[it's rare any call goes to VOICEMAIL on Badou's Guide, because it's always with him; tucked into a coat pocket or lying next to a smoking ashtray
( ... )
[with that computer-generated voice, he knows the silence and the solitude are gone until he checks the damn message. there's only a few people it could be, and those people are ones Badou reliesonlikescaresabout trusts far more frequently than he'd trusted -- ]
[ your advice was always as rotten as infected wounds, that sickly black gunk that never came off never get rid of it never scrape out the disease ]
[ -- he grabs the Guide like it's an antidote for a poison, and his fingers fumble sickly over the keys, tapping once, twice.]
[and Badou listens, almost missing the exhale over his own inhale.]
[when the message is finished, he lets the Guide clatter back to the tile, knocking askew ash and fix alike (what's been burnt out and what's still left to incinerate)]
[he presses a hand to his forehead, and it's not the roughness of the gnarled burnfucked scar he feels]
[and he can't help the short, sudden laugh that's exhaled without smoke and echos off the tile (not rebounding as mockery and bad humour but something that might pass, on a good day, for hope)]
[with a slosh forward that sends a tub water tidal wave to accompany his own rivers, he grabs the drain plug and gives it a hard yank]
Hey. I ... I wanted to tell ya.
[ there's a shff of noise (his hand in his hair), and he clears his throat testily. ]
I ain't gonna fall for you. An' I ain't gonna fall with you neither.
[ pause. "or away from you", he thinks about adding, but ... doesn't. it doesn't feel right, those words. ]
But I might ... wind up jumpin' for you. Or with you. Someday.
[ there's another lull, longer, a subtle chnk in the background (the safety going off). ]
I'd ... lie. To keep your secret. So don't worry 'bout anything.
[ ... ]
Call me, if you wanna get higher.
[ CLICK ]
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YOU HAVE; 1 NEW VOICEMAIL.
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[ your advice was always as rotten as infected wounds, that sickly black gunk that never came off never get rid of it never scrape out the disease ]
[ -- he grabs the Guide like it's an antidote for a poison, and his fingers fumble sickly over the keys, tapping once, twice.]
[and Badou listens, almost missing the exhale over his own inhale.]
Reply
[he presses a hand to his forehead, and it's not the roughness of the gnarled burnfucked scar he feels]
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[with a slosh forward that sends a tub water tidal wave to accompany his own rivers, he grabs the drain plug and gives it a hard yank]
[ higher, huh? here I come, vertigo. ]
[it's time to get out of the bath.]
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