I was born to be broken by you

and grow until my branches creak

in the most pleasing

of ways

from the sweetest of weights

.

all great changes

are preceded by chaos

Stuffy air, heat spreading and attacking my body, a buzzing sound waking me up from a shallow sleep, my tongue permanently glued to the inside of my mouth. I lay on my stomach, feeling the rough covers under my skin, and a heavy moan escapes my throat. I hear someone breathing next to me and then a raspy laugh. My eyelids flutter and someone’s hand smacks me lightly against my bottom. I turn to my side and stare shocked at the man lying next to me. He’s relaxed and still smiling, apparently having the time of his life.

Who are you?

My voice is weak, and my mouth feels like a desert area.

Someone very close to you. Well, as much as two people can be after 18 hours, joined in the holy matrimony.

What? No, no, no... I don’t even know you.

Oh, but you do. See?

He moves his hand up and shows off a wedding band. Then he takes my hand and turns it around, so I can see a similar ring on my left hand.

What is going on around here?

I’m trying to process what I just heard from him, but my mind doesn’t seem to work right, unable to focus on any information.

Without getting into details, it’s quite simple love. Since last night things had changed dramatically and now you got a husband, and I’ve got myself a green card... or will have it soon. Just a matter of time and some paperwork. Everyone is happy, life is good, so just enjoy it.

He stares at me and his smile turns darker.

And don’t worry, we all behaved. The covers didn’t’ fly and the earth didn’t shake. You are just not a very big fan of clothes, then again, neither am I.

My eyes follow him as he casually gets up and disappears into the bathroom, the sound of water filling the remaining silence. His words ring loudly in my head, yet I don’t flinch, don’t run away. I just stare in surprise at the now closed door. Who the hell was this man? I know I should be panicking after waking up to a complete stranger that claims to be my husband, but all I can do is lay on this bed and feel confused. I sit up and cover my naked chest, feeling that I still have underwear on - well, at least that, I think as my eyes scan the surroundings. It’s definitely a motel, a cheap room fit for lost and deprived souls. The window is closed, and the humidity is unbearable, I yearn for a cold shower and a glass of ice water, almost seeing little drops slipping down the glass; the image so powerful that it makes my throat tighten. I start to cough, and the feeling of nausea hits me with force.

How much did we drink?

My voice seems barely audible, but he manages to hear me anyway since it’s the only sound in the room. I hear light footsteps in the thick carpet that covers the floor. I stare at his bare chest and a towel that doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, yet it doesn’t seem to have much effect on me. The feeling of curiosity and confusion still the most dominant part, he notices my neutral reaction and gives me a funny look.

Well, y o u were definitely drinking. I just tagged along and had some fun as well.

My gaze lingers on him. He could have been right, lately, it has become a habit of mine, and I was wondering if I should start looking for help because the problem was there without any doubt. I sit up, cross my legs like a three-year-old in a nursery, and stare at him. Right now, I had bigger issues to look into; a husband for starters. I ask another question while still waiting for the fear of the unknown and the consequences of last night decisions, but nothing comes.

How much?

I put more pressure on my words.

Enough to wake up in Mexico with a wedding band on your pretty little finger.

He takes something from the nightstand and throws it on the bed. I pick it up and look at all the red lines marking names and numbers. It’s a map. I unfold it and see that someone drew a circle repeatedly over one place. Mexico.

Why here?

Sweat runs down my back and between my breasts, as I still wait for the normal reactions I should have in this situation. Nothing. I imagine myself grabbing clothes from the floor and running away without ever looking back. Then I see myself screaming at him, punching him, and calling the police. In my head, I see him hit me, or throw me on the bed and silence me in so many ways; yet I do nothing.

As said, you weren’t the only one drinking, and it seems that we both got a taste for tequila and a strange sentiment for the desert scenery. It was meant to be, my darling, so take it how you want it. Call it a wild adventure or practicality, but here we are.

I need a shower.

I stand up on shaky legs and head for the bathroom, wrapped around in bad quality sheets.

Afraid I have the only remaining towel in these royal chambers.

The doors of the bathroom shut behind me and I grumble.

I’ll make do.

The only available option in this hell-hole was cold water but I take it with gratitude. Letting it flow over me until my brain starts to work properly. My eyes close as I try to remember the last night. The one thing that I was sure about, was that I had too much alcohol, and probably didn’t need that much reason to drink in the first place. Walking past a bar was a good enough reason as any other. I move my face to the shower head and against my better judgment, open my mouth and drink. Relief overtakes me as the water goes past my dried throat and lends in my stomach. I can almost imagine it filling my bones and all my nerves, hydrating every single cell in my body. I turn off the water and despite any logic; smile.

The funny thing was I didn’t even have a hangover, the thirst was more due to the excruciating heat than the liquor still moving in my veins. I step out and gaze into a small dirty mirror, looking closely at myself. Everything seemed fine from the first glance, nothing to prove that something really bad had happened to me. I put my underwear back on and cover myself loosely with the sheets; as I walk out my eyes move to him automatically. He is laying on the bed and watching the news. He’s wearing green shorts and a white t-shirt. I watch as he turns his head and looks up at me. Those eyes, they grab my attention instantly. The white t-shirt bringing out the deep blue in them, his face slightly crinkling up when he smiles at me. His thick, dark hair still wet from the shower. I finally feel the accelerated heartbeat that I was waiting for all this time.

Come on, sit down. I won’t bite; didn’t last night might not do it now as well.

I sit next to him and try to read something from his face. His smile widens.

I don’t think we have been properly introduced, not this time around anyway. I’m Kostas Callas.

He outstretches his hand and I take it; his skin is warm and the grip firm. I feel the sheets slipping, so I grab them with my other hand.

I’m Emily... wait, Callas now?

I ask just realizing the fact.

Yes, you were gracious enough to accept my last name, and I thank you for that. It’s good to know that some things stay the same in this crazy modern world.

This is insane.

I state simply and lean a bit closer to him without even noticing. He smells of something sweet and rich; I can’t place the smell, but it doesn’t matter.

Life is insane, so we are just following its rules here.

My eyes take in the room again and I frown.

Do you know where my clothes are?

I think for this weather your underwear will suffice.

I’m serious.

As am I... they are probably under the bed, but some should still be in the hallway.

Excuse me?

Yes, I think you aren’t a fan of heat waves and decided to start to get undressed still on your way. Don’t worry, the only things that you took off were your pants and your dignity.

Just the pants?

Yes.

Alright.

That’s the only thing that I ask as my life hasn’t been too perfect lately; a drinking problem causing the moral levels to drop. Then again, it was likely just me making a fool out of myself, nothing more. This was the first time that I brought a man with me and not just a big bill from the bar.

Is that all you want to know about your new husband?

Probably not, just let me find some clothes first, as I seem to still experience some leftovers of my dignity.

Thought so, that’s why I bought you this.

He reaches into some bag and hands me a simple, blue summer dress. I look at it and suddenly feel embarrassed, though I can’t exactly explain why.

You bought this for me?

I decided that my wife deserves something new.

My fingers trace against the delicate fabric and eyes tear up. This was ridiculous. You wake up next to a man that you never laid eyes on and that you are now married to... and this is what breaks you? A stupid dress? I ponder this while still touching the material when I feel his hand on mine.

Is something wrong? Because this is only temporary, and you will regain your freedom in just six months. I also assure you that the money will be transferred to your account, just not all at once. But you have my word for it, I always keep my promises.

I stare at him and feel that he means all of those words and that somehow, he is worth the trust. I put my other hand on his and ignore the slipping sheets. It’s not like he didn’t see it all last night.

I know, but my reaction, it’s... it’s just been a while since someone cared enough to do anything nice for me. I have been going through a rough patch and eventually managed to isolate everyone with the way I was acting. My family, my friends. And now here you are, making this simple gesture, something that I desperately needed and didn’t’ even realize it. You must think I’m crazy, but then again you already knew that when you chose me for your temporary wife.

I chose you because I knew you would be the right person for me. I felt like I could trust you. Don’t ask me how or why. Let’s just make best of this while it lasts.

My hand slips out of his. I get up and I slowly put on the dress, not saying anything or feeling ashamed. Just turning around and letting him zip it up.

You do realize that there is still so much to discuss before anything even starts to resemble normality?

Yes, but we have the time, six months should do just fine.

We step out of the room, passing the dark hallway and stepping out into the scorching sun. So much still had to be said, yet all this craziness didn’t stop me in my tracks, it made me wake up and start to run. Catching up with my life. Kostas being there by my side, carefully bringing us both back from the place that neither wanted to be, hopefully leaving the past behind.

And as the months passed, I learned more about him and decided to stay with him. Even if we met in the strangest circumstances and this marriage had absolutely no reason to work, it somehow did. I don’t know how to explain it, but my messy existence fell into place with him by my side. He was what I wanted.

A steady fire burning in my veins...*

_________

*Kostas / Steady; stable.

Our demons stare at each other 

Yours, a void

Mine, an open flame

Mine wails in pain

Yours suffocates in total silence

Both, longing to be held

You cannot hold a void, for there is nothing to grasp in emptiness

You cannot hold a flame, for you'll surely burn when you reach.

The flame steps into the void, giving light to its corners

The void contains the flame, giving it modulation

...

She takes small steps, her legs leading her to the beach, a fragile figure, barely visible against a raging storm. Dark clouds covering the sky, cold drops falling on pale cheeks. Her breaths are uneven and shallow as she stumbles forward, bare feet sinking in the sand. She’s dressed in a black, heavy coat. Sharp gusts of wind opening it with every blow, a thin hospital gown the only thing she has underneath. She holds it tightly, her fingers almost white against the dark woolen material. It wasn’t even hers. They hid all of her clothes because she didn’t need them. Hospital clothes and her covers were all she had. After all, she wasn’t going anywhere. It was too late for that.

Slowly moving forward, a few more unsure steps, just to get closer to the ocean. Just a bit closer. She wants to perceive it, inhale it with her entire being. Just the smell of the salty waters, tiny particles of iodine from the seaweed promising to make her feel better; and not just the constant odor of sickness and medicine. It was just too late. She knew that for a long time now, even if her family tried to convince her otherwise. “There is always hope Anne, they are going to find a donor for you. I know they will. You just have to be patient, child” The same empty words not really giving her any hope to hold on to. These days were numbered, she just wasn’t sure how many she still got left. Two, four days? A week, or a month? Maybe more, maybe less? She didn’t know. Twenty-two years wasn’t such a bad score.

Gazing at the water, she makes an attempt to move. One step, two, three, four... That’s the moment when her legs buckle under her, deciding that this will be all that she gets. Anne’s weakened body falls to the ground and lays on the wet sand. Her breathing more shallow than before. She wants to spit out her lungs so there will be no more pain. She wants to open her chest and rip out the heart, that hasn’t been working for the past year. She scratches her throat as if she were looking for hidden air. For a moment her face lands in the sand too, she can hardly breathe in this position, but it brings her a strange almost masochistic pleasure to feel like that; as if she still had some faint control over her life, as if she could end this. Here and now... She growls into the ground and makes herself lift a bit. She spits the sand out of her mouth and coughs for what seems like forever. Her body lifts even more and she sits up on her knees.

The breathing slows down and the last coughs stop. Tears running down her face. She inhales and finally feels the breeze on her face and the ocean in tired lungs. Eyes focused on the waves crashing with force and the storm coming closer. Maybe it will take her with it. Breathe in, breathe out - light lips lifting slightly. She has made it hear, reaching her goal; a little dream that she could still make happen on her own. This sickness has taken so much. Eyes closed, she lets the simple sounds of the ocean fill her up, but other words break through too. Atrial fibrillation. Type: Permanent. She tries to block the too known words but they keep hitting her. Heart abnormality from birth, treated too late. She clenches her eyelids tighter. Right-side heart failure. Recurring and badly treated health issues. “Your immune system is that of an infant, we will use medication to improve...” She finally blocks it and just listens to the tides rise anbd fall.

With eyes open again, she pulls the coat tighter around a slim figure. I couldn’t find any shoes, the slippers fell off in the sand. She gazes at the water as the same thought bounces in her mind. This isn’t my coat. She can hardly feel her fingers as her eyelids begin to get heavy. I’m so tired all the time, I just need to sleep. Her head feels dizzy, and her breaths become shorter with every passing minute. Maybe today is the day. She makes herself look at the world, still feeling the wind in her hair and the fading rain on her cheeks. Her hand goes to her chest once more, barely hearing her mistaken heartbeats. There is a pull somewhere inside her and she groans, her vision blurry. She collapses into the sand. And as she drifts into unconsciousness she can sense cold hands wrapping around her and picking her up.

“There you are, once again running away”.

A man in his mid-thirties holds her tighter and starts to walk back to the building. This wasn’t the first time that she has disappeared, but she never managed to get that far. She had a strong spirit but this couldn’t be stable for her health. At least there was some good news, the situation has changed.

_________

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXwPUYU8rTI Birdy "shelter"

there is a layer of sweat and dirt clung to her that she can’t get rid of, dried blood in between her nails and taste of burnt ashes and iron on her tongue. bitter and sour.

she is exhausted. her movements are sluggish as she stumbles through the rumbles and ruins that were once her home. her breathing is uneven, grows even more ragged with each step she takes forward as the blade wound in her stomach burns. she grits her teeth and clenches her hand but doesn’t stop. doesn’t stop even when’s the itch in her throat that’s driving her crazy, the buildup of the taste of iron until the pressure is too much and she vomits blood. she pushes her self forward and forces her muscles to move.

because she can’t feel him anymore, he is gone.

.

.

.

she was in the heart of battlefield, drunk on the warm feeling spread across her arms twins of dragon tattoos glowing golden, her magic spilling from the tips of her fingers, a galaxy of stars burning around her when suddenly— the warmth disappeared. she froze. faltered in her spell; a moment of distraction, an opening that her the opponent took advantage of plunging a blade into the side of her stomach. but she didn’t recognise the pain, only focused on the fading dragon tattoos. he was dying.

it was a split decision. she called on her magic, feeling the tide of magic that raises, heavy and vast as the ocean, and like a hurricane breaking through fragile barriers she cut through space and teleported to the last area she felt their connection break—

only to howl in pain, her knee buckling under the force as a sharp stabbing pain suddenly lanced through her. Immediately, she pushed her hand on a wound, applying pressure to at least stop the blood. she didn’t have enough magic left to heal herself unless she wanted to burn out and faint.

so with a shaky breath, she pushed herself up and stood. and what she saw left her wide-eyed and horror-stricken. it was gone, her home. for miles all, she could see was ruins and rumbles of stones and buildings of what once was apart of a mighty kingdom and in the air, she could hear, smell traces of a strong spell. it must have been the oracle, only they were bold enough to barge into their territory like this and tear it apart with their large supplies of magic.

she pushed her rage that bubbled at this knowledge focusing on the task at hand, she had to find evan. glancing at the arms, her heart ached in agony, the glowing dragon tattoos on her arms were reduced to faint grey lines she could barely see. hot on his tail—desaparate— she ran as fast as she could, with one of her hands pressed on her blade wound, before the tattoo could fade out.

in the back of her mind, she recognized what she was doing was treason, abandoning her post on the battlefield but she could care less.

because always, above everything, he mattered the most.

.

.

.

I inhale deeply and watch as a thin grey haze fills the room. Small clouds of heavy smoke swirling around me as if forecasting a change in the weather. Silently waiting for a storm. I narrow my eyes and gaze at the only other person in the small room, then my eyelids close for a moment and a smile spreads on my lips.

“Tilly Saint Jones, now that was a character. Couldn’t stay in place for five seconds even if her life depended on it.”

I look at Marry Lou as she works on her wine. She doesn’t seem to be very interested in the subject. She stretches on the green sofa, her eyes a bit glazed. But then she looks up as if she just heard me.

“People talked a lot about that girl back in the days.”

“Why wouldn’t they, she was a real sight, that one.”

“Yes, Tilly was - special.”

“Don’t smile like that Lou, you’ll get crow’s feet.”

I stare at her for a moment, inspecting her blond curls pinned up like a little piece of art. Some of it slipping out, burgundy heels laying on the floor. She sits in a half lying position, her right arm supporting her head. Her deep emerald eyes narrow like those of a cat.

“Rubbish, I will smile however I want.”

“Do as you please.”

My own eyes wander to the window and the darkness outside, its past twelve and the street seems deserted. I sigh and let my brain sink in the memories. I put down the cigarette and sip on my tonic.

“There was just something about Tilly, pretty girl, but always getting herself into trouble.”

“You used to hang out a lot with her.”

I look at Marry Lou, as she pulls out the pins out of her hair, golden locks falling down her slender shoulders. She seems more relaxed now. Well, I guess that’s what the liquor did. It made us care less about our surrounding and more about our comfort.

“Yes, once upon a blue moon. One could never get bored with that creature. She made everything more fun, while she constantly spent her life running away from herself. Did you know she was married once? She married this businessman from Seattle. She didn’t really care for his money but for the way, he swept her off her feet. Made her feel special. He romanced her and showed her the world. He thought he could keep her. But nothing could keep Tilly in place. Maybe he thought that he would keep his girl entertained. Cause that’s what she was, barely seventeen - but he had the money, so they made it legal. After all, what are over twelve months against the power of real love? Boy, did he have it wrong, four months and she was gone. Like no one ever heard of her, as if she disappeared into thin air. How she managed to run away from such a powerful man? That still remains a mystery.”

“So no one knew?”

“Not officially, but there was gossip, there always is. Most people believed that she had problems and wanted to end herself, but that was just the vile tongues jealous of her new status as Mrs. Edgar Morentine... then again, maybe they were right. Tilly did have problems, so many of them.”

Lou shifts on the sofa and sits up.

“So what actually happened there?”

I light up another cigarette and take off my jacket, the sparkly long dress that I wear under it was a bit uncomfortable but at least it looked good on me.

“As said, there was gossip. But people who were around then, know that the newest Mrs. Morentine was a smart little thing, that could have made things happen if she wanted it badly enough.”

Marry Lou gets more animated, eyes blinking faster.

“So a guy?”.

“Yes, there is always a guy, sweetheart. People said it was the gardener; a strong looking fellow but it was actually his youngest son. Just seventeen but madly in love our little Tilly. She had him wrapped around her finger. He never stood a chance.”

I get up and pour myself another gin and tonic, then I pick up a bottle standing on the floor and pour some wine for Lou. I’m trying to keep her attention awake while she is still animated. She looks up at me and waves a hand at my feet.

“Take off your shoes, darling, this isn’t exactly Milano.”

I do as she says and sit back by the window. I close my eyes and massage my feet. I shouldn’t have spent so many hours in these. The sudden sound of Lou’s voice brings me back.

“So tell me, Katherine. How did T. Saint Jones run away just with the help of a boy? After all, crazy hormones will only get you so far.”

She smiles and sips on the deep ruby liquid, her red lipstick leaving stains on the glass.

“You are thinking like the rest of them. Always not appreciating Tilly’s many, many talents. That girl knew how to get around even at her young age. And she knew that James... let’s call him that, was mad for her, but the thing that was important, was how popular the gardener’s son really was. People were very fond of him. And to get a favor from those people was the easiest thing in the world. Especially when planning an escape.”

I stare at the night behind the thin glass, and lower the zipper of my dress a bit; such a pretty thing but so hard to breathe in. I hear faint rustling sounds and turn my head around. Marry Lou crosses her arms, giving me a funny look.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you think like this story is a bit over the top?”

“No, if anything the story doesn’t have enough facts. There is so much that we don’t know. For example, we know what happened to Tilly in the end. Such sad news, don’t you think?”

“Some of us weren’t that surprised. To be honest, a lot of people thought it would happen sooner.”

“Yes, they didn’t have the same faith in her as I had. They didn’t know how she really was.”

Lou lifts her legs and puts them on the sofa, then strokes the velvet material covering it and furrows her eyebrows.

“Kat, what really happened to Tilly?”

I watch her calmly and see her shiver.

“I think you already know, I think everyone knows.”

“No Kat, I mean why did it happen? Why did she fall?”

“Just like people said, she had problems.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“Believe in what, Lou?”

“That she took her life because her mind was wrong ... or that she just slipped?”

“Silly girl, a woman like Tilly Saint Jones doesn’t just slip or fall. She doesn’t overdose like the coroner states. I think you and I both know that she had some help with leaving.”

I can see her still shivering as if there was a draft in the room, but she herself doesn’t seem to notice it. She gulps down the entire glass of wine and pours out of what’s left in the bottle. Then she looks at me as if challenging me.

“Tilly was strong. Maybe I didn’t approve of her and gossiped just like the rest of those fools, but that’s the one thing I know for sure. She was strong.”

“Yes, but she was also wild and untamed, too many people trying to kill that quality in her.”

“Katherine?”

“Yes, Lou?”

“Tell me more about Tilly. I want to know her better.”

I light up another cigarette and watch the heavy smoke float lazily in the air.

“Not a problem, we have the whole night for that.”

I smile and empty my glass, running fingers through my thick chocolate brown hair.

“Lou, did I ever tell you how she met that funny fellow, Carl?”

“That painter?”

“Yes, now that guy was amusing. Tilly absolutely adored him. Some she was even close to love.”

“Our little Tilly Saint Jones, in love?”

“Yes, well stranger things happen. But I will tell you one thing. That girl was the wildest of them all. She had adventures that most of us can only dream about. It’s a shame that some didn’t appreciate her the way that they should.”

My voice turns cold as Lou asks with a sudden intensity that wasn’t there before.

“Please, tell me more about her?”

My lips stretch out into a smile and I loosen my dress even more. This story might take a while.

“As said, we have the whole night, and there is much to say about Tilly. So back to that Carl guy. Now that one I really liked, he always made her smile....”

(A slightly ajar door to the room closes, as smoke still lingers in the air and two women talk more. Their voices low in an empty house. The view moves to the hall and then outside. The lock on the front door clicks shut, and the night slowly turns into morning.)

And to this day people still wonder. What did really happen to Tilly Saint Jones? That crazy, unstoppable girl. That’s something no one knows for certain, but people gossip.

After all these years they still gossip.

(The picture slowly grows dark, and a fade out on the scene.)

The end.

havoc /noun/

1. widespread destruction

My freedom from the nightmares doesn’t even last a night. I am confronted with my demons after less than two hours of restless sleep filled with endless tossing and turning. My sheets soaked with sweat and the fear of people whom I don’t even know and will probably never meet.

I wake up with a sore throat from screaming and a beating heart ready to jump out of my chest at any moment. It’s like the hammer always lurking under my skull, is ready to take vengeance with double force. Paying me back for every moment that I spend with only my voice occupying my thoughts. This seems to take forever until the minutes turn to hours, and those hours change into days. I fight it at first, distracting myself in every possible way but eventually even I have to give up. The pain surrounds me like a cocoon until I am no longer able to stand on my own. Everything becomes a gigantic blur of darkness and mayhem colored by my own insanity. Until... until something manages to break through.

Hope is such a funny thing, isn’t it? No matter how bad things are, we always keep it somewhere in the back of our heads. Hidden away in the deepest corners of our minds. Conveniently stashed behind the layers of cynicism that replaced our dreams. But at that moment, I did not let hope set in, I let the thing that happened next, distract me from myself.

______

sometime later...

The bell rings. A piercing sound so high that it seems to make my ears bleed. I moan, throw a small carpet off my body, and drag myself from the wooden floor. My feet stumble under me as I head for the door.

The bell keeps ringing. I hold back the tears. The pain is excruciating.

I look through the peek hole and clench my teeth, trying not to scream and ignore the pneumatic hammer destroying my brain. I swallow, not sure what to do. It’s him. Paying me a house call. Just like he said he would. I watch his worried and frustrated face and stand there for a couple more seconds, frozen to the spot. He starts to pound on the door. I jump back startled, yet still grateful that he didn’t ring the doorbell this time.

I know you’re there...

He starts and then cuts abruptly, probably realizing he never asked for my name. I hear him curse under his nose and then he pounds again on the door.

Just open up. I can see your shadow under the door.

I almost jump back, like a child being caught on doing something bad. I move without coordination, fall to the ground and hit my elbow on the hard wooden floor. I growl while the pain in my head mixes with the one coming from my arm.

Son of a bitch...

Please let me in. I have medical training, remember? I can help.

I lift myself to my knees and get up. Oh, what the hell, he couldn’t possibly make this worse than it already was.

I unhook the multiple chains and locks and step out the door so he doesn’t see the catastrophe, that was once my flat. I couldn’t control what was going around in my head and I lashed out on almost everything I could find. Things flying in the air, the place a mess. Pieces of broken glass everywhere. This time the place really resembled a junkyard.

I cover myself tightly with my oversized, grey hooded blouse. I cross my arms, feeling weak but already going in my defensive mode. The one that I have used, as long as I can remember. Whatever the situation I was in, this has never changed. I stand there in my black, ripped jeans, messy hair tied in a falling apart knot, and stare at him. I bit my lip, not sure what to say or do.

Will you let me in? Or are we just going to stand here like this in awkward silence?

I turn back, open the door wide and step in, not even looking if he is following behind me. I pass the pieces of glass on the floor and sit on a sofa and then close my eyes. My hands tremble.

I hear him come in but keep my eyes closed. Too tired and embarrassed to even look at him. I know I was being childish, and that I desperately needed help.

This is the time you can muck my junkyard.

I say in a low voice and feel him get closer. I don’t have to see him, to guess what’s he’s doing. He crouches in front of me and grabs my hand. I know that normally he would start with examining my body and the possible injuries... but in this case we both know the obvious procedure wouldn’t have worked. I feel his fingers slide against my cold skin and a certain warmth starts to spread. It fills my veins and slowly moves through my cells, and when it finally reaches my head, I start to relax.

This was going on for almost two days straight.

My body starts to tremble again. I open my eyes and look down at him. He still has that worried expression on his face... and it’s this mixture of concern and a kind stare that makes my eyes sting. The idea that someone would care for me like that... for such a nobody like me. I blink and tears start to roll down my face. I quickly wipe them with my sleeve and clear my throat. I feel irritated and angered by my weakness, but still, the relief seems to be the most dominant emotion right now.

Thank you, Charlie.

I said I would come to check up on you.

So a man of your word?

Something like that.

I thought you would call first.

I did. Repeatedly. But there was no signal. I started calling you last night after realizing that 24 hours have passed since your last visit.

I look past him at the kitchen counter, when the phone used to be. My gaze falls down to the ripped cables. I frown and move my left foot to the back. I feel the phone under the sofa. I look up and keep a straight face.

It must be broken again... so you waited for another 24 hours so you could officially start the search and claim me as a missing person.

Well, look who’s mucking now?

I shrug my shoulders trying not to look bothered, at the same time wondering how will I ever repay him for what he was doing for me.

He stands up and looks at me critically. He has a strange expression on his face. Like he’s trying not to laugh. I frown at him. I can feel my defensive mechanisms kicking back in, even if this man probably just saved my life, and my senses.

What?

So which part of your body did you hurt, falling down? You know, when all of those delightful words cascaded from your mouth?

I narrow my eyes, growl and answer him spiting through my teeth.

My right elbow.

Alright then, take off your clothes.

What did you just say??

Relax, I am not here for your doubtful innocence. I just meant your blouse so I can examine the damage... Don’t look at me like that. You could kill people with the stare of those steel, grey eyes.

He says raising his hands in the air and I flinch. I did kill someone, even if his eyes were colder than mine. I don’t say anything, just take off my blouse, revealing a worn out, white spaghetti strap shirt. The material is thin and I am not wearing a bra. I fight the urge to cover myself but he doesn’t seem to even notice. His expression serious and professional.

He opens a medium size, black bag that I didn’t notice before and puts out a pair of latex gloves. He touches my elbow gently and moves it to the side, looking at the scrapped skin and checking if I broke anything. He sterilizes the wound and puts a special gaze bandaid on it.

I think you are going to live, gorgeous.

Mmm, thanks again.

I quickly put on my blouse and zip it up to my neck. I felt very exposed around him, and not just because of the clothes. Just the whole situation mixed with his kindness. I wasn’t used to this.

It’s Eleonore... I thought you might want to know, and I don’t use short forms of my name. So watch it.

You’re very feisty for someone who was just laying on the floor, raving in pain.

Okay. Sorry. I really do appreciate what you did, and that you actually came over to check up on me. I’m just in a bit of stress state lately. That’s all.

Stressed? Don’t you mean excruciating pain that doesn’t seem to have any medical foundations? Because I think that’s what you really meant.

Yeah, that too. Mind not being so observant and perfect?

Perfect, you say.

Because of your medical training and doing house calls without any charge.

Who says it’s free?

Hmm, okay. How about that hammer over the head, for all of your help?

Sounds marvelous. Have you got a medium size one? The big ones can really open up your skull, too much mess if you ask me.

I stare at him for a long moment, debating what he just said and how sarcastic his tone of voice is - and for the first time in what seems like forever, I let myself smile.

Okay, how does tea sound then?

Well, it’s a big compromise but I will take it.

I get up and try not to step on anything dangerous while I walk to the kitchen annex. I fill the kettle with water and put it on the stove. I open a beaten up drawer and look for some matches. It’s not easy with all the clutter inside, but I manage to eventually find them. I light the gas and try not to notice how much my hand is shaking.

Do you have a broom?

I jump up as he stands behind me. I turn around, while I watch him, crossing his arms and giving me a funny look. My heart is pounding like crazy. Let’s face it, I was a complete wrack these days.

Why? Planning on changing your occupation? From a male nurse to a cleaning lady?

You know, that attitude isn’t going to get you very far.

I sigh and hand him an old broom that seemed to be here since I moved in. Then I pretend to wave an imaginary white flag at him.

Here. Sorry for being an ass.

He grins at me and goes to the living room area.

Mind telling me where all the glass is from?

I narrow my eyes and point to a big, tall frame, leaned against the nearest wall. It looks old and made of gold, but it isn’t. I bought it at a flea market, for 85 bucks. I fell in love with it, the moment I saw it and used some of my rent money on it. Still, it was worth it, even if now only the frame was left and the back panel.

I broke the mirror because I didn’t like what I saw in it.

He looks at me in a weird way, like he doesn’t believe that my words could be true. I shrug my shoulders and watch him start to sweep the floor. The kettle begins to whistle after a while, and I open the top cupboard to pick two mugs that are in the best shape. One mug is covered in little violets and the other boldly states“I choose to be a unicorn” It’s a picture of a lama with an attached horn on top of its head. I frown. Yeah, he is getting the flower one. I make rose tea and carefully take the mugs to the little coffee table that’s in front of the sofa. I put everything on a stack of newspapers, not thinking that he would actually mind.

I cross my arms and watch as he sweeps the floor, throws away the pieces of glass to a bin that’s in the kitchen, and puts the rug in its place. Right in the center of the living room. He also grabs some clothes off the floor and sofa and heads to the bathroom. I lean forward and see him throw it to the laundry basket (yes, I am also surprised that I have one and that I didn’t manage to break it yet). My frown deepens as I notice how comfortable he is in here. Like it’s his place. He comes out, wipes the fake sweat off his forehead and sits on the sofa.

Why are you still standing? Come on, sit down.

I was wondering what weapon I would use on you if you started to clean my bedroom.

I sit down and look suspiciously at him as I lift the mug and wrap my cold fingers around it.

I am not going there. It’s a danger zone, and you are out of your genie wishes by now. I am no longer lifting my finger. Well, maybe only for this.

He grabs my wrist for maybe five seconds and then let’s go. He gives me a long stare, probably looking for some reaction from me. The touch of his warm fingers is short, but it momentarily makes me calmer. The warmth of his skin better than the one I get from holding the teacup. My frown disappears and my face muscles start to ease up. He keeps examining my face like he would normally do with his patients. I don’t mind, simply enjoying the silence in my head.

That will do. I think I will handle the rest of the cleaning by myself.

If you think that you are up for it.

More than I was just an hour ago.

We sit around for some time and drink the tea, not really saying much. Just enjoying the silence. From time to time he puts his hand on my wrist and then I just close my eyes, trying to take as much as I can from this. I’m actually surprised that he isn’t asking me a million and one questions while we sit on the sofa. I know that he wants to, but maybe he is just aware of my current state and doesn’t want to push it. Eventually, he gets up.

I need to go to work now. I don’t want to be late for my shift.

I stare at the window and watch as the sun slowly falls over the horizon.

So a night shift?

Yeah, but I actually like it more. I’m not really a morning person.

You and me both... Charlie?

Yeah?

Thank you for this. I might act like a total douchebag, but I am really grateful for what you did for me today.

Did what I had to do, Nora.

Eleonore - I correct him.

Hmm, Nora suits you better.

I told you, no shortening my name.

He puts his hands in the air and his black bag moves around. I try to keep a straight face again.

Alright, Eleonore but only if you will tell me more about yourself next time I see you, and maybe explain what’s really going on around here.

I can’t promise anything.

Very well, Nor...

Okay, okay. I will try, alright? Is that enough?

He just nods his head and walks out of the apartment. I stare at the door for a long time after he leaves. I try not let myself be too hopeful while I think what he actually said. Next time I see you. I try and yet I hold on to those words tightly, like a person drowning, holds on to a razor. I lock the door and head for my bed, that’s in my tiny bedroom. I land on it, and my tired mind falls asleep as soon as I hit the pillow. It’s been so long since I could do that.

I just hope it lasts... even if just for this night.

_____

next chapter...

https://theprose.com/post/233536/catching-up-with-life

.

In the end, he didn’t call the cops. He wanted to though. His eyes kept gazing at me with an unreadable look. He took my hand and walked me out of the small room and into the main hallway. I stared at the gift shop absentmindedly while I let him lead me out. I looked at the colorful balloons and gift cards and wondered if I still remembered how to be happy. I wasn’t sure anymore. The chances of my situation ending in more or less good circumstances were less than zero.

On our way we passed a woman carrying a baby in her arms; she seemed exhausted and beaten up but still managed to smile at her child. She gazed up at me and the smile still lingered on her pale lips. My eyes closed for a moment as I considered how the scene didn’t set any emotions in me. Nothing. I just felt numb, now that the voices in my head had subsided. I stared at the hand holding mine and speculated how long will this last after he lets go. I really didn’t want to find out.

___

And now as he leads me to the front door and stands for a moment in silence, I try to set my mind in the present as the sliding doors open and close over and over again. He doesn’t loosen the grip. I don’t dare to move, ignoring my surroundings, just focusing on the here and now. I couldn’t even plan five minutes ahead.

One more time, can you please explain this to me?

I don’t think that I can.

Why not? You know I can still change my mind and call the cops?

Do what you must.

I say, thinking if he did call the cops, he would have to wait here with me until they got here. I somehow feel selfish, counting on the extra minutes with him.

Just like that? You’re going to give up?

Well, I think that ship has sailed a long time ago. Look, normally I would run away, okay? I would scream, shout and maybe even hit you with something. I would steal the drugs and leave... until I would need more. I would probably choose a different hospital, or maybe the same one, depends on how strong the pain would get... and since it’s getting worse with every day, I think I might visit you again. Something tells me that either way I would end up in prison.

You’re strange. You know that, right?

Mmm, the word doesn’t even begin to describe me.

He gives me another puzzled look, staring at me as if he is not sure what I might do in the next second. His eyebrows scrunched together, forming one line as if he is trying to solve some really hard problem and he doesn’t seem to know from which angle to grab it. He finally lets out a big puff of cold air and shrugs his shoulders, like he’s giving up just like me before.

Alright, look. I can see that you’re not as bad of a person that you seem at first. You’re not exactly a ‘usual’ kind of junkie that I have to deal here almost every day. But still, what you did was a felony and I should report this to my supervisors. I don’t even know what’s stopping me.

I look up at him, at the circles under his blue eyes and his tired face. I didn’t notice it before, too preoccupied with my own sufferings to even care.

I’m sorry, I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to. If I had a choice.

He lifts his other hand to his head and ruffles his bright, hazel hair. Then the hand covers his face, and he sighs deeply.

Fine, just go, I won’t call anyone.

He lets go of me and waves his hand as if he wants to get rid of me as soon as possible. I swallow and close my eyes shut. Somehow desperately trying to reverse the time with my mind. Surprisingly my thoughts don’t go back to the moment when all shit went down or to the many mistakes that I did in my life. My mind wanders off to the exact moment when he touched me and for the first time in days, I felt relief. I wanted those extra minutes with him.

And not only because of the miracle abilities that he possessed. There was also something about his presence. It worked soothing on me like nothing bad could happen to me as long as he was near. I try not to think how cliche my words sound in my head and make myself move.

Thank you. I really do appreciate it. If it was someone else...

I start to say and notice that the light from the lamps gets brighter. My head begins to throb but it’s not like before. This pain doesn’t want to open my skull, it’s more of a migraine thing. I hear some whispers and look at the floor. All liveable. I could do this. I look up at him and wonder how long before it gets back to the previous state. I don’t wanna think about it.

What’s wrong?

Nothing that I couldn’t survive. Trust me, it’s much better than it was.

I turn to the sliding doors and walk out into the night. It’s raining a bit but I don’t mind. The rain seems to wash away this terrible day, preparing me for the next one, that probably won’t be as kind. I hear the doors slide again but I keep on walking.

Wait!

I turn around and stare confused at Charlie. He rushes to me as if in an emergency and I am tempted to look behind me, to make sure there wasn’t any accident happening there. But I don’t, because I know, that I am the emergency.

Did you change your mind? Shall I wait for a police vehicle?

I ask, almost amused, lifting my hands as if they were already in handcuffs.

Let’s just say, I am still debating. So stop kidding around.

Okay, okay. So, what do you want?

Your phone number.

Excuse me?

Don’t look so surprised, I feel offended... I need your phone number so I can check up on you. Cause let’s face it, the entire time that I have known you, you look like you are on the verge of collapsing. I don’t want to have this on my conscience if anything happens. I have enough on my head as it is.

Do you have a pen and paper?

How retro of you... and yes, I have. It’s one of the perks of being a male nurse.

I take a small notepad from him and scribble a phone number and my home address. I hand it to him and he stares at it with a funny look.

Not sure if this will work. I don’t really do house calls.

Well, I don’t always pick up... for different reasons. And that’s a landline phone.

No cell phone?

It’s breaking a lot these days. I guess it doesn’t like it when I throw it against a wall.

Or throw it out the window, I think to myself. This was another issue for me. Because of the constant pain, I kept getting panic attacks and fell into a lot of tantrum states, raging on. When my head threatens to explode, the phone’s ring was like a screaming murder to me... that’s why it usually landed on my wall. The landline I only turned on when I didn’t have a surround system speakers in my brain. Which wasn’t often. But I guess even my pain had a scale. Sometimes it was an 8... and sometimes a 100.

So what you are saying, in such an ‘enduring way’ is that you won’t kill me with a hammer if I chose to check up on you?

Yes, sounds about right, since I threw away all of the heavy and sharp objects from my junkyard... I mean my ‘flat’.

Ok, it’s a deal.

He comes closer and extends his left hand. I hesitate for a long moment, not used to being around people as of late. The further away I was from everybody the better chance I had of mental survival. I finally shake his hand, enjoying the peace that this physical contact was giving me. I stare at him for a second, thinking that he might be doing this on purpose.

From one side I knew that he must be really confused about what was really going on. Maybe he thought I was some scam artist and that all I wanted were some free drugs... and in order to make it look convincing, I cooked up some silly story about his wondrous touch. Now, from the other side, I could feel that a part of him wanted to believe me, despite everything that he knew about the world and how much he relied on that knowledge. And not some crazy shit that was going around him. My fingers squeeze tighter around his and then I let go.

And as I leave him and head out into the night, I think to myself that this was a little gift from him. As if he was charging up my batteries for what was to come. I put my grey hood on and try not to be too visible. All I wanted right now, was some peace and rest. Hoping that maybe if I was quiet enough I could disappear and hide away from my problems.

And it doesn’t take very long for them to find me again...

_____

next chapter...

https://theprose.com/post/233009/house-call

.

My eyes scan the room.

I stare at the glass cabinets filled with medication and a single metal desk with a small lamp on it. My look passes past some documents and files laying on it, right to a big white mug with a logo on it. ‘Whitmore Medical Center’. I stare at the coffee stains on it and feel my legs shake.

I feel so weak. My muscles tremble as I reach the cabinets. I open the door and stare at the labels and unfamiliar words on it. I groan. I couldn’t just pick any and take it. Well, I needed a needle first. My lips lift in a sarcastic grin. I think I could find a couple of needles easily enough. After all, I was in the nurses’ room. I turn around the small bottles, looking for a name I do actually recognize. I smile for real this time. Morphine.

Yes, this should work just fine. I take the little container and hide it in my pocket. I stare at the shelf, indecisive. I needed more. I reach for the next one and hear the door behind me.

What are you doing here?!

The voice is raised and belongs to a man. I turn around and look up at him, his tall frame towering ever mine. He must have been about 6 ’1 tall. Which was a big difference when compared with my humble 5′6. I stare at him, not able to move or even say anything. My mind was so tired and I wasn’t prepared for any interruptions. I was only supposed to get in and get out. He wasn’t a part of my plan. Then again none of this situation was. I open my mouth wanting to say something but then it starts again. The voices pick up. I could only ignore them for so long and now that I could no longer feel the relief from finding what I wanted... I hear them. They’re shouting. Complaining. Some of them turn cruel.

I stare at the guy and I know what he sees. Wide eyes, fear, and terror slipping out. He looks surprised by my reaction and furrows his eyebrows.

Who are you?

My lips move but nothing comes out. I look at him for a moment and then my vision disappears. My feet buckle under me and I fall to the ground. The last thing I remember is hitting the cold tiles. And then nothing.

***

Are you alright?

I look up at him, barely seeing his face in the light. He sounds worried. My mind is confused. I try to make sense of what’s happening. He reaches for me and when he touches me the pain subsides, the voices fade a bit. I sigh with relief. I can’t believe what’s going on. I take a breath to steady myself before I let my voice out.

No, but I think I feel better now, thank you.

You’re thanking me? For what? For not calling the police right away or making sure you didn’t break anything by falling to the ground?

I blink and try to massage my temples with my free hand. I don’t try to break away from his hold. I just try to survive one more day without falling apart.

Chose one above, the unnecessary things you can scratch out.

Oh, we got a funny one here. Good that your sense of humor is still intact because everything else seems to be broken.

I groan as nausea takes over.

Don’t I know it. You don’t have to tell me twice... can you help me up? I promise not to run away... well, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.

He smiles and helps me stand up. My legs shake as he leads me to a chair. He holds my wrist and checks my pulse. He frowns and then flashes a small flashlight at my eyes. I try not to scream from the blinding light and instead quickly close them.

Your pulse is really low, your pupils are dilated and your reflexes are slow.

Who are you, the doctor?

A nurse actually.

A male nurse?

Do you have a problem with that?

I shake my head and hope that it won’t fall right off.

Not in the slightest. You’re just behaving like a doctor. That’s all.

Yet you seem very surprised.

Don’t take it personally, I’m just in a lot of pain lately. So none of my reaction will be normal... so, sorry.

It’s his turn to look surprised. Maybe he thought I was an asshole. Well, he wasn’t that far off.

My name is Charlie. Care to explain what you were exactly doing here?

Well, Charlie dearest, I was stealing.

Honesty, an interesting approach. Can you be more specific?

Preferably, morphine would be my salvation, but in truth, any strong painkiller would do right now.

I smirk but then I frown again. I notice that the voices are getting louder and quickly grab his wrist. He looks surprised at me and then at my hand. He slowly pulls it away.

What are you doing? Because if this is some lame version of flirting and getting out of trouble, then it’s not really working.

Please, just for a moment. It hurts less when you touch me... or when I touch you. I don’t really know how it works.

What are you talking about...?

Please, just for a minute, then maybe later I can walk out of here on my own feet - I growl - and not on a wheelchair or in a black plastic bag.

I grind my teeth as the pain increases. Why in the hell is it so bright in here? I try to take slow breaths, so everything slowdowns as well. There is a moment of silence when I think nothing will ever get better but then I feel his fingers on mine. Sliding against my skin and grabbing my hand. I sigh in relief.

Can you explain to me what’s actually going on around here?

Not really, but...

Yes?

If I don’t take anything from here and surrender to the cops, can I keep you then?

Keep me?

Yes, as a pet, or a houseplant.

What, not even as a boyfriend or your boy toy? Oh wow, I see your sense of humor is still doing well.

Hmm, I wish I was joking. But whatever medical miracle you doing here, it’s definitely working...

______

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sf6mkYz4mx0

next chapter

https://theprose.com/post/232381/an-agreement

Years drift from young to not so young,

but how to explain this razzmatazz?

On my veranda, I play a song

echoing around me from the sweet cembalo.

Once, I was told I would never learn,

I no longer play to their wamefou.

And so, I play, I smile, I laugh,

as music plays, I dine with my latu.

********

razzamatazz: meaning unaccountable or not easily explained

cembalo: Italian for playing the harpsicord

wamefou: meaning to have your bellyful of a person or enough

latu: meaning an edible Asian seaweed, Caulerpa racemosa, with small green berry-like capsules