breathing carcass. I sat down, rubbing my wrist against my face. For weeks, not a word from her, not a message, I was too straightforward, too hard nosed. I’ve forgotten subtlety. I slapped my head.

I headed downstairs, sat down at the dinner area, holding a mug. My fingers mechanically stirred, while I turned myself with the whirring sound of the spoon. My mother sat down with me.

“You’re staying home.” She said.

I grinned wryly. “I got a little preoccupied.”

“With what?”

“A girl.” I replied.

She laughed. “That’s new. Since when did you have a new girlfriend?”

I shrugged. “I don’t. She wouldn’t talk to me.”

She nodded, then left for a while to place a bowl of homemade muffins at the table. I’m not quite a fan of them, however her effort to place them neatly in a stack had me leaning over to take one.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, “but if it’s your character then you don’t have to strain yourself to change her mind. If it’s your actions, then you have to start over.”

I tossed the muffin lightly before digging in. The muffins were impeccably baked, as always. However, it was days old, and the overnight chill from the fridge lingered. “Trust me,” I said to her, “I’m clever. I can work it out.”

I sat in front of my desk for hours, my monitor on display, clattered with opened programs and browsers I intended not to tinker with. There were a few emails gain, clients bailing on the project, others in demand for some transparency to what our employer-employee correlation has been reduced to. I’ve been tardy. I wasn’t worth their patience.

I’ve been browsing social media for a fair amount of time. Scams had become conventional. Crimes though were frequently seen in forwarded posts of a photo or a cluster of photos, followed by an extensive and detailed backstory. At chances, the same cases were narrated in consistency by various users.

It gave me an idea. I turned on my phone.

The last time Sin sent me a message was the time my phone was returned. Until now, I have left it unregistered. I sent a text, then placed it on my desk and waited.

The phone shuddered and gave a sharp ding.

SIN: What is it?

I sat still for a few minutes with the phone in my hands before typing a reply.

ME: There are reported assaults in S street.

SIN: Tell me.

ME: It’s old-fashioned mugging. People won’t file reports. I’m guessing, even if they lived to tell the tale, they won’t take it to court in fear of a syndicate. There’s no video footage as well. I take it the area isn’t funded for security measures. I bet there’s two or three on the job.

SIN: You want me to take them down?

ME: If you happen to be at the right place at the right time to take them down. It would be easy. Just conceal yourself, wear a scarf. If there’s a victim, tell him to run.

SIN: Thank you.

I placed my phone gently on my desk, screen facing up, the conversation in full view. I thought for a while, then typed in a message:

I wish to see you.

The phone was silent. I waited. The aggravating thoughts coursed in again. Have I pushed her away again?

The trembling sound against the desk, it had me grabbing the phone back to look at it.

You will. It said.

I threw my back against the chair, heaved a breath and brushed my hair back. I can assure myself now. I can go back to work, sleep in the morning and wake up when the sky is dark. I could wait for a call, a message, anything. As long as I see her, cloaked in velvet and sculpted in marble. A deity bathed in the harrowing marshes of Styx.

“Why did you forsake me?”

I forced my eyes open. My limbs, sluggish and somnolent, rushed against another person’s chest. I saw Sin‘s eyes, reddened and brimmed with tears and lying to her side. Her head tilted and buried against my pillow.

I planted my hands on her cheeks. She lifted herself up, straddled me with her elbows resting on each side.

“No,” I whispered, “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

I pulled her close and planted a kiss on her lips. She shifted her face to the side, brushed her lips against my cheek, trailing heavy breaths down my neck. She slipped her fingers beneath my boxers, fondled me, felt me against the tender creases between her legs. I shuddered, clasped my fingers on her nape and pulled her hair. She then whispered: “No, you’ll leave me still. You’ll fade, you’ll be reduced into a memory. You’ll crumble to ashes and I will stand on your grave and weep.”

I felt the stretch of her jaws, and the sharp puncture of her teeth. The beat of my pulse resonated, blaring at my ears. My muscles ached. I couldn’t move.

I awoke at night, sweltered, my shirt drenched, my every muscle trembling and my chest throbbing. There were no marks on my neck, still I felt it, every oppressive tug and bite, that mangling breath of her in my lungs.

There was a message on my phone. My place at 10, it said. It was Sin.