author's note:

Only two more days at my job and then I am ~free~ (for the summer lol).

current aesthetic: "never let me go" florence + the machine

all these empty faces (i gave you something, but you gave me nothing)

3.

I don't waste any time the next morning. I'm up and ready to go house hunting before Iko's alarm goes off for her pre-dawn yoga. Before I leave, I turn her electric kettle on to boil water for her so that it's waiting when she wakes up to make her cup of tea. It's the least I can do considering the shit I've put her through. Then I head out.

It turns out that Belle lives close to Iko. Her address is a couple blocks walk away and leads me into the more metropolitan side of town. Market stalls line the street. Vendors unload their trucks and prepare for a busy day of selling. Besides the bakery, none of the brick-and-mortar shops are open yet. I move towards Sacha's Bakery, drawn in by the sight of muffins and honey buns. But on the other side of the display window, a large woman wearing a flour-dusted apron frowns and eyes me with disdain. She makes a shooing gesture, a clear dismissal, and then turns away to yell at a little boy who is laughing and running around the empty tables.

"Good morning, Belle!"

I'm still frozen and stunned by the blatant hostility in the baker's dark eyes. It takes me a moment to realize that I am Belle to these people, not Cinder, and that right now someone is talking to me.

"And where are you off to today?" the same person asks. I quickly figure out that it's the friendly-looking street vendor on my right who is speaking to me. He's bent over in his van and in the process of unloading crates to sell from his market stall.

"Um…," I stall. I can't have her neighbors thinking that I'm robbing Belle. "I actually was just returning back home. I forgot something."

"Of course you did," he smiles as he passes crate after crate of what looks to be filled with egg cartons. "What's that, the third time this week?"

I laugh nervously.

"Well, I won't keep you longer. See you around and hope you feel better, Belle!" Noticing my confused look, he makes a funny gesture to his throat and tries to explain himself. "Oh, my apologies. I thought you were catching a cold; your voice sounds a little hoarse."

My eyes widen. Aces. I didn't even think that Belle's and my voice would sound different. Before I can come up with an excuse, two women approach the stall and demand that they need six eggs and that the vendor's prices are too expensive. The vendor gives me a hurried goodbye and then rushes off to deal with his customers.

I back away from the scene as inconspicuously as I can. It suddenly dawns to me that I may have rushed into this without thinking it through. I'm starting to get in way over my head. In my search for finding out answers about this Belle woman, I've suddenly taken over her life. Beyond the fact that I don't want people to think I'm breaking into her house, I don't know why it didn't occur to me to correct these people and tell them that I'm not Belle.

"'Lo, Belle," a man wheezes.

I stiffen, wondering who it is going to be this time. I turn towards the voice to see a bum giving me a nod in recognition. He slouches by a nondescript alcove leading to a door with the number 291 overhead: it matches the same address on Belle's ID.

I wave back at him cautiously and then hurry up the steps towards the door. I'm glad that he said something because otherwise I would've blinked and missed the entrance to the apartment complex. But he's another liability, one more person to add to the witness list of seeing Belle today.

The door leads into a small lobby with mailboxes on one side and the elevator straight ahead. I make a beeline for the elevator and jab the up button firmly. I really don't want to run into anyone else that Belle knows. Knew. I'm beginning to think more and more that I shouldn't have come. Belle is dead. What are these people going to think when the body is identified and they claim they saw her walking around?

Unless…

What if it's not Belle's body that is identified on the railroad tracks, but mine?

Iko's words from last night play over in my head. She was half-joking about Belle being my fake identity. It wasn't my intention to become her when I picked up the dead woman's bag from the train station, but I think about the debts I owe and the dealers demanding money from me that I don't have. Gone. All of it would be erased if I were dead.

The elevator arrives. I step in and contemplate the merit of the idea as I push the button for Belle's floor. If I manage to pull this off, this could be my second-chance. My clean slate that I need. Peony and I would no longer be saddled with my past. And just like that, my mind is made up.

I get out of the elevator on Belle's floor and count the doors until I'm standing outside of hers. I try the doorknob. It's locked. Shrugging, I open the purse she left behind at the station and pull out Belle's key ring. It takes a few trials, but I finally find the one that works.

I drop the key ring back in the bag and quietly edge into the room. The lights are off.

"Hello?" I call out. No one responds. I breathe out a sigh of relief. Again, it occurs to me that I hadn't really thought things through before I came. Stars only knows what I would have done if Belle had a roommate she lived with.

I flip the light switch and the room is illuminated in a gentle glow. The far wall is all made of glass windows and must face east because I have a spectacular view of the sunrise. Abstract art hangs on the other three walls. It's not really my style - pricey and pretentious, by the looks of the paint splattered on the canvas - but I guess I have to pretend to like it if I'm going to be Belle.

The ruse is only for a few days, I tell myself as I head into the kitchen. Long enough so you can get some univs and Peony and then get the hell out of New Beijing.

I pause as I near the refrigerator. Tacked onto it are pictures of Belle. It really is uncanny how much we look alike. But I'm not interested in figuring out why anymore. At least not right now. Peony and our getaway is back to being my priority. I snort at the picture of the person behind the camera flicking off a shirtless guy flexing his muscles and hamming it up for the shot. He's not bad-looking, I have to admit. But definitely not my type. I take the photo down and flip it to its reverse side. GASTON is written on it with a date. Paperclipped underneath the photo is a printed business travel itinerary.

I pocket that and put the photo back and head towards Belle's bedroom next. It's simple, generic, and clean. The bed is neatly made; of course, no one came home last night to sleep in it. Just like the main room, Belle's bedroom is devoid of any true emotion or personality.

I go to her closet and continue my exploring. Lines of pencil skirts and navy and gray conservative clothes are hung up in a straight rows. Sensible heels are stacked in a shoe cubby. Books take up more room than clothes. I smirk. So she does have a guilty pleasure. My attention shifts to the other half of the closet. It's just as neat, but menswear occupies the space. Suits and ties, freshly pressed slacks, button-down shirts. A hunting gun is propped up in the back. Oh, for spade's sake. She does have a boyfriend.

The bathroom shows even more signs of domestic bliss. Their toothbrushes lay side-by-side as does her makeup bag and his shaving kit. I open their medicine cabinet and let out a swear. It's stocked fuller than a pharmacy. And it's serious, heavy-duty stuff, too. Antidepressants, opioids, amphetamines. I thumb through the pill bottles. They all have Belle's name on them.

I make myself close the door to their medicine cabinet. I tell myself that I don't need to deal these out on the street. That's the hard-knock life I'm trying to leave behind. Surely, Belle can help me out financially in a more safe and legal way.

I check out the last room in the apartment. It's her office. A holo-printer sits on the edge of her desk. Her appointment calendar is purposely blank for the rest of the year. I rifle through her papers and bills. They're of no value to me. It's not until I check the last desk drawer do I find her checkbook and previous bank statements. Perfect. I memorize her bank account number and cross-reference her signature with the one on her ID. Then I spend a couple minutes practicing her signature on a spare memo pad. Soon, I can flawlessly duplicate it. With this information, I can stop by her bank and withdraw some, if not all, of her assets. I reason that it's unlikely she needs her money anymore. Peony and I could use the univs to live comfortably for a bit while we get settled into our new lives. Next, I just need to find the keys to Belle's hovercar for my getaway escape.