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I stagger into my apartment, catching myself hard against the wall, my right arm pressed to it. I’m vaguely aware of the cheap wallpaper scratching my skin. I’m a lot more aware of my eyes, which are burning inside my face. It’s ethereal, really. The misfiring pixels that fill my vision as I try not to flatline, the sensation of my heart being squeezed inside my chest, and the coughing up blood — big fan of that too. These episodes are a common occurrence at this point. Soon I’ll have my last one. Then I’ll die, in case that wasn’t clear.
I realise my eyes are wet now, and dripping down my cheeks. Melting, maybe? Or is it blood? I touch two fingers to my eye and the liquid is clear. Oh, right. It’s been a while since I cried. Now I’m staring at my arm again. And I’m gasping. Loud, thick gasps. And I’m staring at the dumb tattoo Johnny put on my skin when we were drunk, with the heart, and the arrow through it, and the ‘Johnny + V’ scrawled in the middle, and I’m feeling a twinge of embarrassment because I know he’s watching me right now and I don’t want to look weak. But I’m still coughing, and there’s more blood coming up. And maybe I want some company.
“Johnny…” I have to push my voice out. “…I- I need you to… I need…”
“We share a brain, V. You don’t actually gotta say it.”
His voice is dry, as per usual, and there isn’t any gentleness in his face as he appears next to me, with his vest-clad torso leaning in close. His lips are turned down though, at least. What a preem effort. I must mean a lot to him. In all fairness, maybe he’d give me a cuddle and a kiss if he could, but him being a digital relic inside my head is the only thing stopping him.
“Havin’ a rough one, huh?” He says. Then my knees buckle.
I instinctively reach out to grab him, but my hands go through his body, and then I’m on the floor of my apartment, convulsing. Through my half shut eyelids, I watch him crouch down over me.
“J- Johnny,” I mumble, “I’m… uhh…”
“Easy, V. You’re not flatlinin’ today.”
“You sure? Feels like…”
“Shh, stop talkin’.”
He wraps his hands around my wrists, holding onto me. I see him do it. Tell myself I can actually feel the warmth of him.
“Over in a minute.” He says. I can barely hear him over the fizzing in my ears. “Keep suckin’ in air. You know the drill. Surprised you’re cryin’ and whimperin’ about it, oh great merc.”
I open my mouth to swear at him. I only manage another groan. It makes him smile. Not really a smile — the closest he can do is a sneer.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. So dramatic.”
“Nn… Johnny… my chest…”
“I know, V. I’ve seen it. Very nice.”
“…Ugh…”
We stay like this for a while, me sprawled out on the floor and Johnny perched over me, his holographic hands holding my wrists. My eyelids droop a little more as the minutes tick by, and I just watch as my optics glitch up my vision in patterns. Johnny is silent for once in his life. I think he’s listening to my weird breathing. Then my vision starts to clear and I exhale.
“That one was bad.”
“Hey, I feel what you feel, remember? Means I can tell when you’re bein’ dramatic to get my attention.”
I’m about to snap back, but I notice he’s still smirking. He’s messing with me then. I roll my eyes and stifle the little smile that’s creeping up on me. To smile at something he said — that would be embarrassing.
“Why would I want your attention?” I ask flatly.
He scoffs in my face. “Think we both know why.”
“Oh, not this again.”
“Oh yeah, this again. V’s got a thing for me. Look at how V clings onto me for comfort.”
“Pretty sure you’re the one doing the clinging.”
“Pretty sure you burst into tears before I had to hold you like a baby.”
I glance at how he’s holding me. Pretending to hold me is what we really mean, obviously. “Wish that,” I say slowly, “you could actually touch me. Wish… I could feel it.”
“What?”
“I mean, it’d be more practical.”
“Oh, right. Yeah. Guess so.” He leans in a little closer, his head hanging over mine, tattered curtains of hair framing his amused face. “Funny,” he says. “You call my name when you’re scared. And I’m the one killin’ you. Makes you sound like an idiot when I say it like that.”
“Meh, least you’re not killin’ me on purpose.”
“Those are your standards?”
“In this city? Yeah.”
I close my eyes. When Johnny speaks again, his voice is in my ear. He must’ve leaned in even closer.
“I’m like a stray black cat, V. Everyone that cares about me gets screwed over.”
I open my eyes, and he’s gone again. Back into the depths of my gonk head.