Faceus

By H. Sin

I cannot look at faces, my sight is always lowered. I use alcohol and drug traces will I always be this coward ? Her scent wafts and lifts me out blue skies but just my mind. Look down look down the monster left behind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. Sin
• Release date: Sep 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387930951

Book preview

faceus

Faces say

Face Us

I don’t like it.

Fear of Faces

The dark brown leather at the point of the shoe moves up and forward in the air, then the other.

The pant helm is stiff. Almost covering the whole shoe, exposing it only ever so rarely at step take.

Pants should be ironed with a crease at the front. The fabric should be of medium thickness to hold the crease. At least till the end of the day.

The wooden floor boards are also dark brown and produce a half faint thud when the heel strikes them

After a few controlled steps, I reach the end of the entrance corridor, at the reception desk, where she waits for me to pick up the file from the edge of her desk. She knows I will.

I know she’s looking at my face, thinking today I’ll look at hers. She knows I won’t.

I pick the file walking and continue to the left of the table, left wing corridor.

I finally raise my head and sight high enough to see that they have changed one of the bulbs that had fused last week.

But the bastard left two dents on the black wall curtains, with his wretched ladder.

I don’t like this.

I tug the curtains from as high as I can get and straighten them out into the pleats again.

I like this.

I reach the end of this corridor and there’s only one door here, on the right.

Inside I make sure I close the door behind me. I’ve always done. Always.

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Soft light Bach, playing in the background always brings a sort of calm to whatever chaotic thought strings I have.

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In the file I see the picture of her left jowl.

On the right is another picture, this left jowl is much sharper and taught. Must’ve taken a trim from one of the actresses’ pictures in those magazines.

Stupid fucking bitch.

I don’t read the data pages under the two pictures. I don’t want to stay long today.

The knives gleam in the dim room with the faint light when I open the case.

I like this.

They shine brighter when I put the main light on and put them on the table beside the whores face.

I pause for a second too long after I cut her jowl, just to see the blood oozing out.

Clean her, shove it in, then sew her up.

Don’t ever want to see her fucking face again.

Begging for fucking attention.

Bitch whore slut prostitute.

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Just wish I could cut them up and amuse myself, see them cry and beg. But I don’t want to be arrested. For life.

But I’ve always had this fantasy of torturing someone. Irreversibly. And watch them die too. People like her.

The day was warm, so I put one cube of ice in the glass first. The whiskey burns a hole in it on the way in.

The evening is sulky, but I like

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Fuck, I thought I would never get out of the fucking car.

Whenever I go out with them, it’s just so that I change my surroundings and don’t go lost in my own head.

But after the first bar, I want to head home, while they want to continue their stupor elsewhere.

After I’ve had enough of them, I come here, pour another one and sip it slowly.

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Medium light, good whiskey, some TV, why would you want to parade drunk on the streets.

They’re talking about gun control, again.

Now they’re talking about some racial killing, again.

About Africa, again.

These ones are showing an old period film, Italy in the twenties. Sixteen twenties. I think its merchant of Venice.

I’ll watch it.

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It’s hard for me to sleep.

Always is.

So I drink some more and eat right before I lay down.

That helps and I die for the day.

Butchery

She’s not her usual self, I don’t really care.

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I have arms today, hate arms. Yesterday’s genio was still bearable. And quick.

This is going to take time and still a bit woozy. Not hung-over. Little woozy.

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I pick the envelope with brachio in black marker, poorly written and circled.

Quite in contrast with the surroundings.

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The upscale area, bullet clean building. Million dollars a year floor.

Maybe just a few hundred specks of dust in the entire building.

Today, I wander aimlessly through the corridors not really wanting to go in and do it.

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But I fucking have to.......

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Welcome to Aesthos, where we give you a body more suitable for your lifestyle. Our world renowned services

have been used by royalty & celebrities all over the globe. No job is impossible. Discretion is our promise.

Welcome to Aesthos, where we give you a body more suitable for your lifestyle. Our world renowned services

have been used by royalty & celebrities all over the globe. No job is impossible. Discretion is our promise

Welcome to Aesthos, where we give you a body more suitable for your lifestyle. Our world renowned services

have been used by royalty & celebrities all over the globe. No job is impossible. Discretion is our promise

––––––––

The next time I hear that, I’m going to throw the vase on the screen. Hate waiting in the hall till my office room is set.

Some top shot today, won’t even tell me the code name of the asshole.

Wants his lip widened and thickened. Some poof I guess.

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Had another one last month, wanted his lips thinner.

What is it with them?

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Its 11 again today, won’t get the train. Have to call the service.

The drivers going to try to look at my face again today. Asshole.

He doesn’t today, and I have my packet neatly packed and left at the back seat.

I leave an extra 100 today for him, I shouldn’t, it’s too much, it’ll start being expected every time.

He’d understand that I like being left alone and reward that fairly.

Careful, very very careful, slow no no no no no, don’t shake, DON’T, don’t SHAKE, don’t throw, relax relax relax,

hate it when I have one and start making one again. Fuck, have to pick so steadily.

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There’s always a mental image of me shaking out like a reflex and throwing it all around.

The now old and crumpled newspaper on which the mixture rest, seems good enough for me to roll in.

But I have to take out the filter paper now.

Where did I keep it?

When the bell rings, I open the door making sure my gaze is stuck on the box even before I open the door, my gaze

door stuck box, money, look at his hand, just look at his hands, shut the door, door shut.

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Why was he smiling under that stupid cap of his? Maybe I tipped him well. Was he smiling? Or grinning, was I out?

It was very blurry.

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I hate it when he comes and starts getting chatty with me, telling me about who he thinks he worked on.

Keeps asking me who I got recently. How the hell would I even know? Why the fuck would I even care?

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Maybe he’s still grateful, and has the eecky guilt feeling to please me back in some way.

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I’d seen him with her behind the reception desk a night a few months ago...

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That when it all crashed, my perfect non-existence.

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I hadn’t said probably even a word to anyone in the last few years here.

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I hadn’t even seen them properly that night, just saw them and kept walking. Recognized their clothes though.

And I knew who they were.

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I should tell him that I have no intention of even recalling that sight to my own mind frame, let alone telling.

Or maybe I’ll let him live under that fear, it’s terribly annoying, but also a little amusing.

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I know he’s smiling like a carpet salesman, I can see it from the corner of my eye.

I still pay for coffee, don’t even want the slightest feeling of compensation entering his square head.

Haven

It was quite easy to have the same furnishings and upholstery in the office as the one I have at home.

It was a precondition.

My reputation may have preceded me there.

I picked the hall chairs myself, all similar, but intentionally mismatched. I don’t know why I did that.

As much as I like symmetry, I most certainly didn’t have it here.

I like the one in the middle, the largest and most comfortable one. Also directly in front of the Television.

I got the table custom made. Looks fantastic, vintage and dark, just the way I wanted.

Didn’t know shorea was going to be so fucking heavy.

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It has a small side drawer, quite concealed, keep my fun stuff here.

Pills, powders, leaves and what have you.

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I rarely share, not as much as I would like to. People change very quickly from intoxication company to freebie grabbers

and start treating me like their dealer of sorts.

Some even started hiding and taking along, and acting to take with me but save in their pockets. I hate that.

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I did invest a bit heavily one might say into the entertainment system.

I don’t know if in my case I should call it that.

It’s more like a tragedy system.

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Dolby surround sound with subwoofers, 2 of them. Explosions and all. Don’t use that much though.

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I dislike films with that are happy and normal. Just can’t digest that, seems quite unbelievable.

This preference got me into kilometers of European & Japanese cassettes which most acquaintances’ think I watch

for the nudity & Sex factor.   Idiots.

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This strange and morbid fascination exists everywhere all around, but people seem to be quite ashamed to admit it

and indulge in the audio-visual pleasure and satisfaction which cannot be satiated in reality due to our idiotic social

system.

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Uncontrolled and anonymous sex and indulgence in depravity is promoted all around us disguised as pop, rock, trance,

techno and god awful Goth.

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What’s wrong in embracing it quietly as per ones preference? Perhaps that’s the hidden feeling they capitalize on.  

Wine night

I don’t really recall whose she is. Maybe the banker or stock trader, or whatever the hell he does.

I know it’s for the free tablets, but Tuesday nights have become sort of a midweek weekend for her, and me as much.

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She loves mixing them up with wine, which I hate. Wine, not the pills. Or the mixing.

I myself down 2 but with blended scotch, single malt is overrated. Snobbish. And tastes like kerosene.

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Once relaxed we go over the same routine.

Fly, screw, smoke, eat, drink, screw, fly. And then I almost kick her out at 3, 4 or 6 I don’t know. Can’t sleep peacefully

with someone in my house, let alone my bed.

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It started when she showed up unannounced, crying at the door late one night. About half a year ago.

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Maybe that eunuch pig of hers took out his frustration of his physical unattractiveness and work numbers pressure on her.

Maybe he hit her, didn’t look that though. No marks.

Also I didn’t really look at her face as usual. Even if I had done so, her wet messy hair was all over it. Didn’t really care at

that time.

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All I was thinking about was why the hell I had opened the door and not pretended to be away or asleep.

That’s why I hate making a circle. I would never do what she did.

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After vomiting something about respect and women and equality and money and social status and something along

those lines, she had decided to stay before I even hinted at that.  

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Soon, the table drawer was opened and all was forgotten for a few hours.

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After getting a bit buzzed, she thanked me with a bit of the old in out.  That was the first time.

I certainly didn’t mind but was petrified of the attached baggage which could’ve arrived soon but much to my satisfaction

didn’t.

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Then it happened again about a month later.

Then again.

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Now it’s almost a weekly norm. Tuesdays.

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.

Whisky night

Something’s different today, she didn’t pick the wine. She’s having whisky with me. What’s changed?

This bothers me till we both take a hit.

I don’t remember that now, or care about it. But it’s Thursday, oh what the hell.

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I want to do her in the behind today, let her have something different from me too. It’s been a while anyway.

Hope she’s emptied herself in the near past.

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Why she is holding the short glass; I remember, she’s having my scotch today. What’s wrong with her?

Maybe she just wants to get drunk today.

Maybe she got tired of pretending to be sophisticated high society lady madam and remembered her

drunken adolescence and the hard liquor rush. Good for her.

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But why.... Why today... why do I always suspect pattern change... maybe it’s nothing... maybe it’s something I should

be alarmed about....

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She’s not leaving, she’s eaten, inhaled, drank, been filled and reamed.....

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I need help

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Yes, I should be alarmed.

I pause for forever (8-10 seconds) thinking she may forget or we think she never said anything.

What is it? I almost wish I hadn’t asked the moment these words escape my lips.

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I hope she wants one time money and not a sponsor.

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I need some money. These words are music to my ears until I get my head to start considering how much some is.

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How much? is what I should’ve asked; and I curse myself for not having done so.

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What happened? is what came to my ill-timed thought process.

I need to help someone seeing my silence and hearing my glass being emptied of liquid with an ice tinkle sound.

After a few minutes of anticipation about what she was going to pour all over my evening, avoiding it altogether here and

there, there finally arrives a moment where she starts and I think it’s best to get it over with.

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I have a cousin who’s here and I need to help her, I can’t ask him coz he’s gonna ask me questions I can’t answer.

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What sort of questions regarding cousins cant a person answer?

There would’ve been a quasi explanation if the cousin was a man, but she said help her

Maybe it is a guy and she wants that hidden from me.

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She needs a place to crash, just for a few weeks, till she gets a job you know, settled , place of her own, that way

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Fuck no.

I give her a bewildered look and you mean....

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No no no, ha ha , not here, just umm, you know a few weeks rent and stuff till she’s ok, like on her own

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How much?

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"I don’t know, there’s a place I put her, it’s a shared apartment and she had to take a room of her own coz, last week,

she had taken a shared room and it was quite not practical, you know, and so I got this room in an apartment for her, like

so, it’s ok now and, it’s about 150 a week for the room, so I was telling her that...........

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Her sound fades as I walk away and hear something like food... travel... books

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She was still speaking when I had already taken my wallet from my pants, some more cash from my room,

and placed 10 hundred dollar notes on the table next to the ashtray which she had browned on her side when she

left one burning till the filter after forgetting she had lit.

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Placing them one by one, I counted in my head, I knew she did too.

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"Thanks, that’s good for a month...

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"I know, I’ll give you more tomorrow when I.........

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Thank you so much, so so much, I really appreciated, I really don’t know what to say... I

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It’s ok escapes my lips which I had no desire to say. Not that the money is much, but it’s a bitter-sweet thing, giving

money to people, wouldn’t want it back. Just this moment forgotten.

Leak

They look fucked today, meetings in the meeting room.

He comes to me pushes a packed cookie near my coffee. I want to hit him in the head with the hotplate.

Tabloids connected a client to us, some Wall Street guy. And now he’s here screwing them

How the hell did that happen?

The cookie is good.

"I dunno man, you know the papers pay hell lots for info like this. Listen I wanted to talk about..... ahh..

That night..."

Forget it, don’t worry about it

It’s strange when relief and happiness hit together and the person looks like he’s having a low BP attack.

He smiles and looks at me like he wants to give me something in return, maybe his salary. Ha ha.

Don’t the meeting people know that it most probably was him in bed with the tabloids?

Sex with the receptionist, top button undone, he thinks no one notices it behind the tie knot. Him for sure.

I start to move away and notice a faint ring in my office.

Thanks a lot man, I owe y.....

I don’t even turn back to look.

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I keep guessing till I reach my office, sit on the chair and see that it’s the whore.

Are you busy?

A little bit, tell me anyway, all ok ?

Yeah, sort of ok, are you going out tonight, or do you have plans or.....

I don’t know, not sure yet

You gonna be late coming home......

What is it ? Just tell me.

Nothing serious, just wanted to see you today

But it’s just Monday, hmmm anyway, what time is it now...ahhhh, I’ll be home in about 90 minutes

Good, see you

Ok

This is not good; I think there’s something she’s not telling me.

She’s wearing a black miniskirt and her waxed legs do the work they were supposed to when I see her. Soften me.

She wants something. I love black miniskirts.

She’s hasn’t drunk yet, why, just talking, what the hell is she saying. I open and let her in.

It’s hard for me to hear, I just see her lips moving, I can just hear a loud thud every few seconds increasing in frequency

until it’s many a second, what the hell is going on.

Shouldn’t have eaten 2 cakes in the car, should’ve tried 1 first. Fuck should’ve asked him, I think I did.

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Why the fuck is she talking, I want to go in and lie down, here expressions change and there’s a concerned look.

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He said 1 was fine so I must’ve assumed 2 is like a little better higher , fuck but this is shit, am I going to vomit.

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Now she has a worried look, now a little smile, did I just see a bit of anger? 

If I think I will vomit, I might, I must think I won’t, then I won’t.

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Ok then should I tell her?

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What, but I couldn’t say it, why can’t say it, how hard is it to say what, fuck now the thuds are banging and turning

into vicious bell vibrations, of a 1,000 bells.

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Fuck, the cakes, I am nodding and she leaves.

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I open the door and the moment I reach the bathroom, I’m alright,