Emi coughed as the whiskey left a scorching trail down her throat. The bartender, dressed in plaid, gave her a knowing look. "Don't take many shots, do you?" he said with a smirk. She frowned and slid the glass back over the glossy black top of the bar. It rankled her, but she still passed him a few crumpled bills as a tip. Her eyes returned to the sheet of paper in front of her. She folded it again, ran her trembling fingers down the crease and licked her lips. "Give me another one," she said before stuffing the paper out of sight into her bag.
Her legs felt wobbly as she took the stairs to her fifth-floor walk-up a few hours later. She was humming an off-key tune under her breath as she climbed, leaning against the grubby striped wallpaper for support. Her head was already beginning to hurt. Leave it to her to already be starting her hangover while still drunk. She pressed a hand to her forehead, pushing back her bright pink bangs and as she staggered down the hall.
The lights in the hallway flickered for a moment outside her door as she slouched against its frame, shoving a hand into her purse. Her fingers recoiled as they brushed against the sharp folds of the half-forgotten paper. She frowned and kept rummaging, brushing past wadded up receipts, old coins, and lipstick tubes. "Shit." She felt around frantically. Where were her keys?
She tried the brass doorknob, already knowing that it was locked. She always locked it, and then double-checked that she had locked it, and then sometimes even triple-checked that she had locked it. She flopped her head against the door. Her bright bob swished past her ears. "Fuuuuuuck," she groaned, slapping her hand against the door. "Erin! Are you home?" she called pitifully. She already knew the answer. Her roommate was rarely home before 4 AM, if she came home at all.
She let herself slump against the door in self-pity, sliding down to the carpet on her knees. It stung her bare skin and she made a tsking sound as she noticed the ugly orange and green flecks and old gum that patterned it. For a moment, everything seemed to swim in her vision. Her stomach lurched but she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, feeling the headache really start to settle in. What made it worse was that the drinking hadn't actually helped her forget. Now she just felt sick on top of the misery.
Everything will be fine, she thought. You aren't a worthless failure, she thought. She rubbed her eyes, knowing that she was smearing her dark eyeliner. She had put her makeup on uncharacteristically heavily that night, trussed herself up in revealing clothes, hoping she would receive some attention at the bar that would distract her. Although she had seen some interested eyes, it turned out that she was much too shy and in her own head to follow through with anything. Typical. She didn't know why she thought tonight would be different.
She sighed and felt around in her bag for her phone. Luckily, she hadn't lost that too.
The bright light of the screen hurt her eyes as she dialed Erin's number. She stared at it stupidly for a moment while nothing happened. Of course there was no signal in the hallway. She sighed again and rose to her feet, looking down the hall. No helpful neighbors poked their heads out to see their slightly tipsy, increasingly stressed-out neighbor wobble down the dim corridor in her heeled black boots to make her way back downstairs, and into the deserted lobby that always smelled like stale cigarette smoke. Not for the first time, she wished that she lived in a nicer building, the kind with a friendly doorman who could help in moments such as these. She pushed the thoughts from her mind. Such dreams were for people not living on a student's stipend.
The dank musk of the lobby made her stomach lurch again. She staggered out the front door, feeling momentary relief as the sounds of the city rushed to meet her on the cool and humid night air. She took a steadying breath, pacing down the street as she tried Erin's number again. Please answer, she prayed, counting the buzzing rings. Nine had passed before she really started to lose hope. The line clicked. An automated voice message reminded her that Erin's voice mailbox was full. Erin's voice mailbox was always full. Fuck. She dialed again. Six rings whirred in her ears this time, and then blessedly the call went through. Music and voices thrummed in the background. "Erin!" Emi said loudly, "Can you hear me? I've lost my keys! Can you come home early and let me in?"
There was no answer. She heard laughter, distorted through the speaker, and the sound of heavy bass. A high-pitched woman's voice giggled through the phone. "Erin! Can you hear me?" She plugged a finger into one ear, trying to hear over the sound of a police siren passing nearby. Its shrill cry surged and warped as it passed the corners near her building. "Erin! Answer me! Damnit! I'm locked out!"
The street lights flickered. She anxiously pressed the phone harder against her ear, still pacing. "Erin! Can you hear me?"
She suddenly felt a hot breeze against her legs, strong enough to push up under her pleated skirt. She threw her hands down instinctively, yanking down the fabric as she gasped in embarrassment and then horror as the movement caused her phone to slip from her hand.
She watched the phone rush towards the ground as if in slow motion, her body comprehending its trajectory but too sluggish with alcohol to stop the oncoming catastrophe. The phone banged against the metal subway grate, tilted at the perfect angle, and slipped, clattering between the metal bars.
She groaned in horror as another whoosh of hot air blew around her legs. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" she cried, sinking to her knees, ignoring the bite of the hard metal against her skin. The screen of her phone lit up as she gaped at it, taunting her from its perch on a filthy ledge, in sight but out of reach. There was no way she could fit more than a few fingers between the bars. She tried anyway, and then yanked her hand back up, newly covered in grime.
She closed her eyes, biting back tears. Her head was pounding. She hardly knew what to do as she stood, still slightly off-balance, but feeling soberer every moment. She wiped her hand on her skirt and pushed her fingers through her hair, looking up at the hazy sky, deep gray with the orange and pink lights of the city smearing against the clouds. She had a dim notion that she would go back to school, wondering if the library would be open this late. Her legs pushed her forward without conscious thought. She didn't head towards the subway, though it would have been faster, but instead let her thoughts become a far-away haze as she pushed on, block after block, letting her body guide her.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she felt her thoughts suddenly rushing back to her all at once. It was a feeling like waking up as if from a dream. She supposed that her sobriety had suddenly found her in full force. It was disorienting and she gaped around, seeing that she was a narrow street, dingy and covered with signs. The streetlights seemed darker here, the neon lights on the stores less bright. She swallowed hard, looking to see if there was anything opened nearby so she could ask for directions. Then her eyes went wide as she realized that the signs were in a language she couldn't read.
No people roamed the streets. The glass windows she passed were dark and she could only see her reflection in them, her bare, pale arms crossed over her chest in the chill, the legs under her short skirt covered only by knee-high socks and heeled boots. Her eyes looked wild and far away, framed under the fringe of her bright hair. The air seemed to shift as she blinked at her reflection, as goosebumps pricking at her skin.
Something caught her eye in the reflection behind her. A warm glow seemed to splash across the glass. She turned and found the source of the light in a narrow alley, where a row of red lanterns shone between a vermilion and black gate. A small wooden building with a peaked roof waited behind it, oddly out of place between the taller brick constructions on either of its sides. Its door was ajar. Golden light shone through the opening, gleaming against the stone walkway. She looked at it curiously, strangely drawn in.
The lanterns seemed to pulse as they swayed in a sudden cold breeze. She shivered, clutching tighter at her arms. She thought she saw some sort of movement behind the open door, a flicker of a shadow, like someone moving, and bit her lip, deciding. Hesitantly, she walked forward, passing beside the vermillion posts. She felt warmed as soon as she was through the gate. "Hello?" she called, watching the door. "Is anyone there?"
The interior was dim but welcoming. Paper lanterns hung from wooden rafters. There was a low altar, where candles flickered. The walls were crisp with paper stretched between wooden frames. A wide wooden bench was built into one of the walls, the planks worn smooth with use. She turned, examining her surroundings curiously. It was clearly a shrine of some sort, but to what deity, she had no idea.
"Hello?" she called again. No one answered. The hairs on her arms prickled. She had the sense that someone had just been there; she could almost smell them in the air--an intoxicating aroma mixed between the incense--something light and sharp and dangerous.
