I--Bored into the Head

Honestly, I don’t know how I do it. On paper, it ain’t great. I live everyone else’s lives, I set breadcrumbs to guide them to whatever they need, eventually I gotta coax them into paying that holy toll if they want this “peace”, and if both sides work it out maybe—maybe—they’ll join the legion of heaven. And then I’m pulled out of nowhere whenever a new client comes.

But I don’t hate it. I don’t love it, either. I guess I like the parts where I can actually help these people, but I can’t get too attached. I don’t know. I just exist for this—and not in that “angel” way.

I don’t know how I ended up with the Noise. They wanted to hijack the Tower since it was a demon hot-spot, but I don’t know if anyone else were assigned clients there. Was I supposed to be some kind of demo for them, a test run? Like, if I, Boby, could fix a client from there, then it’s good money, or something. Apparently I’m the best out of the company, but it isn’t impressive, honestly. I just do the work and try not to put my heart into it.

I will say, he sure made it harder to do that work.

I never failed to get a client before, but whenever you do, it gets added to your record. That is, if I recall correctly that being the case.

If I recall correctly for a memory that isn’t even mine!

I suppose that makes me kinda similar to this client of mine, being given prompts I didn’t necessarily think of. Thoughts like that make me dizzy; I gotta focus on the task at hand.

Let’s see here… only got four hours of rest, but spent a portion of that rest in REM sleep. Makes sense. He spent most of that time soothing through his sobbing—god, his heart rate spiked horribly a couple times, too. He’s been a smoker for what, 10 years? It was fairly mild for the most part, but lately he’s been smoking like crazy. I wonder when his girlfriend is gonna bar him from buying cigarettes. I can’t say things like that; I’m the only one who can stop it at the end of the day. Okay, it’s a bit of a group effort, but I’m the only one who can actually get this over with. No one else is built for that.

The ions in his nerves monotonically swell like morse code, swimming all the way through his brain to a couple measly fingers. I hate when he does that—feels like an itch I can’t scratch. All because he wants to look at junk on the internet. I’ll give the guy a break; he’s depressed. But this won’t really help with anything. He does this all the time. I should do something about it.

Better get into my “work form”. I certainly hate this “uniform” thing. Not even a uniform, I just have to make myself more “marketable”, whatever that means. Okay okay, I get this whole thing of being subtle with guardian-work and utilizing the client’s comforts… but why do I gotta look like them? What is it about my appearance that is so unsaintly that I have to mimic the form of the person who isn’t a saint, an angel?

I’d hate to be a buzzkill, but you very much know why.

It’s not like I or you could do anything about it. You should probably go shoo off; you aren’t very fond of this guy, right?

Fair…

Another day, another pitch.

I hop out of his neck, slithering like smoke around his stuffy head. I dodge the smoke steaming out of his current cigarette. I lounge on the top of his computer monitor, one of the few things he actually bothers to clean. Play it silly, like usual. The silly always gets to him.

“What’cha doing?” I prod him.

“Wallowing in my own damn filth,” the Noise replies.

I lean over to glance at his screen. He’s scrolling through someone’s art account. Lots of giantess fox women. Hm, it’s usually the inflated rabbit ladies. And I shall glance at it no longer.

“I thought you liked this kind of stuff. What an odd punishment—at least, from my point of view!”

He stops scrolling.

“Look, I’m not happy with my actions. You read me like a damn book and you know it. Noisette wants her space, and I’m giving it. It’s no surprise that I’m not happy about that either. Spending all my time at the hang-out spot that fucked me up is a pretty solid form of exile, in my opinion.” He then takes a drag from his cigarette.

“And you’re suckling on your cigarette like it makes you the coolest cat of the ShadowClan!” I bark back, stretching my tiny arm all the way to his hand to tap on his nicotine stick.

He pulls his cigarette back and smugly replies, “cigarettes hurt people, you know.”

“And what does pain teach you?”

Bad pitch, bad pitch.

“You know damn well—” I place a finger on his lips.

“Lemme rephrase myself. What do you know about pain?”

He sighs slowly, with vigor, then sucks his cigarette dry. I can feel his lungs crackle with the take.

Then he exhales the fumes straight into my face. I feel his blood vessels constrict, like I’m just a soul outside of a body. Like somebody’s strangling my corpse. I feel the hoarseness of his throat, but I can’t feel the pleasure of the nicotine.

“Let me hurt myself,” he commands deeply.

It’s gonna be a long day. Again.

I shift myself into a more coy looking creature, a creature that appeals to that secret furry fantasy of his. “Sure, but the world will still be hurting if you continue such a thing. Some of the wounds it suffers from came from you, y’know,” I counter.

He rolls his eyes. He has found a post he thinks Noisette will like and picks through his Discord to find her contact.

I continue, “What is done has been done, you know that very well. And your life will not end with you fixing everything, that too you also know.” I hop back onto the top of his screen and point towards Noisette’s profile, “but there are definitely things you can improve, and there’s no use in lying.”

I will leave him with those words for now. I disappear in front of his eyes and teleport back to my working quarters. I usually locate mine in the frontal lobe. As per usual, I’ll keep an eye on him.

He’s about to paste the link to the post he wanted to send, but he hesitates. This is straight up porn, he thinks,she’s sick of that shit right now. I guess it can wait. He instead shoots her another message.

-How’s work going for you, bunny?- He asks.

I believe it’s around that time she’s on break, so as far as I know, he isn’t being intrusive. And I’m right; she’s started typing.

-I’m having a pretty slow day ngl- she replies.

-You on your break rn?-

-Yeah.- She then sends another message, -I guess I got enough time to chat...-

Fuck man, I can’t talk about the obvious. I mean, what else is there to talk about? It’s hard to live with it though; she usually knows what to tell me, or at least how to console me.

-This is probably not the best time to mention this but when are we gonna stop being distant and all? You’ve been cold to me for like a week now. Can we work on this now?- He’s anxious about the tone of his message and tries to be more lighthearted, -I know you’re a working girl… you’re good at these kinds of things lol-

Shit, I gave him the wrong message, didn’t I?

She sends a reply rather quickly, like she’s trying to put her foot in the door. -I’m not trying to avoid it!- Here comes another, -I promise.- And one more, -I still need some more distance, okay?-

-It hurts that we don’t talk like we used to and I know it hurts you too…- He adds, -it’s hard not being close like we used to, I’m so sorry but I can’t just sit around with nothing accomplished about this relationship.-

-When people give each other space they don’t hate each other or anything… sometimes people need alone time, y’know?-

-But people can only go alone for so long… you know I can’t take that loneliness.-

-Theo, I don’t have time for this…-

She always pulls at my heartstrings when she uses my name like that. His chest gets all tense, and his chin wrinkles as a result of his frown.

-Sorry, it’s all my fault.- He sends one more message, puffy-eyed, -let’s talk about this when you get home, okay?-

She sends her last message, -Okay, Noisey. I’ll help you through this, no matter what. I love you <3-

He’s not having it. Not having it with himself and not really having it with Noisette. He shuts off his computer and scowls, staring at nothing as he swivels in his chair. Good lord he is tensing up his face, crushing it so hard it’s quivering under the pressure. I’m struggling to get a read on him; his thoughts are passing by way too fast.

Struggling to withhold the emotional weight, thoughts start to slip out. “God, she’s alive…” That one came out like a dripping faucet. It intensifies, “she’s alive, fuck—of course she is…” Crescendoing whimpers lead to his ineluctable burst, “BUT WHY CAN’T SHE BE MINE?!”

Get in there. Do your job.

I appear in front of his face with a gentle expression. “If she wasn’t alive, her love would mean nothing. You want her to be alive.”

“I lost everything, you know. No wealth, no fans, no charisma, nothin’. I only have her.” His eyes become puffy and tears emit. “She’s stays with me. She knows what I need most, makes me feel loved. Even when I fuck up… she has hope in me…”

She only stays because it’s her job. If not, she would’ve left a long time ago. Or… she would stay with you forever.

But what to say, what to say…

“There’s a large golden statue in the room and I can’t be the only one who sees it.”

He tries to get a little smug despite his misery. “Gee, I fucking wish. I’m not made of the kind of money I had before.” Oh, he knows what I’m talking about for sure.

I straighten my posture and rise above him slightly, looking him straight in the eye. I slowly reach towards him, not breaking my eye contact—but he sure does. Once he looks back, I smile.

“I don’t know,” I sing, grabbing onto a piece of that rag he’s still wearing. “Your mask of your sure still shines like gold!”

His eyes are glazed with horror. He knows my flattery is a facade. He knows the patterns all too well; he’s a quick learner, honestly. But when will he do it?

If he didn’t blink, you would’ve thought he just died. I pause as he stays frozen, his breath lightly quivering and his muscles begging for mercy once again.

“If you see any gold, you know what to do!” And then I promptly disappear.

God, I need a break. Well, I mean… I’m made for this; I can do this job for the rest of my immortal life! But in regards to a good job, I need a break. He’s particularly demanding— okay, there were demanding clients in the past—but at least they were willing to take the advice! At least it was a little nice to tend to them, mean something in their lives, make them less lonely. He’s got a sharp stubbornness fueling his heart. It sickens me a little If he gets sickening enough to me, perhaps the chance of him becoming just another miserable worker of heaven will motivate me to do the job. When you can’t work with a heart, work out of spite.

Oh, don’t tire yourself out. We still have time to refer him to another guardian. Above all else, we all function for self-preservation. You’re the blue collar, I am the white collar, and the other two… they don’t wear the collar.

Would that not impact our resume? It’s spotless, and I think everyone’s itching for us to get even a bit of sticker residue on it. Technicalities only go so far, Sr. Secretary.

You’re one to talk about technicality! I’m just trying to go by your logic, that’s all.

I thought you would care more about a good record, considering you’ve wallowed for a bit what our fellow angels do to us. You and your fickle logic… there’s a reason I’m the one who actually works with the clients.

‘Tis the life of a barterer I live. I suppose I’ll take my leave.

I guess I will take my break now.

The Noise hasn’t left his spot very much. Outside of a couple bathroom breaks, he has remained in his chair, wasting away. There is nothing else to comment on regarding that.

His make a slow glance at his window; the sky is warm and simmering down. His boredom and tiredness make his body sluggish. This poor shell of his is now trying to overpower his will, initiate the peace he will not bring for it. He has his chair lowered and he stares at the ceiling, unhappy with everything. I don’t know why I wish for him to just shut his eyes already, not in that resting type of way. I haven’t checked on him very much and there isn’t anything else productive to do. I can take another session, if needed.

Slowly his eyes shutter. Slower, and slower. Finally, his eyes shut.

“I’m home!” Noisette hollers, her entrance muffled.

The Noise awakes and makes a sluggish effort to get out of his chair and enter the living room. He grumbles both out drowsiness and dread once he reaches the door.

He rubs his neck as he shuffles into the living room as Noisette has just hung up her coat. She doesn’t see him at first, her eyes lowered and lazy as she takes a moment to sit down at the couch, probably to have a moment of rest. She turns her head to see the Noise behind her, but there was no change in her expression. No, no—those lazy eyes were some kind of dread, a defeated kind.

She can’t look at me at that, the thought flashes in his head. Where has it gone? That light in her eyes? Okay, she ain’t no toy; she doesn’t like that—but where is it? That was her, that light, it was her! You killed it, you ‘tard. You killed her. You scammed hundreds of people, got your workers complaining, and you don’t even got the money to fix it. How about you listen to that psychosis-induced hallucination of yours and do something about it?

Is he gonna do it this time?

He sets a hand on the top of the couch some inches away from Noisette’s head. She’s looking at the blank TV, her solemn eyes vaguely visible in the reflection. He scowls and tries to look somewhere else, as if he was trying to avoid his own reflection.

“We gotta do something about this,” he asserts dryly.

“I’m not ready yet,” she replies quietly.

He gets a little more gentle. “Look love, I can’t do this by myself. I don’t got anyone else, and you’re… good at these sorts of things.”

She hunches over, shoulders clamping her neck.

“I told you what was bothering me in this relationship, and you apologized. I think if you just avoid doing those things and let me have my space… like, I’m okay with that. For now, at least.”

Like I can do anything about it!

He sighs, almost groans. “I’ll be honest, you’re guilty of some of the things that you criticized me for. You hate my ‘dark jokes’, but you kept laughing at them—adding on it, even! You’re a great lady Noisette, but if we’re gonna work through this, we gotta work through this together.”

“Well, I… to be honest I never really liked them in the first place.”

“But you didn’t shame me for it…”

“Look, I-I just… uhm,” she stammers, cringing in fear. She tries to snap out of her fear. “It’s… a tough topic. It’s hard to get courage to do stuff like that, sometimes.”

Oh, he hated that. His body starts pulsating with panic, but he’s still trying to play it straight. Somewhat.

“Am I really that intimidating?”

This disarms her. She slowly straightens her posture and turns to him. Her mouth is slightly agape. Her lips purse as she considers what to say. “Y-yes… sometimes,” she answers, getting meek at the end.

The Noise throws his head up, a delayed flinch to her response. He steps to the couch arm closest to her and grabs onto it.

“I’m really that sickening, huh? That evil?”

“I—”

“For Christ’s sake, you're the one who pegs me! P-puts me in my damn place! You have to do this!”

She’s speechless, her arms raised in uncertainty. He suddenly grabs one of her wrists, and all the tension in his body releases, resulting in her wrist being squeezed senselessly. Air bloats his chest and he heaves heavily with a slight wheeze, releasing Noisette’s wrist and going limp over the edge of the couch.

“I’m so terrible! And none of it’s gonna come back—because of me! It’s all my fault, IT’S ALL MY FAULT!” He slams his fist against the couch in a fit of hysteria, his breath stuttering and choking on itself. Noisette quickly readjusts to face him, hesitant to step in.

“I know it’s hard,” she assures him. “And it won’t be perfect even though it should be and you can’t fix everything. B-but I think you can still do—”

He thrusts himself upwards, curling his fingers and staring at her dead in the eyes. “YOU’RE THE ONLY PERSON I HAVE! I HAVE NOTHING! YOU’RE MY ONLY HOPE!” He screams out of desperation, out of senselessness.

She’s mortified, but she inches closer to him and leans slightly.

The two of them stare at one another with wide eyes of fear. The Noise quivers with agony, panting from his exertion. They do nothing. The Noise’s panic transitions into grief and loneliness, and, in his mind, he likens himself to a scared, lost child. He slowly reaches out for Noisette’s hand and softly grabs it. She’s too shocked to do anything. He directs her hand to his chest and places it on there. They make eye contact again.

“You love me too much. You can only do that because you’re alive,” he concludes, his voice struggling not to be muffled by his breath.

He smiles. Tries to smile tenderly. Why is he smiling?

“C’mon, I know you like it,” he coos.

She’s lifeless, and she’s gone almost cold the moment he grabbed her hand. It’s uncanny really, the way her face slumps down. It’s almost like she’s human. Yet she only existed since the day the deal was made. How lucky I am to be manifested a little more meaninglessly.

Her eyes are so low you would think they were closed. She releases her hand from his grasp quite easily and starts taking off her overalls. He’s not happy with his choice, but he still aches for that security. As if it’s really helping anything.

He starts to take off his pants.

We’re doing it again, it seems.

Everyone else would’ve quit this job by now. But not me. It’s a necessity, honestly. I’m the only one who can do it.