Believers Never Die Pt. 1
Star 67
Something about the mixture of cigarette smoke and the sunrise had a calming effect on me. It was very picturesque, sitting on that bench a few blocks from my apartment, cigarette tilted between my middle and index fingers, smoke drifting upwards with the sun. Watching the sunrise had calmed me for as long as I could remember. On those many sleepless nights in my childhood, I always looked forward to watch the sun break through the darkness. It gave me hope that maybe I could do the same thing. But not today. Today, it meant nothing. I just stared at it apathetically, cigarette butts and ashes scattered around the heels of my boots.
Something inside of me was different this morning. My free hand drummed anxiously against the wood of the bench. My eyes were fixed ahead of me in no real direction, just off in the distance, eerily calm, yet anxious and fidgety at the same time. As hues of orange and pink gradually appeared across the sky, my eyes narrowed. My fingers tightened across my cigarette. Ashes dropped to the concrete, the filter slowly burning in my hand. In a sudden motion, I stood. Walking with a fast pace, I made my way back towards home, pushing past anyone walking around at this ungodly hour. I dropped my cigarette and wrapped my arms around myself tightly, pulling myself inside my shell, dropping my head down. I became a head of black hair speeding down the sidewalk. I wasn't "Maxim James" right now. I was that asshole walking against pedestrian traffic at five-thirty in the morning reeking of tobacco and scowling at anybody who dared to look too long.
My eyes stayed focused on the concrete, using only muscle memory to guide me home. I grew tenser and tenser as I approached the stairs. As I stepped onto the terrace, my shoulders tensed up, shrinking forward, only opening when they had to, when I reached my arm out for the door knob. I couldn't help but pause for a second. I was exhausted. Did I want to go back inside? Did I want to face the person waiting for me? I wanted to sleep. I would take the couch if necessary. My body was dragging. I could sleep on the terrace. No, the paparazzi would have too much fun with that if they found me. Sighing faintly, I turned the knob and quietly opened the door, hoping nobody would hear me. I wished with every ounce of my being that I could just sneak inside and avoid any conversation. It was five-thirty in the morning. Nobody would be awake. I turned to shut the door, careful not to make any abrupt sounds.
"Max..."
I glanced over my shoulder. Great, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath, feeling a pang of pain from my chest. I locked my arms around myself as I turned, one hand clenching the fabric of my t-shirt. I just stared at the man in front of me, standing there, looking apologetic. I knew what he was going to say, but I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to talk right now. My eyes glanced toward the couch.
"Max, I'm so--"
"No," I interjected, immediately cutting him off. I shook my head sternly. "I don't vant to heuh it. I don't vant to listen to zis right now." I took a step back against the door, but he reached for me. As his hand met my arm, it tightened on the spot. A small feeling of pressure shot from my shoulder to my wrist. I turned my head from him.
"Come on, we need to talk about this."
"No, we..." I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. "No, we don't," I finally managed to say. I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He was distorted. The whole room was distorted. Everything around me was spinning. Lights flashed brighter than they normally did. I squinted, trying to focus, only to close my eyes and look away again. I felt weightless. My head felt warm. No, it felt like it was on fire. I furrowed my eyebrows, and I could feel my lips twist up in discomfort.
"Are you okay, man?"
"Fine--" I choked out before I felt my whole neck tense up. "I--" My jaw soon followed. I felt a tightness all over. I didn't want to move. I was too scared to move or speak. The discomfort I had felt earlier was spreading. I was sure it was from my lack of sleep and the chain-smoking. That had to be it.
"Max--"
"FIne--" I repeated, my chest tightening, constricting. I couldn't get the air to my lungs. My chest expanded, throating gasping for breaths of any air I could get. "I'm... fine..." I sputtered between breaths.
I felt his arm snake around me, trying to move me, but I jumped and nudged him away out of reflex. "Max, you look sick... You're ghost white."
I managed to shake my head. My breathing grew even more strained. I could feel the sweat beginning to drip from my face and hands, even though I felt cold. My stomach was doing flips inside of me. His voice had faded into the rest of the background noise. My body slouched and jerked as I felt my stomach force what felt like a gallon of empty stomach acid back of up my throat. I watched it splash across the floor. I saw his feet shuffle away from it, away from me. My face was only feet from the floor. I could see the blurry pattern of the hardwood floor in front of me. My whole body felt heavy. I was trembling. The hardwood floor appeared to fly towards me. My body dropped like a rock.
"Max? Max? Oh my God."
Those were some of the only words I could make out in my last moments of consciousness. I heard feet shuffle past me as my eyes fluttered closed.
"Hello? 9-1-1? I... I think my friend just had a heart attack. He's only twenty."
Something inside of me was different this morning. My free hand drummed anxiously against the wood of the bench. My eyes were fixed ahead of me in no real direction, just off in the distance, eerily calm, yet anxious and fidgety at the same time. As hues of orange and pink gradually appeared across the sky, my eyes narrowed. My fingers tightened across my cigarette. Ashes dropped to the concrete, the filter slowly burning in my hand. In a sudden motion, I stood. Walking with a fast pace, I made my way back towards home, pushing past anyone walking around at this ungodly hour. I dropped my cigarette and wrapped my arms around myself tightly, pulling myself inside my shell, dropping my head down. I became a head of black hair speeding down the sidewalk. I wasn't "Maxim James" right now. I was that asshole walking against pedestrian traffic at five-thirty in the morning reeking of tobacco and scowling at anybody who dared to look too long.
My eyes stayed focused on the concrete, using only muscle memory to guide me home. I grew tenser and tenser as I approached the stairs. As I stepped onto the terrace, my shoulders tensed up, shrinking forward, only opening when they had to, when I reached my arm out for the door knob. I couldn't help but pause for a second. I was exhausted. Did I want to go back inside? Did I want to face the person waiting for me? I wanted to sleep. I would take the couch if necessary. My body was dragging. I could sleep on the terrace. No, the paparazzi would have too much fun with that if they found me. Sighing faintly, I turned the knob and quietly opened the door, hoping nobody would hear me. I wished with every ounce of my being that I could just sneak inside and avoid any conversation. It was five-thirty in the morning. Nobody would be awake. I turned to shut the door, careful not to make any abrupt sounds.
"Max..."
I glanced over my shoulder. Great, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath, feeling a pang of pain from my chest. I locked my arms around myself as I turned, one hand clenching the fabric of my t-shirt. I just stared at the man in front of me, standing there, looking apologetic. I knew what he was going to say, but I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to talk right now. My eyes glanced toward the couch.
"Max, I'm so--"
"No," I interjected, immediately cutting him off. I shook my head sternly. "I don't vant to heuh it. I don't vant to listen to zis right now." I took a step back against the door, but he reached for me. As his hand met my arm, it tightened on the spot. A small feeling of pressure shot from my shoulder to my wrist. I turned my head from him.
"Come on, we need to talk about this."
"No, we..." I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. "No, we don't," I finally managed to say. I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He was distorted. The whole room was distorted. Everything around me was spinning. Lights flashed brighter than they normally did. I squinted, trying to focus, only to close my eyes and look away again. I felt weightless. My head felt warm. No, it felt like it was on fire. I furrowed my eyebrows, and I could feel my lips twist up in discomfort.
"Are you okay, man?"
"Fine--" I choked out before I felt my whole neck tense up. "I--" My jaw soon followed. I felt a tightness all over. I didn't want to move. I was too scared to move or speak. The discomfort I had felt earlier was spreading. I was sure it was from my lack of sleep and the chain-smoking. That had to be it.
"Max--"
"FIne--" I repeated, my chest tightening, constricting. I couldn't get the air to my lungs. My chest expanded, throating gasping for breaths of any air I could get. "I'm... fine..." I sputtered between breaths.
I felt his arm snake around me, trying to move me, but I jumped and nudged him away out of reflex. "Max, you look sick... You're ghost white."
I managed to shake my head. My breathing grew even more strained. I could feel the sweat beginning to drip from my face and hands, even though I felt cold. My stomach was doing flips inside of me. His voice had faded into the rest of the background noise. My body slouched and jerked as I felt my stomach force what felt like a gallon of empty stomach acid back of up my throat. I watched it splash across the floor. I saw his feet shuffle away from it, away from me. My face was only feet from the floor. I could see the blurry pattern of the hardwood floor in front of me. My whole body felt heavy. I was trembling. The hardwood floor appeared to fly towards me. My body dropped like a rock.
"Max? Max? Oh my God."
Those were some of the only words I could make out in my last moments of consciousness. I heard feet shuffle past me as my eyes fluttered closed.
"Hello? 9-1-1? I... I think my friend just had a heart attack. He's only twenty."