This is an excerpt from my novel What the Hell Ever Happened to Yuri Rozhenko? This work is the sequel to my novel Crash Shadow: A Tale of Two Addicts.

    In this excerpt, Skye ruminates on the couple letting her stay at their house in Portland Oregon as part of her West Coast road trip.

    Skye really liked her temporary co-landlord Static. Even though she was a diminutive physical presence she carried herself like someone who was a foot taller and a lot more threatening. She was quick witted, like her long lost best friend Casey, and she was creative in an off-kilter way that appealed to Skye’s crusty punk tastes. She dabbled in art and writing with a distinct and surprising talent for both art forms, and she also had aspirations of starting a band someday. Skye knew that most people who talked about starting a band never got around to it, but she was hoping Static would eventually do so. For someone who was quite short and criminally thin, she could be a presence.
    But Skye quickly discovered other facets about Static that were and were not so surprising, especially when it came to her relationship with Hearse.
    Static was also quite pale in addition to being quite thin. Skye hardly ever saw her eat. When she did, she would just pick at her food as if eating was a chore for her. Skye discovered that Static had an aversion to natural light. She did not usually venture outside during the day unless she had to, but she was always ready to go out at night. Even though she was naturally pale she would still cake on whiteface makeup, making her look even more ghostly than she did in the first place. Her sharp and thin graphic-design eyebrows were painstakingly drawn in, even as she caked up her eyes with eyeliner and mascara.
     Oftentimes she would wear clothing that bothered Hearse, such as t-shirts of decidedly lame bands like Night Ranger or Hop Skivvy or some other pop metal or pop punk bands. She also had a lot of torn and crumbling t-shirts, pants, and skirts. Sometimes she would be practically falling out of her frayed shorts or ragged shirts. Skye could tell this annoyed Hearse, even though he never openly voiced his disapproval of her wardrobe choices.
     She already knew a few things about Static’s mindset without having to ask or even hang out with her for very long. She had faint short and straight scars all over her thighs and forearms. She had been a cutter. She also had a few scars on her chest, including one small but very gnarled red one near her throat, one which was almost painful to look at.
     She had quite a few small tattoos, most of which were homemade. By now it was easy enough for Skye to identify the homemade needle and thread tattoos, many of which dotted her arms. She found out through casual conversation that Hearse had offered to pay for coverup work for her homemade tattoos, but so far she had not taken him up on his offer.
     Hearse told Skye that Static was sporadically employed. Occasionally she would grab a job at a local bar for their music nights, working a door or just doing odd jobs. She would grab short term pet sitting gigs here and there, and once or twice a week she would poke around on job boards, half-heartedly looking for work.
     She had problems applying for work because almost all of her previous gigs involved sex work of some kind, either domme work or phone sex or working retail at erotic shops. They were jobs that one could not really put on a resume’ when applying to be a barista at the local cafe’. Her scars and homemade tats made it difficult to look for retail work as well.
     It did not take long for Skye to pick up on Static’s proclivities. She was quite particular about some things and not others. You could do virtually anything you wanted to in the living room. It was standard punk house chaos: Not neat by any means, but not totally trashed either. There were a few spots that Hearse had warned Skye about, such as a stack of graphic novels on a nightstand that was jammed into a corner behind a large sofa chair. You could not disturb those books in any way, lest you incur Static’s wrath. Skye believed it, for Hearse had taken great pains to point it out to her.
     Even though Static was generally casual about the common living areas she was quite particular about the kitchen, despite her aversion to foodstuffs. The knives, forks, and spoons had to be in very specific and predefined places, and the placement of her food and condiments had to be kept in the strictest of order. The only time Skye had seen Static embark on anything approaching a meltdown was when her vegan mayonnaise had been moved to the left side of the fridge, askew from its designated spot on the very right hand side of the second shelf.
     Hearse mentioned that it took some time for him to find out what specifically would set Static off, that he had spent a good deal of time and energy deciphering her volcanic tendencies when they first started going out.
     As much as Static got on Hearse’s nerves Skye also knew that Hearse had it for her bad. He was tall, had body builder’s build, and a chiseled face that made him look like a rock star. He had a good job fixing and modifying cars, as well as having a prominent job with Homicide Dames, for the pinnacle of naked punk women websites. She knew, just by looking at peoples expression in the clubs and the vibe that went through the room when he walked in, that he could have just about anyone in the scene if he wanted, including the scene royalty, those headlining women who fronted bands and ruled the clubs. She knew that Mayhem, the tall Valkyrie-like singer for The Mashups, wanted Hearse bad. It was written all over her face. Despite Mayhem’s perpetually sullen and complex veneer in her position as scene royalty, Skye felt as if she could read her like a book, even though she had only known her for a few weeks.
     But Hearse would never have it. He doted on Static and acquiesced to all of her demands, no matter how large, small, picayune, or bizarre. He never stressed out about her imperative lack of work, or her vampire-like schedule, or the messes she made, and he always gave her a pass on questionable wardrobe choices, even if it did make him feel uncomfortable on occasion. The pale wisp of a neurotic mess had his heart. He would always act as if he was on a first date with her. And not all of the busty, brassy, and perfectly coiffed punk Empresses on the West Coast could get him away from her, much to their jealous chagrin.

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