Empath

Mark regained consciousness suddenly and violently, bolting upright with a cry that startled a passing woman, who paused to screech profanities at him. Early morning sunlight filtered down between the adjacent buildings. He tasted blood. Mark probed the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He found that in his paroxysms the previous night, he’d bitten a ragged wound into the inside of his mouth. Grimacing, he took stock of his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was his appearance. His clothes and skin were covered in alley grime, and his hair had settled into a haphazard thicket of oil and grit. In short, he looked awful. The second thing he noticed was the man form last night.

He was gone. In his place, a blackened scorch mark had ripped its way up the brick wall of the building. In fact, the burn scars extended in a radius originating from where Mark had lain the previous night. If you looked carefully, you could make out the shape of a person lying prone.

“Wh…” Mark gulped, trying to dislodge the gnawing sense of panic that had gripped his heart. Were those there last night? Maybe they were; it was dark. I couldn’t see much. But where did that guy go? Wasn’t he dead? Oh god, what the hell happened to me? A hysterical sob broke free from his lips as he pulled his knees toward his chest. The agonized memories of the previous night still burned as lines of fire in his veins. He shuddered, suddenly nauseated. Hurriedly leaning to the side, he puked his guts out onto the already sun-warmed asphalt. He wiped his mouth on his arm before freezing in place. A deathly chill clawed its way up his spine.

“…ou love me?”

Hannah voice rose unbidden from the depths of his mind, so vivid and clear that he whipped his head around expecting to see her standing amidst the burnt walls and scattered refuse. Instead, his gaze was met by the stern glare of a mother shooing her child from view. He just stared at the space where he wished she was standing. I miss you.

All at once, the confusion and regret that had plagued his dreams flared up. He put his head in his hands and cried for the first time since he’d said goodbye to Hannah two years ago.

-----

With a creak and a click, Mark shut the apartment door. Pressing his fingers to the corners of his eyes, he exhaled slowly. Shuffling barefoot into the kitchen, he paused just long enough to unceremoniously dump his keys onto the counter before turning and making his way into the bedroom. The door was ajar, and stuck to it was a yellow post-it note, presumably from the roommate. Too exhausted and drained to give it any attention, Mark walked past it. Pulling off his stained t-shirt, he flopped onto the bed and was dreamlessly asleep within moments.

-----

When he woke, Mark felt much better. Admittedly, he felt as though he’d just gone through the spin cycle of a dryer that someone had thrown several bricks into, but the sleep had done his frayed nerves some good. Sitting up, he stretched his arms widely, wincing as his stiff muscles protested. He cracked the tendons in his neck as he let his arms drop, satisfied. If it weren’t for the muck covering him and the harrowing memories of last night, it could have been just another weekend. Pushing that thought aside, he decided a shower would be a good next course of action.

Fresh clothes slung over his arm, Mark crossed the hall between his room and the bathroom. He hoped against hope that the water wasn’t its usual frigid temperature. Even in the sweltering weather of late, one thing that was sure to ruin Mark’s morning was a cold shower. Closing the door, he let the water run as he disrobed. He knew that he was more than likely too late to enjoy any hot water; it was almost noon after all. This being the case, he was delighted when he hand-tested the water temperature and found it to be almost unnaturally perfect. Guess my luck is turning, he mused as he stepped into the shower. A wry half-smile crept its way onto his face at the thought. About time.

A half hour later, he felt like a new man. The soreness had been washed down the drain with the dirt and oil, and even the depressed lethargy that had plagued him of late had lifted. In a burst of productivity, he managed to vastly improve the appearance of the apartment. It still looked a bit tired and worn, but the outright shittiness was gone. The peeling wallpaper had been carefully taped, the carpets scrubbed, and all the garbage cleaned up. He’d even nailed the cupboard door back on so that it rotated out of the way when needed, instead of just leaning against. Accomplishing this, he then proceeded to power through his studies, catching up what he’d fallen behind on and then reading ahead. He’d gone into med school at the command of his parents, and while he had been a decent enough student to get in, he found himself way over his head once he was there. Now, it was as if a switch had been thrown. It wasn’t that he was smarter; he just found himself better able to focus.

Really though, what really topped it all off was the feeling that he could do anything. He didn’t know where it had suddenly come from, but he felt a certain competence and motivation flowing through him that he hadn’t known he possessed. He was suddenly so jazzed about life, he shrugged off his recent misfortunes as trifles. They didn’t matter anymore. He felt like the luckiest man in the world.