Someone Else's Life

My head pounded as the sun peeking through my blinds dragged me awake. I rubbed my eyes and sat up groggily. I didn’t remember drinking enough to warrant a hangover.

A powerful stench assaulted my nostrils as I tried to stand, only to be thrown back to the bed with blinding light and a crack through my skull as the aftereffects of the alcohol bolted through me like lightning. My hand lifted to my head, and I let out a groan, which sounded much deeper than I’d expected.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and something was thrown onto my bed, followed by a gruff voice I couldn’t quite make out just yet.

“Geez, Aaron, how much did you drink last night?” the voice finally came through.

I opened my eyes to see a muscular man wearing nothing but a white tank, jeans, and shoes picking up multiple beer bottles from around the bed. My fingers scrambled to find sheets to cover myself ‌with. Who the heck was this guy and how did he get into my bedroom?

“Get off your ass, Aaron. Boss wants to see us.”

Who the fuck is Aaron?

I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide it, and noticed they were covered in dark black hair. I let out a scream and jumped up from my bed, looking at the boxers and plain white socks that were my only covering.

For the first time, I looked around and noticed the dump I was in wasn’t my bedroom. Or if it was, someone had certainly taken a demolition team to it.

“You okay, man?” the guy asked, handing me the thing he’d tossed onto the dirty bed.

Instinctively, I took it, but as my hands curled around the cold black metal, my eyes shot down to look at what it actually was. I dropped it like it had burned me, and the gun clattered to the ground with a double clack.

“What the hell, Aaron?!” the man yelled at me, jumping back.

“Why’d you hand me a freakin’ gun?” I yelled back, my voice multiple octaves deeper than I was used to. My eyes scanned the room, looking for a mirror–any reflective surface. I rummaged through the drawers and found nothing. I opened the door and searched for the bathroom.

It was tiny and yellowing, though at one time I’m sure it had been a stark white. A single toilet and chipped sink stood within. No mirror. But then I passed by a window and caught a glimpse of my faint reflection. I squinted, trying to make out specific features. But all I could tell was I didn’t look like myself at all. My head felt much too free–too bare. I lifted my hands to my head, feeling for hair. Short, nearly buzzed hair met my calloused fingers. Another yelp leapt out of my throat before I moved my hands curiously to my chin.

With dread, I felt fuzz there. I have a beard. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I shook my head, making the room spin. This can’t be real. This is just a dream. 

I ran back to my bed and hopped in, burying my head under the pillow that smelled worse than I did. Surely when I came up and opened my eyes again, I would see my bright spring-green room with floral curtains.

But after a few deep breaths, I lifted my head, and the same dank room met me as before.

Hands gripped my shoulders roughly, and I turned to see the same man as before. “Get a grip, Aaron.” He stared into my eyes. “I don’t care how hungover you are, you still have a job to do.”

Job? What kind of job left me smelling like this? What kind of job kept a gun in my hands?

“I-I’m okay,” I lied, shrugging his hands off. “Just a crazy night. Let me get ready.”

His eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Five minutes,” he shot over his shoulder as he left the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

Fuck.

I scrambled to find some decent clothes. Whoever this man was that I’d woken up to be, he had a terrible taste in clothes. I splashed some water on my face before heading back to the bedroom and tentatively picking up the gun from the floor.

I inspected it, turning it over in my hands, making sure to not point it at myself. Last thing I needed right now was to accidentally shoot myself. I had never held a pistol before, but I knew enough that I found the safety. Thank goodness it was on.

A rap at my door reminded me I was on a schedule. I looked around for some sort of holster. Where am I supposed to put this thing? My pocket? I thought about putting it in my waistband like I’d seen in movies, but I was too worried it would go off and shoot my leg off.

I carried it out, trying not to look like it was my first day holding a gun.

“‘Bout time,” the man said. His keys jangled as he lifted them off the hook on the wall. “Let’s go.”

I nodded and followed him out the door. The sun beat down, and I used my hand to shield my eyes. Looking around, I didn’t recognize anything. I don’t think I’d ever been to the neighborhood. I didn’t even know if I was in the same city.

I followed the guy to a black SUV and slid into the passenger seat, still unsure where to put my gun. Should I put it in the glove box? That’s a thing, right? He started up the car with a grunt and peeled out of the driveway. I gripped the seat with my free hand as my stomach leapt to my throat.

I am going to die.

I watched out the window as rundown houses passed by in a blur, searching the streets for any sign of something familiar–nothing. I could be in a different country for all I knew.

Turning back to the driver, I took in the sight of him for the first time. It was obvious he worked out, and even more obvious he’d had a rough life. Scars marred a great deal of the skin I could see, and I was sure more hid under his clothing. He looked to be in his forties, a small amount of gray in his stubble and the crow's feet next to his eyes suggested older, but his physique belied someone younger. His eyes had a haunted look to them behind the steely gaze.

Silence stretched between us as he drove to our destination. I looked up at the sun visor. A mirror! I pulled it down and looked into the tiny mirror. An unfamiliar face stared back at me.

Brown eyes darker than I’d ever seen, deeper than chocolate, stared back at me. Short black hair covered my head, and a short yet remarkable beard grew on my chin. I couldn’t help but feel it with my hand. My skin was tanner than I’d ever hoped to be, and there were no freckles spotting my face–somehow that was the strangest thing.

I looked down at my hands, rough and calloused. A couple of knuckles were red like I’d been in a fight recently. I glanced at the driver before lifting up my shirt and looking down at my four pack abs. A low whistle sounded from my lips, and I shoved my shirt down, feeling my cheeks redden with blush.

He looked and raised an eyebrow, but otherwise made no comment. I had a feeling this Aaron guy was some character–quirky enough that my behavior wasn’t too strange.

Before I knew it, we pulled up to a building, some worn down warehouse covered in rust. This couldn’t be work, could it? The SUV’s engine stopped, and I realized the man was getting out. I pushed my door open and followed behind him, noticing for the first time his own gun sticking out blatantly from his pants. Maybe I should tuck mine into my waistband after all.

As I neared the doors, two more men joined us. “Mornin’, Aaron,” one said with a nod.

For a second, I forgot he was talking to me, but then I nodded back. Nailed it.

The other guy looked me up and down. “You look like shit.”

The first man snickered. “As usual.”

Instinctively, my hand moved to my hair. Was it a mess? But as my fingers brushed the short strands, I remembered I didn’t have to worry about that. I tried to turn my gesture into a casual brush through my hair and sighed.

“Phew, Aaron,” the second man said, waving his hand in front of his face. “Should have brushed after a night with that much alcohol. How are you even walking?”

Before I could respond, they burst out laughing and clapped me on the back. “Typical Aaron.”

I forced out a small chuckle as if we were old pals joking around. The doors closed behind us, and in front of us stood an imposing man in a suit. Why is he so much nicer looking than the rest of us? I suddenly felt extremely underdressed and tried not to shuffle my feet–a nervous habit I’d picked up at some point.

The man in the suit looked at me. “Geez, Aaron, you look like shit.”

An uncertain smile appeared on my face. “Uh, thanks.”

Shit. What the heck did I just say?

“I mean, uhhh,” but no more words came to finish the thought.

He waved his hand through the air as if shooing a fly. “No matter, as long as you’re ready.”

I nodded.

“Good.”

He led us farther into the warehouse towards a metal door that squeaked as it opened. I could faintly hear a muffled voice on the other side. As we stepped through, I could see another man. This one was tied to a wooden chair, a dirty gag in his mouth. I wondered just how many germs were on it. A single light swung from the ceiling, casting shadows around the man. A tray filled with all sorts of metal instruments stood off to the side, none familiar to me. Strange.

I followed the men around me to the other side of the man in the chair, seeing his face for the first time. His eye was purple and swollen shut. Dried blood ran from his nose to his lips. I felt my face blanch at the sight, and for the first time, I hesitated. 

The man who’d driven me here bumped into my back and shoved me. “Move it, Aaron,” he grunted.

I forced my feet to continue. As I looked at the man in the suit, he was watching me, as if waiting for me to do something.

“Aaron?” he finally asked when I didn’t move.

“What?”

“Well?”

My head shook slightly. “Well….”

“You wanted first,” he replied, gesturing to the tray. “Pick your poison.”

I looked at the tools, noticing for the first time that they were already bloodied. I gulped. What am I supposed to do with those? Surely they didn’t expect me to get my hands dirty. Who was this man anyway? Why was he tied up?

The boss cleared his throat. I knew I had to act fast, but I couldn’t get my body to move. This was so wrong. Why couldn’t I just wake up?

“I, um, I’m not feeling great,” I finally pushed out.

“No shit,” the driver said under his breath.

The man in the suit rolled his eyes. “Fine. Grab some water and a seat. You can finish today.”

I didn’t want to know what that meant. Instead, I nodded curtly, spun on my heels, and went to search for some hydration. One last glance at the prisoner, and I saw a quizzical look in his eye as if he was surprised I’d passed. I didn’t want to think he knew me. What could someone do to land them in that chair? And hadn’t he suffered enough?I offered him a small smile. I had no idea if it was reassuring, but it was the only thing I could give him.