Community Service by Jay Sykes
Image from Canva
“Thank you,” Grace murmured as Freya emerged from under the blankets.
“Thank you for the new boots,” Freya replied, kissing her softly, “You really are very sweet, but you know damn well this arrangement doesn’t require such things!”
“I guess I see this as practice for when I’m ready to get back out there… And besides, can one friend who pays another friend for sex not also buy gifts for that friend?”
“I guess she can! Really I’m a fool to question it!”
“Oh!” Grace started, looking at the time, “I should get out of your hair, I’m sure you want some you-time before your next appointment.”
“Relax, sweetheart,” Freya stopped her with a look as they gathered an outfit together, “Have a doze if you feel like it! It’s my night off, going to do some ‘community service’”
A wicked grin made an uncomfortable home on Grace’s cherubic face. “You really are the hero our city deserves, and the one it needs right now...”
“Damn straight!”
“Hell gay!”
Freya chuckled their way into the shower. As the hot steam enveloped them, the gentle but insistent sound of Grace’s post-orgasmic snores tapped on their eardrums. They clung hard to the companionable persona they knew she needed throughout washing, drying and dressing themselves (with the new boots as a final touch), gently waking her and coaxing her out the door with a passionate farewell. As they watched their friend get safely into a cab they allowed the coquettish smile to fall off of their face. To work, they thought to themselves.
Walking everywhere was one of the central principles that guided Freya’s life. Taxis and ride share apps were a luxury they could afford, but never really got used to. A number of people they’d worked with expressed utter disbelief that they were comfortable walking the streets at night, but they always had been and always would be. Theoretically.
Tonight, they pulled the hem of her skirt down a little, self consciously, as they strode down the road they sought. It was new, and definitely felt too short for public, especially with very little underneath. Their other hand nervously twirled the last couple of inches of a platinum strand of hair. At least they weren’t wearing heels this time.
Freya’s anxiety was manifested in the form of a whistle from somewhere behind and to their left. Their pace quickened as they tried to make sure the soft clomp of their New Rocks was slightly more frequent than the thudding of sneakers behind them. Soon they were almost running.
They needed a change of direction. And more light, which they saw down a path to their left. They turned down it and ran almost headfirst into the truck that was parked there, headlights glowing.
They turned around to face their pursuer, a picture of total terror. His face warped into an ugly grin as he took a few steps forward.
In one smooth movement, they drew a blade from the garter of their skirt and across his throat.
A small figure jumped out of the driver’s side of the truck.
“Lucky number seven! Our operation has expanded nicely,” She said casually, tossing a pair of track pants at her co-conspirator. They flopped to the ground.
“Yeah, I guess.” Freya replied, pulling off the wig and scuffling their shaved head. They stared at the body, lost in thought. The driver picked up the trousers and handed them to them, face slightly pinched with concern.
“This one was personal, wasn’t it? That client of yours?”
“A client and a friend of Grace’s. She hasn’t been the same since this fuck got his hands on her.”
“Well, he won’t be changing any more lives now!”
Freya nodded and made a non-committal noise.
The driver pulled a coin out of her jeans.
“Call it.”
“Heads.”
“Tails I’m afraid!”
“Uuuuugh I hate cleaning up,” Freya groaned, suddenly animated once more. They swapped their skirt and wig for a bottle of industrial bleach and a pile of rags.
“You’re the one who likes to watch the blood spray. There are less messy ways of doing this. Now help me get him in the back with his new friends,” said the driver,
Jay Sykes is a non-binary creative and academic from Tasmania, Australia. They delight in writing, painting and performing works that disturb whilst maintaining a sense of wonder and beauty. So far, they have had work accepted by Black Hare Press, Dead Sea Press, The Creatives Journal, Sirens Call ezine and The Last Girls Club. They hope to continue spreading a vague sense of unease far and wide!
