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Nonsensical Works of Fiction (PART TWO OHEMGEEEE!) - Awakenings

I brought the angel back with me, because, hell, what else could I do? Even if he was one of the fallen, I couldn't leave him in the studio's back alleyway. You don't treat angels like that, no matter what. I gave him the sweatshirt I'd left in the backseat, and listened to his teeth chatter all the way home. We both took showers, after we got there; him to warm up, me because I was still covered in Sap Green oil paint from the studio. I let him take the bed, and slept on the couch. He still hadn't told me his name, and I didn't want to know.
About twelve-o'-clock, I woke up to find the angel sitting in the middle of my living room. The windows were open, this gash of moonlight streaming across my floor, and with his wings stretched out to their full span--shining like dove-grey silk--it was like something out of a Lydia Bryant photograph. And suddenly I could feel his loneliness, heavy and wretched, nearly crushing my chest with it's immeasurable weight.

For weeks afterwards, I couldn't go to sleep. I would lie awake, as usual, contemplating anything that came to mind--and just as I began to doze off, I'd freeze up. I’d panic—every muscle going rigid, my heart pounding against my ribs like it wanted out. I fell asleep in class instead, during lunch, in the backseat of my car. My grade point average plummeted—and I hadn’t exactly been doing spectacularly before.
That was what prompted them to put me on sleeping pills.
Not the dark circles under my eyes, the way I could barely drive in the mornings—
But scores.

They had coined a term for those of my profession in the Nethercity. As usual, their cant was grotesque and crude—but it carried a grudging compliment with it. ‘Spiderwhores’. Like spiders, our web of clientele spanned all reaches of Revenir, crossing all paths—at least, all paths of those wealthy enough to afford my services. Unlike the demimondaine, that particular bit of slang allowed those of my profession a measure of respect. The Nethercity didn’t like the fawning syncophants of the nobility any more than I did—a reluctance to join their ranks was one of the reasons I had remained independent for so long. Not that I hadn’t gotten offers—an alarming percentage of my aristocratic clients enjoyed the idea of taming Black Annis to their sordid whims.
Sickening.
But I had found that our nickname carried a dual meaning. Our webs may stretch as far as a spider’s, netting the choicest meals…but they are also as fragile as a spider’s. So much as a malevolent gust of wind could destroy our lives.
There are many such vengeful breezes in Revenir.
Which is why, when I awoke to the jangling of my ward-chimes and the dying assassin of Sebastian Chandler at my balcony, I was not in the least surprised.