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The Diaries

Non-canon of course

She smells like rum and cigarettes. I quickly remind myself that I probably do as well, since we've been sitting in such close proximity. She gives her head a slow turn in my direction, while accidentaly on purpose brushing my knee with hers. She's actually killing me. I feel small puddles of self accumulating on the heavily treaded floor of the nightclub, while the perfumed masses ebb and flow around us. We had already tried to have a conversation with words, but the oppressive thumping of the subwoofers put a heavy embargo on the manipulative lines we were attempting to use on each other. All we could do now was resort to a sub-level of communication reserved for the seperated and the lonely.

She's telling me she wants to explore me. My thoughts, my life, my body.

I tell her the same but with a large amount of trepidation, hopefully sending the message that I can't. I shouldn't.

I have other goals, other priorities. But they aren't here, and she is. Underneath her dense layer of man-made chemicals lies other ones. The ones that trip the most base reaches of my psych. The ones that make my skin damp and my nerves burn.

I can see it in her now too. Her skin suddenly glisten, her eyes intent. How every touch evokes a reaction, no matter how small. The contact of our skin is electric and ignites the gasoline already racing in our veins, making us both casualties to the inevitable explosion.

"Where are you?"

I want to answer her honestly. My cell phone jabs into my ear and I pull it away. I must be under a lot of stress. Here goes.

"Jamie's."

There is a pause that rapidly impregnates itself with a litter of explatives and rhetorical questions, which suddenly explode out of the speaker sooner than I expected. I'm not ready for it, and the words quickly worm their way from my ear and into my gut, making me sick. I double over slghtly and try to ease the waves of nausea that threaten to knock me over. I sit on the edge of the ivory-white bathtub where Jamie and I had just spent an eventful hour. We sinned until the water had gone from scalding to tepid, and she told me that she would be waiting in the bedroom.

But now I was trapped in this velvet cage of my own design. Escape is entirely possible, but the emotional damage of crushing that velvet in my hands and brushing it aside was enough to hold me back. I almost wish I had been locked in an iron cell. At least I could have banged my head against those bars.

Once she had finished telling me all the unfortunate things that were to befall me, my friends, and whatever "skanky whores" were to cross my path, I decided I'd had enough.

I took the velvet into my hands and pushed gently.

"Look, I'm tired. We'll talk about it tomorrow." Click.

I sat for only a moment, let out a very relieving sigh, and walked towards Jamie's bed in the other room. Taking in the relaxing scents, sights, and touch, I fell asleep in an instant. I've always liked women's bedrooms more than my own.

III

I can't sleep. I roll onto my right side, then my left, then my right again. My sleeping ritual is failing me for the first time in over a decade. My brain tells me I need a smoke.

I haven't smoked in years.

With weary limbs, I haul my carcass out from under the covers and into my favorite pair of jeans. Fetching my belt from it's usual resting place on the floor, I make my way tothe closet. I pick a plain black, form-fitting tee that had to be oldest thing in there. Faded to a a shade of near-grey, I could almost instantly feel the comfort of the fibres enveloping my body. I put on socks and my 30 dollar Wal-Mart high tops and venture out the front door.

The darkness of the night is fractured between the moon and streetlights. There's next to no traffic, save for the few stragglers that are only just now leaving the bars and clubs. I want to try and find out the time, but it falls by the wayside. I'm on a mission to try and shock my brain into staying awake. I've found that my mind functions like a light switch; it has to be either completely on or off. And if it doesn't want to remain in the "off" position, it's going to be on.

There's a jingle of a bell above my head as I ease through the door of the coffee shop. I try and enter quietly. Despite the fact that it's an all-night joint, I feel rude bothering the employees this late at night. Having worked the other side of the counter in my youth, I recalled without fondness my own late-night escapades.

The counter is empty until a vibrant brunette makes her way out from the back, quickly putting her hair into a ponytail as she does so. In sharp contrast to the dreary lighting of the store, she is bright and clean. There is almost a corona surrounding her, accented by the piercings on her ears, nose, and eyebrow.

"Can I get you something?" Her voice is the polar opposite of threatening, and she seems almost relieved that she now has something else to occupy her time. I could imagine her doing something intellectual in the back, like sudoku or her AP chemisty homework. I place my order, and she goes about earning her wage. I thought she would move slowly, like myself, due to the hour. But she moved briskly, with control and purpose. Her tight frame and meaningful actions suggested a history of dance lessons. Watching her work was almost a performance in itself, and I was tempted to applaud when she finally placed my drink in front of me and gave me the damage.

I grabbed a crumpled five out of my pocket and placed it in her hand, accidentally on purpose making contact. She looks into my eyes and gives a wry smile while she opens the register to get my change. I tell her not to worry about it, grab my drink and start to head out the door that had let me in.

"Alex, you don't remember me, do you?"

I whirled around suddenly, and stared at her. It wasn't a phrase I was unfamiliar with, but I couldn't imagine forgetting a woman like this. Her way was hypnotic enough to burn her into my memory tonight, so how had she passed me by in an earlier instance? I frantically dig through the mess of mental files, chance meetings, and introductions. She could see the gears in my head spinning uselessly, and giggled.

"Oh well." And with that, she disappears into the same room she had emerged from, an angel being called back to heaven.

I could only stand speachless.

"Shit."

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Based on 11 votes

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Latest Review

Technically very good

by Tatsujin

Posted Aug 22, 2008

-4

Skilful use of prose, stylish and descriptive.

I like the way you brought the non-incidental cafe girl to life, I could very much picture her in my mind.

I read it twice but found the actual underlying story hard to pick out. There's no doubt you have writing ability, ... (read more)

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By Manman

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Date Added

Jun 19, 2008 at 5:33 PM

Article Type

Literature

Genres

Creative

Topics

Romance, People

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