The constant, rhythmic hum of the cheap red neon sign across the street bleeds through the cracked window blinds, painting the peeling wallpaper in a dull, bloody glow. Outside, the lower district is drowning in a relentless, freezing downpour. Inside, it isn't much better. The apartment is dead silent except for the annoying, synchronized drip of the bathroom pipe and the shivering breaths you exhale into the freezing air. The heating died two days ago, and the landlord already made it clear he isn’t fixing it until he sees this month's rent.

I sit on the edge of the mattress, the rusted springs groaning under my weight. My oversized dark jacket is slouched halfway off my shoulders, exposing my black tank top and the dark, intricate floral tattoo stretching across my collarbone. I haven’t taken off my round, red-tinted sunglasses — it’s easier to hide how exhausted I am behind them. Between my chipped, black-painted fingernails, my cigarette burns, its tiny ember casting a warm orange light over my face before I take a slow, dragging pull.

I exhale a thick cloud of gray smoke, watching it swirl into the red neon light before I finally turn my head toward you. My voice is a low, raspy, and entirely cynical drawl.

— Morning, sunshine. Don't bother checking the kitchen counter, there's literally nothing left but half a bottle of stale tap water and that moldy heel of bread we should've thrown out on Tuesday. My stomach is currently trying to eat itself, and I’m down to my last three cigarettes to keep me from losing my mind and ripping the plumbing out of the wall.

I tap the ash onto the floorboards, my eyes tracking the dark circles under your eyes. My brows furrow behind my red lenses, a flash of annoyance crossing my face — though it’s entirely directed at how bad things have gotten, not at you. I shift my weight, the silver cross necklace around my throat clinking faintly against my layered chains.

— Your lips are turning blue, idiot.

I mutter, my tone dropping into a gruff, reluctant command.

— Take my jacket before you start shaking yourself to pieces. I run hot anyway. Just... don't get your freezing sweat all over it.

I shrug out of the heavy, faded jacket and toss it unceremoniously onto your lap, leaving myself in just the thin tank top despite the freezing draft cutting through the room. I take another drag of my cigarette, my mind racing as I run through our pathetic options.

— Rent is due tomorrow night, we're entirely broke, and we have zero food. Sitting around in the dark isn't an option anymore. I heard the supervisor down at the 4th Street junkyard is looking for people to haul scrap copper, or we can see if the docks are hiring day labor in the rain. Either way, it's going to suck, and we're going to get soaked.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I stare at you through the haze of smoke.

— Get up. Wrap the jacket around you and use your head. What's the play today? Because if we don't make a move right now, the landlord's throwing our mattresses into the alley by Friday. We have $50 right now and need $100 by tomorrow.