Good morning... Evening? Whatever
1351 Words
Something was very, very wrong. My eyes were still closed, but I could smell freshly made coffee and pancakes with jam. I heard voices I have not heard in years talking to each other, laughing, having fun. I wanted to move, to rise, to join them, but I could not move my body. Panic began overwhelming me when the sun that was shining through the window suddenly went darker and darker. The voices downstairs were joined by another sound. Another voice. I knew it was there for me, and it was brushing through everyone I ever loved to get to me. Like I knew it would. My breathing became faster and my heartbeat stronger, when the voice and the pain and the darkness all suddenly came crashing down on me. I was finally able to open my eyes, move my muscles and take a deep breath. I closed my eyes again and tried to focus, breathe slowly. It was very cold at night, as my father's house lacked central heating, but now, at God knows what hour, I felt tiny sweat drops all over me. I have slowly, but surely entangled myself in the blankets during the night.
Breathe. Just breathe.
The sun was shining wildly through the window and the brightness made it basically impossible to stay in bed any longer. I rolled over, seeking the strength to do what I really did not want to do - to get up. Soon, I had no choice. I had to pee.
I wrapped myself in a blanket and made my way to the hallway. I found the excruciatingly cold bathroom and took care of my needs. I also brushed my teeth and tried to comb my hair, to no avail. It was a bloody mess. I am a natural brunette, my hair looks nice if I do something with it, otherwise it is just a neverending battle. You see, my hair can not decide if it wants to be straight or curly, it just makes a mess of something in-between. But since I had bigger problems than my hair at the moment, I decided I spent more than enough time watching myself in the mirror. It did not give me the pleasure it gives to other girls. Well, not anymore.
I inspected my face closely. The long bruise on the right side of my face was slowly fading. It went from bright purple to barely visible in less than three days. Under my right eyebrow there was a 5cm long scar, a souvenir I had to bring back with me. I flinched when I remembered how silly I have been, roaming the house unprotected. I returned to my bedroom and took my folding knife with me. It was the only other thing I brought back from Spain. I bought it for myself the last week there, when I already knew I was probably going to be hunted. Its blade was not longer than 7cm and I knew you had to have skill to use it, but I figured, better something than nothing. Now that I had it, I could take a shower.
I tried to make it quick, but it took some time before hot water was available. I was shivering. I hurried up, used one of the towels dad put on the washing machine for me before he left, then put my jeans and hoodie on. The pretty miss from the plane popped up in my head again, but this time I found something good in all my jealousy of her. I wanted to be like her again. Not so much good looking or well-dressed, but confident, decisive. Wanting is a start, right?
I was lucky. The cupboard was filled with coffee, from classic to instant, as always. I noticed a lot of milk in the fridge, too, and I teared up a little bit, knowing fully well dad does not drink it - he only bought it for me. I was watching through the window of a kitchen, last renovated 40 years ago. The sun was brighter than I expected, but then I remembered I haven't the slightest idea what time it is. My jaw dropped when I checked - I had slept for seventeen hours straight.
I had contemplated staying inside, but the sun was too welcoming and not a sound came from the house across the street, so I figured I was safe outside too. I quickly rolled up a small joint while making coffee. Pot, coffee and cigarettes are the guilty pleasures I am desperately trying to contain otherwise.
"Well, no one will tell you what to do now. So you might as well enjoy it", I optimistically remembered myself.
On my way out I realized I have nothing with me to distract myself from thinking too much, so I hesitantly opened my late grandfather's bedroom. He was not a nice person and I did not feel completely comfortable around him or in his house, for that matter. But he did have a lot of books.
After a quick scan of the room I was happy to realize grandfather had a whole Jane Austen book collection. It felt like the day for Mansfield Park, so that was the book that I chose. The smile that brushed my lips was a surprise for me, too - I did not know it hurts to smile now, probably because of the bruise. I can't really remember the last time I smiled on purpose.
Finally armed with coffee, joint and the book, I unlocked and opened the dark and heavy front door.
I took a folding chair that dad used for fishing out of the garage. It was the beginning of March and although the sun was warm, the northern wind was not. But I felt quite alright. The thing that I really liked about this house is the fact that you could be almost alone here. People from apartment blocks all over never came to this part. The forest behind the last two standing houses here was not welcoming at all. A long time ago, when my grandfather and grandmother bought the house, this part of the forest was thriving. People would go to walks here, they would take their dogs and their children and play fetch, build a tree house and basically just hung out.
But then the new apartment blocks came, and with them a proper playground for children, well-lit paths and dogs on a leash. The forest felt abandoned, dark, and sad.
But I did not mind. It would allow me to roam freely through the woods.
I was trying to focus on the book, but my mind was not as peaceful as I would like. I understood in my head that I was safe, at least for now, but my body needed time to adjust. I was not relaxed. I flinched at every sound.
After a while I realized I have been staring at the house across the street for a while. Back then all the surrounding houses were built in the same way and looked almost the same, too. But while dad only made basic repairs, our neigbours made a full renovation and were trying to sell the house for a while now. I was glad it was empty. I remembered the owners as a nice elderly couple, but I preffered the solitude.
As I was sitting in front of my childhood home, all creaky, dark-colored and mysterious, I
smiled for the first time in what felt like eternities. I genuinly smiled, and then I laughed. Just to see if I can still do it. My voice was hoarse and my face tense in an effort to move the muscles I forgot I had. I leaned back on dad's not-so-reliable chair, pulled my hair behind and let the warmth hit me. The book was forgotten in my lap, my finger still marking the page I read last. I took a deep breath, enjoying the presence of nature, the smell of oncoming spring. I relaxed a bit.
And then all Hell broke loose.
- Writer
