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Chapter One; The cold of the concrete wall...
Topic Started: May 4 2008, 12:49 PM (68 Views)
Juliet
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Spasmodic Whale
[ * ]
Chapter One
The cold of the concrete wall is seeping through my jeans, like damp. I shiver slightly, being careful not to move too much. Sitting here is always risky, one false move and you’re dead. The street below looks relatively busy, cars rushing past, a few people ambling around. It’s getting quite dark now; the clouds are hanging lower in the sky, ominous, threatening. In fact, it looks like it might rain. I check my watch; it’s just a few minutes past nine. A year ago, I would’ve left by now. Probably still walking home.
Do you remember the day we first met? It was about a year before then. It’s quite poetic that, the first time we met, and the last time we saw each other was in exactly the same place. Sometimes I wish I could revisit that day, almost two years ago now, live as I had done, without any dark thoughts or premonitions looming over us; just happy in the moment.
It must’ve been almost seven in the evening when I first made my way up here. The sun was just beginning to fade after what had been a surprisingly warm day. I’d spent the day walking the streets, soaking up the last of the summer sun before it faded into autumn, a cigarette permanently hanging from my lips, my mind subdued. Even then as the wind began to pick up, I still felt pleasantly warm, the dying evening sun providing all the heat I needed.
Approaching the entrance to the multi-storey car park, I spat my cigarette onto the floor, breathing deeply I turned into the entrance, climbed the flights of dark, dank steps; the foul smell of stale urine rife in the claustrophobic air. Emerging from the dark recesses of the stairwell, I surfaced into the sunlight. The top floor; without a roof to shelter it, it was the most exposed place in the area, which depending on the weather could be a blessing or a curse. The sun as it sunk gradually lower coated the whole of the floor in a golden honey glow. I held my arms out before me, admiring how bathed in the warm light my skin appeared aflame. The wind was stronger up here; it held me in its caress, powerful and bold. My heart was already starting to beat faster with anticipation, my skin tingling.
I looked out across the car park. Just like always it was completely empty. No one went up there, no cars, and very few people, and even those that did rarely walked back down.
It took a few minutes before I saw you, perched on the edge of the low concrete wall, legs dangling over the edge. Your intent was obvious, scooted right to the far edge, your bottom only just touching the wall, arms behind you bent at the elbow, hands gripping the inside edge of the wall. The perfect leverage position, a short push off your hands and you’d be running on air. You were wearing your coat, the long black one with the hood. You wore the hood up, obscuring your face. From far away you just looked like a black smudge in the distance with no discernable features.
I walked over to you slowly. Doing my best to breath quietly, although my heart thumped in my chest. As I got closer I was able to see a few tendrils of your black hair escaping from beneath the hood and a vague impression of your ghostly pale skin.
“Alright?” I said casually, managing to successfully mask my panic. Did I ever tell you how I terrified I was? I felt chills all over, my hair stood on end.
You didn’t reply, didn’t even acknowledge my existence, although a slight tension in your shoulders showed me that you’d heard.
I pressed on, “I thought I was the only one who ever came up here.”
Silence.
“So… what brings you up here anyway? Enjoying the view?”
I was talking complete shit; it was blazingly obvious why you were really up here. I just couldn’t think of anything better to say. ‘Don’t jump’ sounded to clichéd to me, and slightly hypocritical.
“Well, I guess you want to be left alone… have fun then…” My voice sounded too upbeat, like I was mocking you. I wanted to scream and shout, beg you to come down
I turned and began to walk away, cursing myself for not being able to think of anything decent to say. I stopped after a few passes, and turned back round to look at you.
You looked so vulnerable, your wrists and hands poking out from beneath the thick layers of your coat were so slight and delicate, and even from there I could see you were visibly shaking. I felt I had to give it one last shot, one last attempt to stop you from going ahead with it.
“You realise no one’s ever died jumping off here.” That was a complete lie of course. Only one person in the history of this car park had survived the jump, and even then it had been considered a miracle.
And yet somehow, it worked. I saw your shoulders sag, exasperated.
“What’s the point?” Your voice rung out clear over the wind and traffic below, brimming with sadness and desperation.
I walked over, carefully, and in a gentle sympathetic voice replied, “In what?”
In one clean, fluid movement you swung your legs over the wall, turning yourself round to face me. “In anything.”
You looked beautiful, your pale face framed by the dark hood of your coat and your ebony hair. Thick and unruly, with a long side fringe swept across your head and untamed tendrils of hair flicking out around your cheekbones, quivering in the wind. Your eyes, an opalescent silvery blue, framed by thick eyelashes, almost feminine in appearance, contrasting deeply with your strong angular jaw, pronounced cheekbones and cleft chin. Your lips a dusky pink, full, soft and luscious. Your appearance was so striking, so unlike anyone I’d ever met before.
“What’s the point in anything?” I repeatedly uselessly before shrugging, “I dunno. Personally I think it differs on each individual thing. Me for example, the point in my existence is stopping people jumping off the top of this car park.”
You looked at me, your voice emotionless. “How did you know I was planning on jumping?”
At first I assumed you were joking, but your expression told me otherwise. Your lips were parted slightly and your eyes narrowed, your eyebrows dipped as you attempted to figure me out.
“Um, well… it’s not exactly hard to figure out. Multi-story car park, top floor, on your own, sat on the edge. Kinda obvious.”
You nodded emotionlessly, barely a movement at all, just a short twitch of the head.
We both fell silent for a bit. I stared into your eyes intently, yet you refused to catch my gaze, bowing your head, your fringe falling into your eyes.
“And just so you know, I was joking before, no one ever survives the fall.”
You looked at me for a second, catching my gaze for the first time, your penetrating eyes unforgiving in their measured stare. “Why would you say that if it was a lie?”
“I dunno,” I said uselessly. I crossed my arms almost defensively across my chest, were you even attacking me? I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t figure out anything about you. Your whole manner was so distanced from anyone I’d ever met, your reality worlds apart from my own. “I guess I was just trying to stop you from jumping. It worked didn’t it?”
You nodded again, bowing your head to the ground, keeping your eyes trained on the concrete floor. “Why did you care?”
“Maybe I’m just a caring person, who knows.” I replied quickly, “Come on, get off of there. I’ve got some vodka in my bag. Do you drink?”
You gently slid off the wall, dropping your feet delicately onto the ground. Stood up you were a good few inches taller than me, your legs, clad in tight black jeans were long and lean. You hunched your shoulders over a little; hands plunged deep into coat pockets. “Alcohol?” you asked simply.
“Yeah alcohol.” I confirmed. Sitting down on the floor, I rested my back up against the wall, my legs jutting out ungainly in front of me. The floor was cold and seeped through my clothes; I shivered slightly.
You followed my lead, slipping down onto the floor in one smooth motion you sat with your back against the wall, your legs hunched up to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, in an obviously defensive gesture. “Not for a while.”
“Alright, you give it up or something?” I turned around to face you, leaning against the wall with one shoulder, folding my legs up in front of me to create a V shape.
You shrugged looking straight ahead, adjusting your hood so it obscured your face further.
I frowned quizzically. “Did you or didn’t you?”
You stayed silent, it was like I hadn’t spoke at all.
Right then, I’d be lying if I said I was intrigued, I wanted so much to carry on with my line of questioning, but I knew better. Opening my bag, I pulled out a bottle from within; a relatively small bottle, just a little larger than the palm of my hand; clear glass filled with transparent colourless liquid. I unscrewed the red bottle cap. Red – the symbolism behind the colour more than obvious. This was quite possibly one of the most vile tasting drinks going, lacking the warmth and refinement of more expensive Vodka’s, it was dirt cheap and perfect for those looking to forget the world. Putting the bottle to my mouth, I took a few swigs of the liquid. I could feel it working it’s way through my body, burning all the way, searing my mouth and throat. I managed to hide my discomfort, I’d long ago got used to its acrid tang. The first time I’d drunk it, I’d started gagging the moment it touched my lips.
I held it out, offering the bottle to you, before thinking better of it. “Are you on anything?”
You didn't reply.
I took another drink from the bottle, the glass cool against my lips. “Have you taken any drugs?
Inevitably my question was greeted with the acid silence I’d already grown accustomed to.
I held the bottle out to you. You grasped it in your hand, your long fingers wrapping tightly round the smooth glass. You drunk rapidly, long, deep gulps. I was amazed there was no visible effect; that much of the vile liquid and even the strongest of men would be shuddering in distaste. I watched as you continued to drink, well over half the bottle had gone.
Worried, I snatched it out of your grip, it spilled over you, pooling in your lap.
“Shit I’m sorry!” I exclaimed, biting my lip, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to spill it…”
You just nodded absently, brushing it off your trousers. I looked closely at your hands, your long, slender fingers were calloused and raw, your too-long fingernails were encrusted with dirt. It wasn’t until I noticed that that I began to notice everything else. Your canvas shoes were fraying at the seams, holes forming at the toes, the material was caked with mud, grime and damp, as were your jeans, with visible scuffs on the knees and scratches all over. The whites of your eyes were bloodshot and sore, thick red rims outlining them. The hair that escaped from under your hood was matted and dirty.
“Where do you live?” I asked, already sure of the answer.
You clutched your legs tighter to your chest, pressing your forehead onto your knees. Your hood fell further across your face, completely masking your face.
“Do you have a home?” I continued, lowering my voice to a concerned whisper, shuffling closer towards you. My knee grazed your side, I could feel you trembling. “You’ve been living on the streets haven’t you?”
You raised your head to look me in your eyes. Your face was blank, a complete mask. You nodded.
I climbed to my feet, levering myself up using the wall. Looking down at your, our gaze met, your eyes confused and questioning.
“Come on,” I said encouragingly, smiling to try and reassure you.
You followed blindly, standing up with perfect ease and poise. “Where are we going?”
“My flat, I can’t leave you on the streets, can I! It’s nothing flash, completely tiny but you can stay there for a bit, until you’ve got yourself sorted out.” I sounded so confident as I said it, so sure of myself – my confusion and self-doubt perfectly disguised by my experienced lying skills, the result of a lifetime of denial.
I pushed my massing thoughts aside, smiling warmly I began to walk, looking back to check you were following. You walked a little nervously at first: unsure, nervous, maybe even scared, but driven by your hunger and discomfort. Your long legs carried you along swiftly, long, confident, graceful strides, a complete contrast to your social unease. We quickly crossed the empty car park. Looking back, the sun was gradually sinking. It had grown dark without us noticing it; the wind had fallen almost still except for a soft breeze that kissed our faces. We descended the steps in silence, turning a corner as we reached the street.
Once back on the ground, reality hit. It occurred to me why I had been up there in the first place, and the reasons behind my actions. My heart sunk, my mood plummeting to the ground. The dark sky seemed darker still.
I pulled a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from my pocket. I vaguely offered the packet in your direction and you declined with a swift shake of the head. Lighting the cigarette, I took a drag, the familiar taste of tobacco was comforting, but it could do nothing for the heavy feeling of depression that was beginning to form.
“So, how long have you been living on the streets?” I asked cheerily, choking back my massing sadness, masking it with mock exuberance.
“A month.” You replied expressionlessly, walking beside me, shoulders hunched over as before, your hands hidden in your pockets, looking awkward.
“Where did you live before?”
You didn’t reply.
“With your parents?” I hazarded, “Friends? A children’s Home? On your own?”
My questions greeted with silence, I realised I should shut up, but I couldn’t. Every moment I wasn’t talking my mind was filled with dark ominous thoughts, I just kept on going, in same upbeat, confident tone. “How old are you anyway?”
“Seventeen.”
“Cool, I’m twenty. Only just though, well actually it was a few months ago, but it feels like less than that.” Babbling purely for my own sake, I doubted you were even listening.
You didn’t reply. I didn’t expect you to.
“I don’t even know your name! I’m Alex.”
“Daniel.”
I continued to make small talk until we arrived at my home, a pitifully small basement flat. The house had once been a beautiful Victorian terrace, with ornate fireplaces, original period wallpaper and solid oak floors, until one day some clever idiot thought he’d gut the place of all it’s character and convert it into dirt cheap apartments. Each apartment covered one floor of the house, and whereas the ones on the second, first and ground floors shared a staircase and entrance hall; mine was completely separate. It was a rare occurrence for me to meet anyone else from the building, a fact I was glad of, to be completely honest.
We walked down the short flight of steps that lead to the tiny courtyard outside the front door. It wasn’t exactly a grand entrance, it was full of litter that people had thrown down there, which I hadn’t had time to clear away, congealing in various corners on the cracked concrete floor. I slotted my key into the lock and opened the door into the corridor. I turned round to look at you, try and gauge your reaction, but it was futile; your posture and expression didn’t seem to change in the slightest.
“Well… this is my home,” I said almost apologetically, “I wasn’t joking when I said it was tiny, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Leading off the corridor was a door on the left leading to the kitchen, a door on the right leading to the bathroom, and at the end, a door that opened out into the living room/bedroom. The kitchen was poorly equipped with just a fridge, an oven and a microwave, I rarely used it anyway. I never could be bothered to eat properly. The bathroom was incredibly small, with just a toilet, sink and shower.
We walked through the corridor, I opened the door to each room as we passed, telling you quickly what was in there before shutting it again. I finally led you into main room. Like the rest of the flat, it was nothing special. An unmade bed, a cupboard full of my clothes, a sofa, a small table, a CD player, nothing personal, no way of even telling I lived there.
“So, this is it.” I shrugged, dropping my bag onto the floor and switching on the light, a bare light bulb that hung from a wire in the centre of the ceiling.
Like I anticipated, you nodded silently. Your beautiful face a blank mask, hiding all emotions.
I stubbed my finished cigarette out on the ashtray on the table. It was already full, cigarette butts spilling out over the ash-flecked table. After only a few seconds, I was already missing that cigarette; the after taste remained in my mouth, stale and bitter. I started tapping my fingers against my pronounced hipbones creating dull, hollow notes. Without the constant supply of nicotine, I was already starting to fidget. My unoccupied mind beginning to wander.
Alex…
I needed to do something, anything to distract myself from the memories that were beginning to form in my mind. I slapped on a smile and an upbeat tone, “So, well I guess since you’re the guest you can have the bed. I’ll be on the sofa. And really, just make yourself at home. I don’t have much food in, but just help yourself to whatever you want. I expect you’ll be wanting a shower. Well, you know where the bathroom is! Use any towel you like. And, as for clothes… I don’t expect you have any clean clothes to change into… you can just borrow some of mine, we’re about the same size I’m sure… so yeah… I’m sure they’ll fit… anyway… basically… just…” I sighed, trailing off. I looked to the ground, avoiding your discerning gaze.
“Thanks.” You said, simply, your voice monotone, expressionless. I looked up momentarily, startled by your eyes; I stared blankly seeing my dark brown eyes reflected in their cold grey surface.
“No problem.” I replied, my voice catching slightly in my throat.
You walked through to the bathroom, I heard the door close and the lock click, and within a few minutes the creaking and rattling of the pipes as you ran the water. I made an attempt to sort the place out, moving the clothes from the floor into the cupboard, emptying the ashtray, getting out a sleeping bag and dumping it onto the sofa for me. There wasn’t really much else to do, the small box-shaped room was completely impersonal to me, none of the furniture was mine, it was all owned by the council, the whole flat was. I’d only moved in the day before, and I was already sick of it, I felt stifled, the nicotine stained walls, low ceiling and small windows were dark and oppressive, I felt permanently trapped, a feeling that was all too familiar, and not at all welcome.
I lit up another cigarette, sitting down on the corner of the sofa, the thin cushion sagged beneath me, I could feel the hard base of the sofa beneath it. I took slow, deep drags of the cigarette, savouring the warmth it brought, idly flicking the ash into the ashtray. By now it was almost completely dark outside, through the small, high windows I saw nothing but the reflections of the ceiling and occasional pinpricks of light from the cars that drove past. I grinded the spent cigarette into the ashtray and leant back into the sofa, sinking into the worn sofa cushions. I scratched absently at a small circular burn on the arm of the sofa, the scorched material rough beneath my finger.
You walked back into the room, a towel clutched at your narrow waist with one hand, a bundle of clothes in the other. With the grime lifted, your skin was porcelain white. Your dark wet hair hung over your face; the back, which had previously been covered by the hood of your coat just, skimmed the top of your shoulders. Your shoulder blades were extremely prominent, like curved wings beneath your taut skin. You were so thin, your pronounced bones protruding alarmingly, water pooling in the hollows of your collarbones and yet, your chest and stomach were hard with muscles, your arms sculpted and lean. I watched as a drop of water fell from your saturated hair onto your chest and traced a path across your body.
“Good shower?” I asked, my mouth dry from the smoke of my cigarette.
You nodded sending showers of water cascading down your back, following the natural curve of your spine.
“Great.” I smiled, it felt forced, my lips dry and cracked. “Clothes are in the cupboard, just take what you need.”
I left the room, walking into the bathroom. The room was foggy with steam, the lino floor slick with moisture, the painted walls damp. I rubbed my eyes and walked towards the sink. The mirror was coated with condensation, my reflection nothing more than a ghost. With the back of my hand I wiped away the steam, the warmth mingled with the cold of the mirror on my skin leaving a clammy residue on the back of my hand. The mirror was now streaked with smudges where I’d attempted to clear it, but nonetheless I could see myself well enough.
My skin was slightly tanned, a light golden brown hue, my hair was dark brown, and cut short. I’d always had relatively long hair, just below chin length with a fringe that would fall over my eyes, now, my hair barely centimetres in length my appearance looked harsher, stronger. I still hadn’t got used to it. The pronounced curve of my angular cheekbones, the slight hollow of my cheeks, the fluid line of my jaw and my wide, dark eyes stood out clearly, with nothing to hide or soften their appearance. I turned my head to the side, gingerly feeling my scalp until I found the patch of hair slightly shorter than the rest, it was almost completely unnoticeable now, the scar barely visible, nothing more than a fine line, like a spiders thread.
I turned away from the mirror, stepping towards the shower. I quickly undressed, pulling my t-shirt over my head and letting it drop to the floor. Breathing the humid air deep into my lungs as the warm mist of the bathroom embraced by bare skin. I forced myself to look ahead, keeping my eyes trained forward. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the mottled skin of my chest. I looked up to the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge it. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply. Just the memory of the scars was enough to start memories churning. Glancing down momentarily, I saw my skin, an angry fusion of the faded-red remains of the burns that had once covered my torso and the various scars: surgical and other.
Alex.
I heard his voice in my head, beckoning me. So unlike his usual voice, the sugary façade of almost sinister kindness barely masked the malice that hid beneath it.
Alex, where are you?
I could see his eyes, the irises, perfect circles of icey blue, almost grey, the pupils in the middle, mere pinpricks, barely visible, the whites of his eyes were stained with yellow, braided with red threads.
Come out Alex.
He would find me soon, he always did. I could almost feel the slicing pain as my young skin tore, the unbearable heat and overbearing searing as it burnt, seething, white flesh turning a furious red.
It was in my head, I knew that, but that didn’t make it any less real. I bit my lip, wishing to God that I had a cigarette, or even better something to numb my senses, lull myself into a medicated stupor, a dreamless state somewhere between living and sleeping. I turned back to the mirror, averting my eyes from the reflection that looked back at me. The small mirror formed the door to a shallow cupboard. With one hand I grasped the small, circular handle in my fingers, tugging it sharply, it opened with a short click. I passed my eyes quickly over the contents, several shelves containing various bottles and packets, I grabbed a pill bottle, it was translucent glass, stained a dark orangey-red. Opening it up, I poured two pills into my hand. Dropping them into my mouth I swallowed them dry, feeling the small oblong capsules work their way down my throat. I put the bottle back into the cupboard, turning the white label to face me. I read the small black print that was written on it.
‘Valium (diazepam), Prescribed to Mrs T. Fenwick’ followed by instructions for dosage and details of side effects. ‘Use caution when driving, operating machinery, or performing other hazardous activities. Valium (diazepam) will cause drowsiness and may cause dizziness. Avoid alcohol while taking Valium (diazepam). Alcohol may increase drowsiness and dizziness caused by Valium (diazepam).’
My mind cast back to the vodka I had drunk earlier, that should hopefully still be in my system, and therefore hopefully speed up the effect. But, just to be safe, I pulled out the pill bottle and took another tablet.
It wasn’t long until the tablets started to take affect; I always had had a fast metabolism. By the time I’d fully undressed and got into the shower, I was already feeling the effects. My body felt heavy, time moved slowly, events merged together. This almost complete detachment from reality was exactly what I had wanted, no pain, no worries. The hot water hammered down hard upon my head, I loved the feeling as it trickled over my body making pleasurable tickling sensations across my skin. How long exactly I stayed in the shower I have no idea, at the time it seemed like hours. Once I had finished, the sky had turned completely black, heavy cloud blocking any stars. I towelled myself down and redressed in my t-shirt and underwear.
I stumbled out into the corridor, the coldness of the bare hallway a shock after the damp heat of the bathroom; I shivered slightly before continuing into the main room. You were perched on the edge of the bed, staring intently at the blank wall; you didn’t seem to notice me coming in.
“Alright.” I said. My voice sounded odd to me, heavier, slower.
You glanced slightly in my direction, barely acknowledging my existence.
“I’m gonna sleep now. Turn the light out whenever.” I muttered vaguely, flopping onto the sofa, the hard base sore as I landed, although I barely felt it. I slipped into the sleeping bag, my eyes closed before my head hit the cushions. My body heavy with exhaustion had no difficultly in falling into a deep sleep.

*****
When I woke again the room has been flooded with a pale, hazy light. It took me several minutes until my eyes adjusted to the unusual hue, and even then, I could only see vague shadowy shapes. I frowned, confused to why I’d woken up. And then, I heard it; a frenzied, frantic muttering, fidgeting, fighting, unintelligible whispers and strained shouts. I rolled over, my hipbone grinding painfully against the wooden frame of the sofa that was hidden beneath the fabric cover. I swore, biting my lip. The Valium had worn off; I had been thrown back into the harsh reality with nothing at all to cushion me, nothing to make it even slightly bearable. I narrowed my eyes to the darkness, peering towards where you lay. I saw you, tossing and turning, nothing more than a blurred shape upon the bed, convulsing beneath the thin quilt.
“Daniel?” I whispered. My mouth tasted stale with the remains of my last cigarette lingering.
You murmured again, louder this time. I strained to hear the words but they were completely lost to me. Your voice was stricken with panic, desperate and scared.
“Daniel.” I repeated, urgency sounding in my voice. “Daniel, please. Wake up.”
You thrashed out suddenly, kicking your leg out, throwing the duvet onto the floor, I felt a waft of cold air as it sunk slowly to the ground. The moonlight fell upon your exposed form, your creamy white skin illuminated by the crisp silver radiance. Wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, your long legs stretched out across the bed, strong, willowy and lean. You curled into a ball, tucking your head into your knees, the smooth curve of your back punctured with the protruding lumps of your spine. You seemed to have calmed, lulled back into a peaceful sleep.
I stepped gently to my feet, the worn floorboards rough beneath the bare skin of my feet. I padded gently towards you, careful not to disturb the silence. I watched as you hunched your shoulders up, your arms visibly shivering with the cold. I picked up the quilt from the ground, and lay it gently over your sleeping figure. You unclenched your body, stretching out, gently rolling your shoulders and arching your back. You turned onto your side, your head, resting contentedly on the pillow facing me, your thick dark hair fanned out around you.
“Goodnight.” I whispered tenderly, my eyes gazing softly at your face, so beautiful. A perfect harmony of strong and delicate features, creating a look so striking, so stunning, I could barely believe you were there with me. I slid carefully back into the warm sleeping bag, the inner-lining rough against my bare legs and arms. I shuffled around trying to find a position that was at least bearable, if not comfortable. The outer layer of the sleep bag rubbed against itself, producing whispers and sighs with every movement I made.
I closed my eyes, welcoming the perpetual blackness that encompassed me. For the first time in weeks there was nothing. No distant memories, no nagging thoughts, nothing. Only you. I saw your eyes, your lips, your hair, your hands, all carrying an infinite radiance – not in their appearance but in their being, your whole body was alight with some celestial aura. I felt clean. I felt good.
Nothing mattered anymore.
For now anyway.
Edited by Juliet, May 4 2008, 12:52 PM.
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