When I opened my eyes, the small gust of air in my room tickled my face. I drowsed for a while, then slowly turned to my right and looked at the clock. It was 3:20 AM, meaning my mother wouldn't be home for another three hours, so I wasn't too bothered. I tried to sleep again.
But I couldn't. I had to pee.
Actually, it wasn't that bad—sometimes when you can't sleep at night, it just feels like you have to go. But I was getting irritated, so I angrily kicked off my blanket and got up. My sponge mattress was already close to the ground, so my foot scraped against the cold concrete floor as I stood up. Before heading to the toilet, I slipped on my makeshift bathroom slippers.
I slowly opened my room door, and a light breeze swept in due to the temperature difference. It gave me a slight chill, but I ignored it and walked to the toilet. I carefully lowered my pants and relieved myself. After quickly running my hands under the water, I went back to bed.
About 2 hours and 40 minutes later, I heard the sound of the apartment's steel door being knocked on. A man's voice—unfamiliar—mixed with a woman's voice I knew all too well. My mother was finally home from her shift.
I quickly got out of bed. There was no time to put on my slippers—Mom would be inside in 30 or 40 seconds. I rushed to the room across from the bathroom and tidied up a bit. I gathered the used condoms and other leftovers from the previous customer. To mask the lingering stench of semen, I splashed some of my aftershave around the room. It still smelled like a cheap escort's bedroom, but whatever.
I moved toward the door and opened it just before they could knock.
There stood my mother, leaning on some man's arm. The guy was probably some middle-class worker, tired of his home life and turning to the streets for relief. These days, it seemed pretty common.
Mom pushed me aside—not gently, but whatever. She turned right and stumbled down the corridor toward her room, the man mumbling drunken nonsense beside her.
Yeah… I'm Esteban Valesco. A fatherless bastard. And, apparently, the son of Ruined Boxes prettiest escort.
Not that I'm proud of it. In fact, it's miserable. My mother has never acted like a mother to me. If anything, I've been more of a parent to her. I don't even call her Mom.
But there was no time to dwell on that. By 9 AM, I needed to pick up my pastries from Aunt Karen and head to school.
I took off my slippers and crawled into my sponge mattress. It still held my body heat from before. I was about to fall asleep when I heard my mother's moans.
Yeah… it was hard to get used to.
I grabbed my Walkman, put on my headphones, and played my favorite song, Black Hole Sun.
Then, I drifted off to sleep.
8:47 AM
I woke up to the sound of the metro passing through Ruined Boxes. While the world had moved on to magnetic Maglev trains, our district still used the old high-speed metro. Thanks to the incredible underground sewer systems—bless our ancestors—the metro mostly ran above ground, crossing the city on bridges.
I got out of bed and pulled my sheer curtain aside. Not that it did much; the outside was already visible through it. But this little action somehow made Ruined Boxes oppressive, heavy atmosphere feel slightly lighter.
I stood there for a moment, watching as people from last night slowly made their way back to the clubs. The food stalls along the street had started releasing their morning smoke.
I grabbed my clothes from my desk and changed out of my pajamas. Slipping on my shoes, I ignored my mother—like I said, I couldn't care less. If she died mid-fuck, I wouldn't lose sleep over it.
I went downstairs and stepped into the damp, mildew-scented streets. Without hesitation, I made my way toward the club where Aunt Karen worked.
A different security guard was at the entrance again. For some reason, security here changed all the time—probably because they were always flirting or hooking up with the women inside. In this boring colony, what else was more abundant than people?
I gave the guard a slight nod and pushed through the revolving door. Inside, some rooms were already occupied by workers returning from their night shifts.
Ever since the 22nd century, nudity had lost its significance. Not that people weren't still horny dogs, but some high-ranking human rights officials had decided that clothing restricted freedom. Naturally, mainstream influencers wasted no time stripping down.
So, accessible beauty had lost its appeal. These days, it seemed like the only pleasure people got from sex was simply… releasing.
I was lost in thought, staring out the window, when Aunt Karen suddenly called out to me.
"Hey, Chamaco! Looks like someone's finally stopped being asexual."
"Hey, Aunt Karen. You know I'm not asexual. Anyway, just hand over my pastries—I'm late."
"You could at least ask how I'm doing, you ungrateful brat."
Muttering to herself, Aunt Karen walked toward the bar in the back, took my pastries out of the microwave, and handed them to me along with a non-alcoholic drink.
"It's on the house, shorty. Even if you don't love your old aunt, I can't help but spoil you."
"Old? Who's old? You're younger than the hag at my place."
Aunt Karen chuckled and kissed my cheek.
"See you later, kid. Get to school before you're late."
As I turned to leave, she smacked my butt.
I didn't react. Instead, I stepped outside, taking a sip of my drink and biting into my pastry.
I had to hurry to the metro station.
By some miracle, I actually made it in time—and the line was unusually short. Maybe, for once, the gods had taken pity on me. Normally, the queue stretched out onto the streets, and security guards had to shove people inside the metro like they were stuffing sacks.
After scanning my card, I passed through the gates and reached the platform.
I glanced at my reflection in a boutique mirror above.
I didn't look too bad—just yesterday, I had taken a shower at Aunt Karen's club. My messy hair even gave me a certain appeal.
But my eyes…
I had been bullied my whole life because of my eyes. Some rare condition.
Doctors in this city were expensive, and without insurance, my mother couldn't afford to take me. My school bursary barely covered my basic needs, and new learning tablets were nothing but profit-driven scams—you could only install one course per tablet.
Long story short, my eyes had strange, unnatural markings. Many of my classmates' fathers were high-ranking doctors, yet my status meant I wasn't even allowed to sit at the front of the class. I wasn't invited to parties, either.
Like, what the hell? Why did eyes even matter?
That's why I always wore my mother's old Riyben sunglasses—left behind by a former customer. They were one of the most expensive products on the market.
Mom tried to steal and sell them every month, but I always caught her before she could leave the house.
Lost in thought, I almost missed the arriving metro.
I sprinted toward the door. The platform was crowded, as always—people were always running. Someone had even jumped once.
I quickly found a seat. It was a bit stained, but whatever.
I put my Walkman on my head and i see the ...