Status: Baby I'm back! I've been gone for nearly 10 years, so please take the early chapters with a pinch of salt.
To tell, or not to tell.
Submerged
I make my way to the back of the house. The smell of this place has gotten to me and I can't stand it anymore - I've got to get out or I won't be able to breath for much longer.
The kitchen has my portal of exit, and it's already open. I slip through the cloud of cigarette smoke that clouds the patio, generously replenished by the group of friends chatting there. I hold my breath so I don't choke on it, escaping to the grass.
It's cold out here, not a biting cold - but a deep chill. The recent sun-set has stolen any warmth that was left. I'm just glad to be outside of the stuffy house, somewhere less suffocating. The garden, surrounded on three sides by tall wooden panel fences is marginally better. The bushes at the far end are draped in delicate fairy lights, and it seems funny to me - silly almost given the vibe of the rest of the house and this entire affair.
I make my way there - as far away from the smoke cloud as I can get. I find a spot, as dry from the night's dew as possible, and settle into the grass. The air is cold but cleaner here, and my lungs thank me for the relocation. My head starts to clear, just a little, and I feel lighter - less like I'm choking on my own emotions. I breathe the surroundings in, filling my lungs completely for the first time since I got here.
Just like that, I feel better - a slate cleaned. And though traces of chalk remain, here I can pretend for a while I'm unstained by the sadness that permeates most of my days. The chatter in the background isn't as grating as the slobbers from the couch and I welcome the change. The occasional laughter is contagious, as I smile into my knees as I pull myself into the familiar curled pose.
From here, looking up at the concrete facade of the house - I don't know the exact words to describe this, but it has one of those council estate finishes, the gravel pressed into cement look that's so common these days - I can see the narrow bathroom window, illuminated from within. The class is frosted to impress the user with a stronger sense of privacy - protection from prying eyes in their most vulnerable moments.
My contentment lasts for a while, but it's not long before restlessness returns. It creeps up from my abdomen into my chest, tickling at my lungs and the underbelly of my heart - demanding my attention, something to soothe. I stroke the grass and begin to pick at it in response. I pull it out - the ripping sensation placating my nervous energy for a while. I try to focus on this, rather than the increasing panic.
My hand touches something I wasn't expecting. It's spongy - firm but pliable and like paper. I fiddle with it curiously before peaking down and realising what it is. A small wave of disgust washes through me, masking the tickling for a short time. A cigarette butt, how on earth did that get all the way over here... I realise quickly there's more where that came from and grumble.
God, I regret coming here.
I hear the gentle crunching of grass, someone coming my way. Ashley, coming to get me - and I'm relieved and weirdly excited about it. I look up and my hopes are dashed, it's not her. The first thing I notice are the baggy denim jeans and checked shoes. As they get closer, it would take me craning my neck to see more of them, so I don't bother. I wish silently that they won't bother me - I'd rather wallow alone.
My wish is not granted.
"What are you doing out here alone?" His voice is coloured by genuine curiosity and a helping of concern. "The party too much for you too?"
With this admission, he crouches down beside me.
"Sure, what's left of it," I respond, and I realise I'm maybe speaking a little too quiet for him to hear which honestly might be a good thing considering my sarcasm. I feel a sense of camaraderie with this stranger - at least I'm not the only one not cut out for this, and I don't want to ruin it with my god awful personality. I turn my head to him, curious.
It's hard to make much out in the low light, but I can gather he's a red head from the glow of the fairy lights. He has a strong profile, and his Adam's apple bobs as he hums, considering.
"Can I show you somewhere? Even more relaxing than here - I promise."
I don't have anything else better to do. "Sure. Can I know your name?"
His name is Lukas.
The kitchen has my portal of exit, and it's already open. I slip through the cloud of cigarette smoke that clouds the patio, generously replenished by the group of friends chatting there. I hold my breath so I don't choke on it, escaping to the grass.
It's cold out here, not a biting cold - but a deep chill. The recent sun-set has stolen any warmth that was left. I'm just glad to be outside of the stuffy house, somewhere less suffocating. The garden, surrounded on three sides by tall wooden panel fences is marginally better. The bushes at the far end are draped in delicate fairy lights, and it seems funny to me - silly almost given the vibe of the rest of the house and this entire affair.
I make my way there - as far away from the smoke cloud as I can get. I find a spot, as dry from the night's dew as possible, and settle into the grass. The air is cold but cleaner here, and my lungs thank me for the relocation. My head starts to clear, just a little, and I feel lighter - less like I'm choking on my own emotions. I breathe the surroundings in, filling my lungs completely for the first time since I got here.
Just like that, I feel better - a slate cleaned. And though traces of chalk remain, here I can pretend for a while I'm unstained by the sadness that permeates most of my days. The chatter in the background isn't as grating as the slobbers from the couch and I welcome the change. The occasional laughter is contagious, as I smile into my knees as I pull myself into the familiar curled pose.
From here, looking up at the concrete facade of the house - I don't know the exact words to describe this, but it has one of those council estate finishes, the gravel pressed into cement look that's so common these days - I can see the narrow bathroom window, illuminated from within. The class is frosted to impress the user with a stronger sense of privacy - protection from prying eyes in their most vulnerable moments.
My contentment lasts for a while, but it's not long before restlessness returns. It creeps up from my abdomen into my chest, tickling at my lungs and the underbelly of my heart - demanding my attention, something to soothe. I stroke the grass and begin to pick at it in response. I pull it out - the ripping sensation placating my nervous energy for a while. I try to focus on this, rather than the increasing panic.
My hand touches something I wasn't expecting. It's spongy - firm but pliable and like paper. I fiddle with it curiously before peaking down and realising what it is. A small wave of disgust washes through me, masking the tickling for a short time. A cigarette butt, how on earth did that get all the way over here... I realise quickly there's more where that came from and grumble.
God, I regret coming here.
I hear the gentle crunching of grass, someone coming my way. Ashley, coming to get me - and I'm relieved and weirdly excited about it. I look up and my hopes are dashed, it's not her. The first thing I notice are the baggy denim jeans and checked shoes. As they get closer, it would take me craning my neck to see more of them, so I don't bother. I wish silently that they won't bother me - I'd rather wallow alone.
My wish is not granted.
"What are you doing out here alone?" His voice is coloured by genuine curiosity and a helping of concern. "The party too much for you too?"
With this admission, he crouches down beside me.
"Sure, what's left of it," I respond, and I realise I'm maybe speaking a little too quiet for him to hear which honestly might be a good thing considering my sarcasm. I feel a sense of camaraderie with this stranger - at least I'm not the only one not cut out for this, and I don't want to ruin it with my god awful personality. I turn my head to him, curious.
It's hard to make much out in the low light, but I can gather he's a red head from the glow of the fairy lights. He has a strong profile, and his Adam's apple bobs as he hums, considering.
"Can I show you somewhere? Even more relaxing than here - I promise."
I don't have anything else better to do. "Sure. Can I know your name?"
His name is Lukas.
♠ ♠ ♠
TBC...