It’s been weeks. Lying on top of a bare mattress, staring up at the ceiling fan. Or maybe days. Who knows, he’s been here so long he’s lost track of time.

Pistis Sophia. That was the name of the hotel he’d made his home. As rundown as it was, it was quiet, and more importantly, no one had found him here yet. It even had a halfway decent view of the ocean. The perfect place to drink and smoke your feelings into a blur.

Everything felt hopeless. The corporations owned everything. A society built on the backs of the poor, on crushed spirits, and held up by the rich alone. He hated them. Hated all of them, but right now? He was too damn tired to do anything about it.

He just needed time. Time alone-

A knock interrupted the thought.

Damn whoever that is. He wasn’t getting up. Not for anyone.

A few more knocks. He shook his head stubbornly. Still not moving. He wasn’t answering that door. Not now.

Another knock. Then another. Then more, persistent, irritating.

As much as he wanted to keep ignoring it, to sink back into that comfortable pit of sorrow, that damn knocking was drilling into his last nerve.

With a groan, he pulled himself out of bed, rubbing his sore back. He hadn’t moved in hours and felt like absolute hell. A mess. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Hell, he didn’t even want to see himself like this.

Dragging his feet, he padded over to the door and spoke through the wood. “Who’s there, and what do you want…?” His voice was hoarse, no surprise, really. He hadn’t used it in ages and had been smoking like a chimney. Still, even through the rasp, the irritation rang clear.