He paced back and forth across the tangled stained carpet, twiddling his fingers. He had yet to buckle his dress pants up, or even tuck in his shirt. Too busy deciding what to do.









I could feel the wetness on the back of my head. All spread across the previously white now red pillow. He wanted to say something to me. I could tell by the way he keep pausing, his body suddenly freezing in mid-pace to look at me, open his dry mouth, and then shut it again and continue pacing. He wanted them to come back, to fix this. But by my count there was still twenty minutes left. This same thought seemed to keep entering his mind.








“I’ll-I’ll pay ‘ya double if I can leave right now.” He had suddenly found his voice. After all that he finally got up enough courage to say something. I waved my hand gesturing at the door.








“Do you see me trying to stop you?” He nodded and shakily dug into his pockets pulling out crumpled hundred dollar bills. Cautiously he approached the bedside table, eyes flickering from me to the table, to the door, and back again.



With one nervous arm outstretched, he placed the money on the table and quickly turned to leave. I reached out and grabbed it, stuffing it into my pants pocket as I watched him pause and turn to me. Buckling his pants, and tucking in his shirt, he apologetically, smiled at my cracked face.











“I’m sorry about your head. Hopefully your friends will help you” I mustered a smile.





“They will.” We exchanged a similar expression as he opened the door to the room and left. He would get in his car and drive. And as he drove he would begin to forget. He would force himself to forget. About the motel room with the stained carpet, about the now blood spattered wallpaper, about everything that took place in the past couple of hours. He would especially remember to forget about me. An hour later, he would walk in the front door and hug two happy children and a naïve wife. He would rant for a couple minutes about the supposed business meeting he attended. Making sure that she believed him, because if she truly believed him, he would begin to believe himself.











Dozing. Dozing off, nose crushed into a blood stained pillow. Dreaming of a happy couple happily being happy. Together in New York square, with a million others laughing and all enjoying each other and themselves.





Someone snapped their fingers in front of my face. My eyes shot open, head lifting up off the pillow.



“Christ, look at your head, man.” Ping leaned, in his long fingers poking at my blood matted hair. He narrowed his skeleton like eyes, as pieces of my skin and hair stuck to his fingers.









“Yeah I know. Its hurts.”












“Shocker.” Lang stood across the room, pudgy arms crossed tightly against her flabby chest. Ping and Lang were the Korean twins who somehow looked as unlike as possible. Ping stood six foot four, with long arms hanging past his waist, and tooth pick legs barely holding his twitchy form up right. Lang stood two feet below him, with large fat rolls stretching at her shirt, and multiply double chins to compliment the already stoutly figure. They claimed that a pass fortune that was there’s ended up being spent on weeks’ worth of drugs, alcohol, and parties. One day they woke up with a massive hang over, and found they had not even enough money for an eight ball or a bottle of vodka or a cigarette or a house payment. And so as if they were always meant to do so, the unlucky twins took to the streets and found my sporadic company to be the best kind.






Ping, drowning in an over-sized t-shirt and jeans that were held on his waist with a chunk of rope, leaned down again to poke at my head wound. I smacked at his hand.











“Would you quite it! My head is bleeding blood, not cocaine.” He snorted a laugh as I shakily pulled myself up to a sitting position.














“You know what would be helpful right now?” I mumbled, glancing across the room at Lang’s hefty form.



“A ride to a hospital.” Ping leaned in close, like he was examining a bug of sorts
and huffed stinky hot breath into my face.

“Yeah, we’ll give ‘ya a ride. But first, how was your little date with Mr. Suite?”
He catapulted backwards, cackling in an eerie manner. Lang narrowed her cheek rolls at him.










“It was going fine, till he smacked me in the head.” I said rolling my eyes at him. Ping immediately stopped laughing and leaned close again.












“You got the money though right, man?” a rush of thoughts entered my head. I could feel the crumpled dollar bills in my pocket. I glanced at Lang, who suddenly seemed interested in the happenings of the conversation. It took a second for me to decide what to say.














“No…no the ass knocked me out and then left.” Ping made a noise like a sick goat, a moaning sort of gasp this time plunking down on the floor in disappointment. He looked up at me with huge glassy eyes.







“Well, I don’t know if we can take you then. I don’t think we have enough gas.” A slow panic began to settle in my stomach. Lang scoffed, and stormed half wadded over to the side of the bed.








“Would you stop it Ping! Can’t you see he’s been through enough?” She gestured to me with a fatty arm, and then leaned in to help me up off the bed.













“We’re taking him to a hospital,” she snarled at Ping who was still on the floor, “so do me a favor and grab his shirt.” Ping made more inaudible noises as she walked me out the door and to their white rabbit that sat out front the motel.
The seats were cold. Now, even with my shirt on, the back seat felt like an icicle against my skin. Ping drove, with Lang in the passenger seat.













“He’s staining the leather with his……bodily fluid.”
Ping whispered to Lang, glancing at me through the review mirror.

“That isn’t even leather, besides if he stains the back seat it will be a more interesting story to tell,” she turned and smiled at me, “like that scene from Reservoir Dogs. Did you ever see that?” She asked, studying my face. I numbly shook my head. She bounced a little in excitement, her chubby cheeks slapping against her face, as she began to explain the plot of the 90’s film to me. Her starchy voice began to fade in and out as more and more fluid flowed from my skull. Lang’s rhythmic voice seemed to be lulling me into an empty state of delusion.











Suddenly the lullaby was cut short, and the loud humming of the motor returned. My eyes shot open. Lang was staring frozenly at my pocket, a cold look burning in her almond shaped eyes. I followed her gaze, and felt my own heart smack against my chest. The four hundreds that the man gave me in the motel were plainly sticking out of my pocket for everyone, including Lang, to see. She pointed one sausage finger at me in disgust.










“Stop the car.” Ping glanced at her, and slowly stepped on the brake, which neatly took us to a gliding stop along the side of the desert road.














They sat there unmoving, not looking at me or each other just staring out the front wind shield at the empty road ahead. Lang got out of the car harshly slamming the door and stood there outside, again unmoving. I could feel the rise and fall of my chest quicken in panic. Ping glanced at me then got out, shutting the door softly, and walking to the other side to join Lang. Their voices were muffled by the windows, but by their body movement I could tell what she was saying. Ping became tenser, and angrier.

He whipped around, and violently tore open the back seat of the car. Hot desert wind blew me back a little, their shadows covering up the warm sand that twirled through the wind behind them. Ping shot forward, into the backseat grabbing the edge of my shirt and dragging me out onto the lonely road that stretched out endlessly in both directions. I smacked at his hands trying to get him let go as my already broken body slammed against the sand. As I dropped against the ground, he let go of my shirt and stood back up, suddenly looking much taller then he actually was.










“You lied to us!” He snarled leaning down toward me with frightening violence in his eyes. I wasn’t sure how to respond. My vision was becoming blurry, and more and more blood was coming from the back of my head. Ping leaned closer, and grabbed at my pants pocket trying to get the cash out.










“No! I need it more than you do!” I tried to claw at his hands, but he slapped me hard across the face, smashing my nose into the dirt. As daze over took me, he dug his hand into my pocket retrieving the money, he stood up, glancing at his sister whose chubby arms were crossed as she watched me struggle around on the ground like a dead fish.






“We’re going to spare you, because of a pass friendship, but unfortunately you need to be taught a lesson in sharing.” Ping said mockingly while he shoved the money into his jean pocket. He nodded to Lang and they got into the car, stepping over me without hesitation like I was nothing a pile trash left out in the middle of nowhere to deteriorate. I attempted to grab at the tire of the car trying to get them to stop, but the back kick sent my arm flinging out away from the tire. Hot breath huffed out as I opened my mouth to scream, or yell or say something….say anything. But nothing came out and so they drove away leaving me on the side of the dusty road. Alone.












The car drove along leaving a trail of dirt and me behind it. I lay there watching the little white rabbit get smaller and smaller and further and further away.












I hope your friends will help you Mr. Suite had said. Help me. They didn’t help me. Instead they left me in the desert to waste away like the sand and the rocks and the plants. To waste away alone. I had been alone that entire time. And now I was really by myself, staring up the empty pastel blue sky, with sand underneath my hands and no one around the dry landscape but me.