Chapter 344. At a Motel with a Prostitute in the Room Next Door: A Chat with the Prostitute in the Morning. (4/8)
Right at that moment, the washing machine clicked off.
I headed over to the washing machine and checked the sheet. I held it up and confirmed the bloodstain on it was completely gone. The bleach had worked wonders. I tossed it in the dryer and turned it on.
After that, I returned to cleaning up what was left in her room. Twenty minutes later, I was finished. There were about fifty minutes left on the dryer. I looked at the prostitute on the bed but she wasn’t moving. When I approached the bed on the side she was facing, her eyes were shut and she was breathing steadily. She’d fallen asleep.
Without anyone to talk to I decided to find something else to do. The first place I checked was the fridge. I was convinced there would be a bunch of stale stuff to throw out. I’d come across a lot of plastic bags from delivered food buried among all the trash inside her room. There was bound to be more hidden away in here with her track record so far.
When I opened the fridge, I felt a strange sort of nostalgia looking at it. The only thing in it were bottles of beer. There wasn’t any food. Not too long ago I had a fridge quite similar if you just replaced the bottles of beer with cans of coke.
I opened the freezer next, but it was completely barren. She didn’t even use it. Come on, you could have at least hidden a decapitated head in here or something if you’re not using it for any frozen food.
I was naturally disappointed in the lack of an interesting plot twist. She wasn’t some sort of psycho killer on the run keeping her dead boyfriend's head with her hidden in the freezer. What a letdown.
Well, there was nothing for me to do here.
Since I have nothing else to do while I wait, I guess I could get a few things to make something to eat for me and Yuna before we head out. While I’m at it I could make something for her.
When I say make something, I mean eggs and toast. That was the most I was willing to cook. I was no master of cooking like Rosa, but I was at least competent enough to make a pretty good egg. My mother had taught me when I was young how to cook some things, I just never had the time or energy to cook for myself.
I exited the room with the full garbage bags in hand and disposed of them in a large dumpster. I spent a half-hour round trip using my motorcycle to go to the store, but what I needed, and headed back to the prostitute’s room.
When I entered the room again, she was still asleep.
I headed over to the kitchen to prepare her meal. It cost about $6 for everything. Eggs at $3, bread for $2, and a roll of foil for $1.
I got a cup of water from a fast food restaurant for free then dumped the water out so I could use the cup to crack and mix the eggs. They also had free plastic forks and knives which I could use to turn the egg when it was cooking. As long as I was quick and careful about it, it wouldn’t melt from the heat. I also got a few small packets of salt, butter, and olive oil for free there as well.
Thankfully, she at least had a metal pot to boil water in so I was able to use that to cook the egg in.
She better be grateful for all the energy I wasted to get everything just to cook this egg. But anyway, consider your portion my thank you for your soul and the discovery I made thanks to your random suggestion.
With this, we’ll be even. As for giving you a second chance at life, only you can grab hold of that opportunity by standing back up on your feet with your own strength. If you’ve given up before you’ve put everything you have into it, you’ll never acquire that second chance at life you so secretly desire.
It only took ten minutes to finish cooking everything. As for how I toasted the bread, that was what the foil was for. I’d placed the bread on a sheet of foil in the oven since there wasn’t a toaster.
I didn’t have any plates, so I used a sheet of foil in place of plates. Since we were in the ghetto, it was only fitting to implement an improvised ghetto solution like this.
I walked over to the sleeping prostitute's side with her portion inside a sheet of foil. I nudged her on the shoulder to rouse her from her slumber.
Her eyes cracked open a bit before her nose twitched and she said, “What is it? Something... smells good…”
She lazily sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“Here, something to eat. Consider it my thanks for your soul.” I placed the sheet of foil down on the bed with the fried eggs and toast on top of it.
“You… cooked this yourself… for me?”
“Yeah.”
“With what? There shouldn’t be anything here to cook with.”
“Altogether it cost $6 to prepare. I went out and bought the ingredients while you were asleep. I got a bunch of things for free from a fast-food restaurant.”
“Only $6? My soul is only worth that much, huh?”
“What do you mean only $6? That’s a whole $6. I value the money I’ve worked my ass for quite a lot. Even squeezing a single penny out of me is considered a miraculous feat, an accomplishment to be proud of for the rest of your life. You should hold your head up high knowing that you got any money out of me at all. Not even when you offered your body were you able to get any money out of me. If you take a look at the ratio here, your body got $0 when your soul got $6 from me. Let’s say I spent a penny for your body, it would mean your soul would be worth six hundred times your body. So by that same logic, since I spent nothing on your body, doesn’t that actually mean your soul is priceless to me since you’re dividing by zero in the denominator?”
“What the heck is with that convoluted analysis? There’s no way my soul is worth that much.”
“Well, too bad for you, value is determined by the one who is in possession. To you it was worthless, but to someone else, it may be priceless. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
“You’re saying you’d… treasure my soul?”
“Sure.”
“More than my body?”
“Yeah, I don’t need your body.”
“The soul of some worthless, useless prostitute who can’t do anything like me, you’re really saying you’d treasure my soul?”
“Yeah.”
“Then… if that’s the case… please... take care of it for me.”
“Sure. Just remember, if you ever want it back you can burn the contract.”
“I doubt I’d ever want it back. It isn’t worth anything to me at all. It never will be. But if it’s worth something to you, I’m fine if you keep it forever.”
“Well, like I said, if you ever change your mind, just burn it.”
“Mmm.” She nodded and picked up the piece of toast from on top of the foil and ripped off a quarter. She tore off a piece from the egg, wrapped the toast around it, and stuffed it into her mouth. The second she closed her mouth, her body froze in place.
Two streaks of tears flowed out the corner of her eyes. She sniffed once. It didn’t seem she’d noticed her own reaction yet.
Sticking around felt awkward so I took a step back and said, “I’ve got to deliver a portion to someone else. I’ll be right back.”
I made a run for the exit. I opened the door and shut it closed behind me. Standing directly outside the door with my back to it, I could still hear her from inside.
“Huh? Tears? When was the last time I’ve seen these? About three years ago? Why am I crying now all of a sudden?”
“What the... heck? They won’t... stop... no matter... how many times... I wipe them away.”
She was sniffling between every pause in her words. When she stopped talking, the only thing that could be heard was her sniffling. She wasn’t bawling but judging by how much she was sniffling, she was definitely crying without stop.
She didn’t say anything after that. A lone prostitute simply cried quietly, all by herself, alone, inside her room where nobody else would see her.
Chapter 344. At a Motel with a Prostitute in the Room Next Door: A Chat with the Prostitute in the Morning. (4/8)
Right at that moment, the washing machine clicked off.
I headed over to the washing machine and checked the sheet. I held it up and confirmed the bloodstain on it was completely gone. The bleach had worked wonders. I tossed it in the dryer and turned it on.
After that, I returned to cleaning up what was left in her room. Twenty minutes later, I was finished. There were about fifty minutes left on the dryer. I looked at the prostitute on the bed but she wasn’t moving. When I approached the bed on the side she was facing, her eyes were shut and she was breathing steadily. She’d fallen asleep.
Without anyone to talk to I decided to find something else to do. The first place I checked was the fridge. I was convinced there would be a bunch of stale stuff to throw out. I’d come across a lot of plastic bags from delivered food buried among all the trash inside her room. There was bound to be more hidden away in here with her track record so far.
When I opened the fridge, I felt a strange sort of nostalgia looking at it. The only thing in it were bottles of beer. There wasn’t any food. Not too long ago I had a fridge quite similar if you just replaced the bottles of beer with cans of coke.
I opened the freezer next, but it was completely barren. She didn’t even use it. Come on, you could have at least hidden a decapitated head in here or something if you’re not using it for any frozen food.
I was naturally disappointed in the lack of an interesting plot twist. She wasn’t some sort of psycho killer on the run keeping her dead boyfriend's head with her hidden in the freezer. What a letdown.
Well, there was nothing for me to do here.
Since I have nothing else to do while I wait, I guess I could get a few things to make something to eat for me and Yuna before we head out. While I’m at it I could make something for her.
When I say make something, I mean eggs and toast. That was the most I was willing to cook. I was no master of cooking like Rosa, but I was at least competent enough to make a pretty good egg. My mother had taught me when I was young how to cook some things, I just never had the time or energy to cook for myself.
I exited the room with the full garbage bags in hand and disposed of them in a large dumpster. I spent a half-hour round trip using my motorcycle to go to the store, but what I needed, and headed back to the prostitute’s room.
When I entered the room again, she was still asleep.
I headed over to the kitchen to prepare her meal. It cost about $6 for everything. Eggs at $3, bread for $2, and a roll of foil for $1.
I got a cup of water from a fast food restaurant for free then dumped the water out so I could use the cup to crack and mix the eggs. They also had free plastic forks and knives which I could use to turn the egg when it was cooking. As long as I was quick and careful about it, it wouldn’t melt from the heat. I also got a few small packets of salt, butter, and olive oil for free there as well.
Thankfully, she at least had a metal pot to boil water in so I was able to use that to cook the egg in.
She better be grateful for all the energy I wasted to get everything just to cook this egg. But anyway, consider your portion my thank you for your soul and the discovery I made thanks to your random suggestion.
With this, we’ll be even. As for giving you a second chance at life, only you can grab hold of that opportunity by standing back up on your feet with your own strength. If you’ve given up before you’ve put everything you have into it, you’ll never acquire that second chance at life you so secretly desire.
It only took ten minutes to finish cooking everything. As for how I toasted the bread, that was what the foil was for. I’d placed the bread on a sheet of foil in the oven since there wasn’t a toaster.
I didn’t have any plates, so I used a sheet of foil in place of plates. Since we were in the ghetto, it was only fitting to implement an improvised ghetto solution like this.
I walked over to the sleeping prostitute's side with her portion inside a sheet of foil. I nudged her on the shoulder to rouse her from her slumber.
Her eyes cracked open a bit before her nose twitched and she said, “What is it? Something... smells good…”
She lazily sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“Here, something to eat. Consider it my thanks for your soul.” I placed the sheet of foil down on the bed with the fried eggs and toast on top of it.
“You… cooked this yourself… for me?”
“Yeah.”
“With what? There shouldn’t be anything here to cook with.”
“Altogether it cost $6 to prepare. I went out and bought the ingredients while you were asleep. I got a bunch of things for free from a fast-food restaurant.”
“Only $6? My soul is only worth that much, huh?”
“What do you mean only $6? That’s a whole $6. I value the money I’ve worked my ass for quite a lot. Even squeezing a single penny out of me is considered a miraculous feat, an accomplishment to be proud of for the rest of your life. You should hold your head up high knowing that you got any money out of me at all. Not even when you offered your body were you able to get any money out of me. If you take a look at the ratio here, your body got $0 when your soul got $6 from me. Let’s say I spent a penny for your body, it would mean your soul would be worth six hundred times your body. So by that same logic, since I spent nothing on your body, doesn’t that actually mean your soul is priceless to me since you’re dividing by zero in the denominator?”
“What the heck is with that convoluted analysis? There’s no way my soul is worth that much.”
“Well, too bad for you, value is determined by the one who is in possession. To you it was worthless, but to someone else, it may be priceless. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
“You’re saying you’d… treasure my soul?”
“Sure.”
“More than my body?”
“Yeah, I don’t need your body.”
“The soul of some worthless, useless prostitute who can’t do anything like me, you’re really saying you’d treasure my soul?”
“Yeah.”
“Then… if that’s the case… please... take care of it for me.”
“Sure. Just remember, if you ever want it back you can burn the contract.”
“I doubt I’d ever want it back. It isn’t worth anything to me at all. It never will be. But if it’s worth something to you, I’m fine if you keep it forever.”
“Well, like I said, if you ever change your mind, just burn it.”
“Mmm.” She nodded and picked up the piece of toast from on top of the foil and ripped off a quarter. She tore off a piece from the egg, wrapped the toast around it, and stuffed it into her mouth. The second she closed her mouth, her body froze in place.
Two streaks of tears flowed out the corner of her eyes. She sniffed once. It didn’t seem she’d noticed her own reaction yet.
Sticking around felt awkward so I took a step back and said, “I’ve got to deliver a portion to someone else. I’ll be right back.”
I made a run for the exit. I opened the door and shut it closed behind me. Standing directly outside the door with my back to it, I could still hear her from inside.
“Huh? Tears? When was the last time I’ve seen these? About three years ago? Why am I crying now all of a sudden?”
“What the... heck? They won’t... stop... no matter... how many times... I wipe them away.”
She was sniffling between every pause in her words. When she stopped talking, the only thing that could be heard was her sniffling. She wasn’t bawling but judging by how much she was sniffling, she was definitely crying without stop.
She didn’t say anything after that. A lone prostitute simply cried quietly, all by herself, alone, inside her room where nobody else would see her.
