Sixes and Ones

by B.

From the window of the run down apartment building I can already see a hint of sunlight at the horizon, threatening the suburbs of Quanzhou with another dusty hot day. Fucking summer, fucking sun. Come to think of it, the sun has been gone for days now. Three, maybe four days. The mere thought of a new day makes me shiver to the bone, and my mind snaps back again to that one night, and what happened in those KTV backrooms. In fact, I can’t think of anything else, haven’t been able to for days now. How long has it been? I pull the curtains shut again, the solid darkness making it a little bit easier. I’m still dizzy and drunk, doesn’t seem to wear off, instead it keeps kicking back in, worse and worse. What the hell happened that night? I still can’t think straight, but I know it was bad. Really bad.

It must have been about three days ago now. Or has it been four? The only thing I’m sure of is that I haven’t left the flat since, and though no one has come around, for the first night my phone kept ringing from unknown numbers, uninterrupted, until the battery mercifully ran out. I’ve disconnected the doorbell and hid the TV in the closet. It’s been quiet since. I must have killed that guy. I cannot understand they haven’t found me yet, but it’s only a question of time before they do. The police I guess. Or someone else? Those guys were gangsters, right? Everyone’s a gangster in Quanzhou. I’ve really fucked it up this time. Still can’t properly remember, but I have a rock in my stomach he size of a fist, that tells the story. 

Ohgodohgodohgod. There was blood everywhere, purple and stinking. That much I seem to remember. On the wallpaper, and on the TV screen. Fragments. The vague smell of cheap perfume spilled on carpet. Falsetto yelling of women. Doors slamming, overturned tables. I was beating and beating the guy with…A dice cup? Sixes and ones flying all over the place, while someone tried to pull me off, but they couldn’t. Sixes and ones, sixes and ones, beating and beating down on him. There must have been guards all over, can’t remember that part. Someone pulling me by the shoulder, trying to push me down on the floor. Then blank. Can’t remember how I made it back to Alex’s place, but here I am now. They must have gotten Alex, there’s been no sign of him since, and this is his place after all. Hell, I don’t even live in this city. Do I? I don’t think so, I fucking hate Quanzhou, I always have. That’s sane proof if anything, is it not? Regardless, Alex would have been back by now. It must have been four days, at least. Maybe five. They must have beaten Alex to a bloody laowai pulp, and now they’re coming for me. Sooner or later. 

I assume it was my fault, but I really cannot remember. I must have been my fault. I take another deep sip of the cheap huangjiu, which was all I could find in Alex’s kitchen. My mind hasn’t been working. 

I’ve been drunk pretty much since that night, goes without saying. Haven’t slept much. If at all, I’m not sure of that detail. 4 days. Or 3? Of course, we took a lot of drugs that night. A lot. I cannot really remember which and how much, but it was a lot. I can vaguely recall seeing the glow of the street lights take solid shapes, making me walk in zigzag and make little jumps to get past them, fucking scary, Alex yelling at me from the entrance to the place. No idea what happened after that. And playing dice. Sixes and ones. And the smell of cheap perfume, cheap carpet. What happened then?

I crawl up to a sitting position from my spot below the window, and as I prepare to throw up yet again I freeze. From out in he hall I hear someone from the outside trying to open the door. This is it, this is really happening to me. I pull out the knife I’ve kept by my side now for three, maybe four days, and I wipe the puke off my chin. It’s a sturdy and long Chinese style kitchen knife, but it’ll do. Another flashback hits me as I’m crawling unsteadily towards the door, as I see the doorknob turning back and forth (I’ve jammed it with a chair). Sixes and ones, sixes and ones. Fragments, but persistently. I’m on the floor, Alex and those Chinese guys shaking me, screaming my name. ‘Wake up B, wake up’. Again, that disturbing perfume smell from the carpet, jesus. I shake it off, and try dragging myself into a standing position. They’re here for me now, the sound of someone on the other side banging violently on the door now, and voices. Or just one voice? Nothing sticks to my mind anymore, the door inevitably flies open with a loud crash, and I cover my eyes with my left hand, hiding the knife in my right hand behind my back.

Somewhere a voice keeps saying my name, someone is grabbing me by the shoulder, my grip around the knife ever tighter. Nothing sticks to my mind, Alexs’ and the other guys voices don’t register. ‘hey B what the hell happened to you last night fucked up drugs right why’d you disappear like that man you take that dice game way to serious good thing we put you in a taxi let us help you up man’. Last night?? I don’t fucking believe that. Fucking Quanzhou. I tighten my grip around the knifes smooth handle as the intruders try to drag me up to take me away. Sixes and ones, sixes and ones, I’m gonna take as many of them with me as I can.