“I won’t be able to guarantee the work, not in a shi—“ he clears his throat “—subpar base like this.” His mouth twitches like he doesn’t even want to think about having to work with suchinferiormaterial.
“I don’t need a guarantee?—“
He sighs, setting the necklace down on the glass counter with much more respect than he probably thinks it deserves. “Son, listen. I put a real stone in here, it’s just going to fall out. I swap out the chain, the clasp could still break.” He shakes his head. “You’re trying to fix something that’ll just keep breaking. If it really means something to you, then let me make you something better. Something that she can wear for years to come.”
I stare down at the pendant. Behind it, a sparkling array of charm bracelets practically blind me under the display light. “How long?”
“Custom piece like this?” The shop owner hums under his breath. “Three weeks, maybe four.”
I frown across at him. “That’s way too long. I’ll pay for a faster turnaround.”
He chuckles. “Son, you can pay me as much as you want, that’s not going to make it happen any faster.” He puts his palm over the necklace and slides it across the glass to me. “Sorry I couldn’t help.”
We have a brief staring match, but my bloodshot eyes are burning so much I have to blink before he does. Not sure if that costs me the negotiation, but either way, I’m too hungover to argue anymore.
“Fine,” I mutter, digging in my pocket for my wallet. “Just…could you at leasttryfor sooner?”
“I’ll do my level best,” he says, though the slightly bemused look on his face tells me I’m wasting my breath.
I leave the jeweler feeling empty and frustrated and hungry as shit.
From what I saw in the display cases as he went to get the paperwork for me to fill out, he’s really good at what he does. But it’s going to kill me to wait three fucking?—
The smell of fries hits me, and I turn like a bloodhound to stare at the takeout place across the road.
Fuck,yes.
If I can’t bring back Haven’s necklace, least I can do is round up some food for us. At least the burger place doesn’t care what I look or smell like, and is cool enough to charge my phone while I wait.
Rooke’s first message arrives as the guy behind the counter hands me the three bags of takeout. I probably went a bit overboard, but I’m fucking starved, and I know I won’t be able to resist digging in until I get back to the Airbnb.
@inherentvice
He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.
I sit in the backseat of the same car that drove me into town, the smell of takeout competing with stale booze and sweat, and that same empty feeling creeps into me.
It’s fucking surreal.
And so nauseating, I almost ask the driver to stop so I can toss out the food.
I should send a witty reply. Put this fucktard in his place. But there’s a hollow where my brain should be, and a feeling of dread where the anger usually goes.
Whether I’m trying to make sense of it—ofhim—or just being a masochistic wuss, I don’t know, but I decide it’s a good idea to scroll back through his last few taunts.
Just for the hell of it, I guess.
@inherentvice
Ideology separates us. Dreams and anguish bring us together.
@inherentvice
Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.
The most recent one came in late last night. I was too wasted to give it much thought.
@inherentvice
