For What?

A week passed since Carmilla came over to my place and “celebrated” my birthday. I still can’t believe she’s going to be my roommate — and for who knows how long.

Prior to this day, the furniture department moved her bed frame and everything else important in her room. It’s the third of April now. As she told me, she’ll be moving in today. She usually has night classes though so maybe she’ll come in later tonight.

I won’t wait for her though. I’ll get something to eat–

A text notification. It vibrated my phone in the right pocket of my shorts. It was from my friend, Jacque. The one that gifted me the dil… I’m not continuing.

[yo ravi come over rq]

[where]

[my apt]

[dude idk where u live]

[n**** yes you do]

[you never told me shit bro]

[yes i did]

[mf when]

[back in december]

[dude ofc i dont remember]

[yknow what fine, cant deal w yo bs. yknow where senalock nightingalevilla is?]
[thats a 30 minutes away]

[ey dont be a pussy about it you have a bike]

[i used to]

[the fuck happened to the bike]

[didnt have enough cash for bills so i sold it for 5k]

[this n**** bro]

[alright fine i’ll get a ride. whats your room number]

[407]

[bet bet, gotchu bro, see u in a bit]

[yeah yeah see u]

That’s usually how our texts go. Dunno how I deal with it, but I don’t really give the biggest shit about it.

I headed out of my dorm and walked to the public transport station. It took about 9-10 minutes give or take since I use it to go to school almost every day. It didn’t take long until I arrived. It was fairly crowded, considering the fact that it was still a weekday. Newly-dismissed students, office workers, and other people with other jobs I don’t give too much of a damn about.

I was trying to find a taxi since that’s all I could afford however most of them were already booked and the only ones that weren’t were the really expensive ones. I would rather pay first than wait until my ride is over only to expect I have to pay 50 bucks for one ride that only took 5 minutes.

Just when I was about to lose hope, I figured there were other public transports. I was so used to taxis that I didn’t resort to anything else. I went to the motorcycle section and… voila, barely anyone. AND, cheaper — by like 70 cents, but I’m on a budget. 70 cents means a lot to me. I approached a man on this sporty-looking motorcycle and asked him how much a trip to Senalock would cost.

“Kid, you’re not joking around, are ya?”

“I’m not. I’m gonna need a ride to Senalock.”

“You must be insane in the head. Senalock’s one of the most dangerous areas here in the North.”

“I know that. It’s like the hood here. I just need a ride.”

“Are you out of your damn mind? I am not giving you a ride to the side of this province where bullets are flying nonstop and everyone’s equipped with a pocket knife!”

“Yeah. I know what I said. Just give me a ride.”

He wasn’t too happy about that. I guess it’s reasonable. I don’t give a shit though.

I and everyone else live in a state called Cardina. It consists of four provinces: the North, Westview, Easthelm, and Southbound.

The North, or simply North, is the most populated province, albeit not that urban. Both Jacque and I live here, except that I’m in an urban city named Hwinova and he lives in Senalock.

Westview’s more of the aesthetic province; flowers, gardens, places where you can take candid pics and shine bright like a diamond (or whatever Rihanna said), and all the beautiful other things you could think of. A friend of mine studies there.

If Westview is aesthetic, then Easthelm tops it. Think of every good cafe you’ve been in but better. Everything is clean and modern in Easthelm, but it doesn’t take up everything urban-esque. Instead, it takes on the approach of as if nature guides it still. Unlike Westview, people there are rich as fuck. Carmilla used to live somewhere around the richer areas there alongside her family, but commuting from there to the North took a toll on her budget, so she moved here.

Southbound is… questionable. Think of it as New York, but more on the industrial side. Lots of tourists and I wouldn’t bet my balls I’d go there. I’d consider Vandercity one of the cities with most of the highest-paying jobs, so I guess that’s a plus? Eh, who knows.

“Alright, fine. I’ll give you a trip to Senalock, but only if you pay how much you usually pay for a taxi.” The man on the motorcycle gestured his hand afterwards, demanding cash from me.

“That’s gotta be a joke, sir.”

“Alright then, walk straightforwardly into a crip group.”

“Never mind, I’ll take it. I don’t wanna die yet.”

I took the offer, albeit it pissed me off, and we started riding off into the hot afternoon.

20 minutes have passed and we’re almost near. In those 20 minutes, I watched the slow transition from being in a city filled with life to being in a city filled with violence. I swear positivity is an anathema to most of these guys. Handguns and knives all out; no mercy whatsoever. At least no one died in front of my eyes yet — or I think no one did… I’m not sure.

A couple more minutes passed and the rider decided to stop for a little restroom break. Before he could even get off, he was stopped by someone scrawny.

“Hey man, I ain’t letting you piss unless you give me a couple dollars.”

“Hell nah, pissing is free for y’all, what about us?”

“You ain’t from here, ain’t ya? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“You making me pay isn’t fair either.”

I pan to the side, interlocking the sight of a dagger. I slowly prepared to counterattack if he swung it towards the rider. I got off the bike and watched. Precisely.

“So, what we thinkin’? No pay?” There. He shifted the hand in his pocket to grab the dagger.

“I suggest you two stop with your bullshit.” The guy turns to me. I’m wary of his actions. “Watch it, sucker. I don’t want you puncturing yourself with your own knife.”

Immediately, he unsheathes his dagger and makes his move. With the right timing, I face the dagger away from me and the rider kicks his stomach. He backs up, but I follow with a quick 1-2. The rider put him in a headlock and I beat him up until his nose started to bleed.

In the corner of my eye, I go into my fighting stance as 2 other men approach us, rushing into the brawl with their own weapons.

“Ah, fuck.” I curse out from the top of my lungs. The rider, helmet still on, giggling from my obvious annoyance.

“Told you we shouldn’t have gone here.”

“Hey, I paid you more than I should’ve. I’m not un-risking shit.”

“Good point.”

The first of the two straight into my chest, nearly piercing me. I barely move away from the hit, so I get slightly wounded. Blood spews out my skin and I elbow his nose. To my right is the second guy getting beaten into a pulp by the rider.

I chance myself and grab the knife from the man earlier that got kicked in the stomach. I block the next attack from the guy and gash his wrist. He lets go of his knife and tries to punch with his right fist, but I grapple his arm and carve a long line on it until his shoulder. I push him out my way and he drops unconscious on the pavement.

I rushed to help the rider afterwards, shanking the second guy on the calf. The rider stomps on his face afterwards; 8 more times, I’m certain. On the 8th stomp, the guy is left into a bloody mess and unconscious as well like the other two.

I stare at the driver nonchalantly, smiling from what just happened and give him a fist bump. I throw the dagger away and we both hop on the motorcycle once more.

Not once did the rider urinate. The stop was not worth beating the life out of 3 men.

Surely enough, in about 7 minutes, I ask the rider to drop me off since I’ve arrived. He does so and he compliments how I fight. He zooms out of my peripheral, noting his departure.

Here it is. Jacque’s uncanny-ass house. To be fair, it’s better than how houses usually look in Senalock. Gray-ish paint job, 3 stories, and a few cobwebs. Not bad. I press the electronic doorbell, signaling him I’m here.

“Ey, my n****!” Coming out the front door, Jacque greets me like he always does. Why the hell is he carrying a bottle of gin?

“Yo, what’s cooking my man?”

“Nothing new dawg, come inside.” I step foot on the bed of stone behind his gate. “Not too shabby, right?”

“I like it,” I state, though there is a slight disgust on my face due to the piles of garbage bags next to the entrance of the building, “though you should probably throw those away properly.”

“Garbagemen come rarely here in Nightingale Villa.”

“How come?” I question while entering his home. It’s luxurious. I’d call this a ‘cover and book difference’ moment.

“Senalock’s a lot more dangerous than you think. Most murders committed from the history of Senalock were mainly garbagemen and office workers.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.”

We sit down and chat about ourselves for a bit, catching up since we don’t go to the same class anymore. Like Carmilla, Jacque’s an Accountancy major, so I didn’t have a ton of opportunities to talk to him.

“So what am I here for again?” I completely forgot why I went here.

“I’m giving you a gift. From me to you.”

“Oh shit, that was uncalled for.” He reaches out to a rectangular box and hands it over to me.

“I’ve been meaning to give something like that to you for a while now.”

I opened the box. Inside is a phone case, but under it is a white Samsung S25. Reaction? Shocked as hell. I pulled him in for a hug and thanked him. All I had before this was a second-hand iPhone 13, so for me this is a huge upgrade.

“Dude, you didn’t have to.”

“Nah, you deserve it bro. Now we’re matching phones! I got the black one though.”

“I wonder why.”

“You’re pretty racist, huh?” Oops.

I don’t get a lot of attention from anyone else other than my friends. Jacque’s been my friend since the 1st year of college before I switched. Even before I met Mil. He’s a really good person.

“Hey, you motherfucker. You made me go to your place, in which I had to beat the shit out of 3 dudes, just to give me a phone?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way— YOU BEAT SOMEONE UP?” Ah, yikes.
“...Yuh.”

“Eh, no big deal.”

We chatted for a few more hours until I received a text from Mil telling me she’s done prepping all her other stuff, reassuring me that she’s finally moving in today. I told Jacque the news and what’s been happening.

“You got some game, son.”

“What??? Nah, dude we’re just friends.”

“For now.”

“For now? I bet she doesn’t even like me”

“Hmmm… that’s a nice little hypothesis.”

“Eh, whatever. I’m heading out.” I thanked him once again and exited his house. I asked if I could borrow his bicycle for the ride home and luckily, he allowed me.

The ride home felt… discomforting. I knew this place was pretty much a hellhole, but to think I had to injure 3 dudes purely to get to my destination is questionable. Thankfully, I got back to Hwinova safely.

I stopped by a small diner on the way back. I was greeted by the waitress and took me over to an available seat. When I sat down, I contemplated what I just did back then. The sensation of holding a blade and seeing blood drip in front of me was something I didn’t foresee.

Flashbacks of when I was still in late junior high show inside my mind. A young version of me, trying to keep myself sane by earning blood money — trying to keep my family sane by being a young breadwinner. It plagues me once again, a sickness I have no cure for.

I am reminded once again of who I used to be. Nothing to be notable of. I killed for money. I watched people die for money. Fuck, I even killed myself metaphorically for money. Had my father not screwed our family over him and his stupid gambling, drinking, and abuse addiction, I wouldn’t have resulted in consulting an explicit fight club. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it—

“Sir, here’s your cold taro pudding. Enjoy.”

I completely forgot I had ordered something. I thanked the waitress and patiently ate my food. There are a few exceptions to my hatred of sweets: taro-flavored desserts and whatever my older sister used to bake me, whether it be cookies or such.

I ate silently, continuing to drown myself in my despair. Every bite of the pudding, a new memory flashes. One showed me the time I got whipped until I flailed in exhaustion. The next showed me the time I had to carve the club’s insignia on an innocent man’s torso. The other showed me… no. Never mind. I don’t want to remember that one. Out of all the memories, I’m shown that one?

A deep sigh comes out of my mouth. All that’s left is an empty bowl, a licked-clean spoon, and the payment beside it. I leave the diner and get back on my bike.

As I make my way heading to my dormitory, I spot a familiar face in a convenience store from the lane across. I park my bike somewhere nearby and walk inside.

The moment I stepped right in, she turned to me with a pack of cigarettes in her hand.

“Didn’t think you’d still be smoking, Elena.”

“Does that exclude you as well, Raven?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Then we’re equal.”

Elena. Another one of my previous classmates from Accountancy. I always see her smoking somehow.

“What brings you here?”

“Saw you while biking. I might as well buy my own set of cigs.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll buy an extra.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You’re as good as shit, Raven. I know your financial situation more than anyone else.”

“Fine. You had me at ‘good as shit.’” I exit the store and wait for her outside.

The sun was about to set. I love the mix of orange and pink in the sky whenever I see a sunset.

Elena exited the store and tapped my shoulder, reaching out a cigarette.

“Take it. You’re probably pent up.” I take the cigarette and she takes one out from the box for herself. She ignites both of the cigs and we puff. Together, at the same time, we watched the sun slowly fade into the night.

“We don’t usually hang out with each other anymore.”

“It’s because you’re busy with your marketing bullshit.”

“This definitely helps.”

“Happy birthday to you then.”

“This is my first joint after quitting 3 years ago.”

“Congratulations. Cheers.” We bumped our joints to each other and smoked until mine ran out.

It was almost 6pm and I had to get home soon. The thought of Carmilla being my roommate slipped out of my mind. I gave Elena a hug and greeted her goodbye whilst hopping on my bike.

6:02pm, I reached my dormitory. I parked my bike in the bike parking lot and locked it. I entered the building, rushing to the elevator. I barely had enough time to squeeze myself in it.

Upwards I went until I landed on my dorm room’s floor. Outside was Carmilla waiting, sitting on the hallway’s carpet.

“You look dirty.”

“You look tired.”

“Open the door, I’ve been waiting since 4.” Damn, dedication.

I pull my keys out and unlock the door.