Status: work in progress
We All Have Demons
Alley
Kristin’s P.O.V.
I shove the wooden door, it flies open easier than I had anticipated. I breathe the cold air into my lungs. It stings but feels so good. I walk around the back of the building, so I am out of view of the drunks in the smoke filled bar. I lean against the rough, brick building. Letting it grind into my palms. Laughter spills from my mouth. But at the same time, tears spill from my tired eyes. And not the kind of tears that come with laughing. But the time that comes with pain, and shock. The adrenaline wears off soon enough and the pain in my hand begins to grow. With my back against the worn down building I slide down to the cold, hard ground. With my palms flat against the ground to either side of me, i lean my head back with my eyes closed to take it all in.
After I’ve calmed down I hold my red and swollen hand for a few minutes i reach into my purse. I pull out a bottle of aspirin i take a couple out and replace them back into my bag. The i pull out the smooth black pack that holds my yellow Bic lighter as well as my cigarettes. I balance one between my lips. Using my sore, right hand to block the wind I hold the lighter in my left and light my cigarette. I inhale deep. I get so consumed by watching the red end glow in the dark of night that I don’t even notice someone has walked out the back door and is watching me while they smoke. I look up and meet pale grey eyes. So familiar yet so unknown.
Its the mysterious girl from inside. She had slid into a tight fitting leather jacket to protect
herself from the cold night. I must say say she does look good in minimal clothing, but I prefer this look better. Its edgy. Adds to her mystery. She must have let me stare at her for five minutes before finally clearing her throat and snapping me back to reality. She smiles sweetly, not at all the same kind of smile she was giving the people inside. It makes me feel special. She sits down next to me and grinds her cigarette against the ground to put it out. She gently takes my sore hand into both of hers and looks at it carefully. She smiles a little again, as if she approves. Then suddenly looks up and locks eyes with me. She whispers quietly, asking why it is that I make her feel comfortable. Where it is she knows me from. I whisper back so lightly that it might get lost in the wind that i don’t know.
I open my eyes to the soft glow of the morning sun shining on my white ceiling. What happened last night? It all seems so blurry. I look over to check that the bed is empty aside from myself. It is. I check the door and it is locked from the inside showing no sign that someone else was here. Thats a relief i suppose.
I walk back into my room and sit down on the plush white blanket. Thats when I notice there is a tan butt in my ashtray. That isn’t mine. Everything comes flooding back to me. The bar. The smoke. The guy. My sore hand. The mystery. The girl. Wait. She isn’t a mystery. She told me her name. Blaire. I smile at the thought. I remember more clearly now. We were talking and she gave me her name and number and left and a note with it saying maybe we can figure out why i feel so comfortable to her. The cigarette. Its one I bummed from her for my walk home before she had to go back inside.
The question is, do i text her?
I shove the wooden door, it flies open easier than I had anticipated. I breathe the cold air into my lungs. It stings but feels so good. I walk around the back of the building, so I am out of view of the drunks in the smoke filled bar. I lean against the rough, brick building. Letting it grind into my palms. Laughter spills from my mouth. But at the same time, tears spill from my tired eyes. And not the kind of tears that come with laughing. But the time that comes with pain, and shock. The adrenaline wears off soon enough and the pain in my hand begins to grow. With my back against the worn down building I slide down to the cold, hard ground. With my palms flat against the ground to either side of me, i lean my head back with my eyes closed to take it all in.
After I’ve calmed down I hold my red and swollen hand for a few minutes i reach into my purse. I pull out a bottle of aspirin i take a couple out and replace them back into my bag. The i pull out the smooth black pack that holds my yellow Bic lighter as well as my cigarettes. I balance one between my lips. Using my sore, right hand to block the wind I hold the lighter in my left and light my cigarette. I inhale deep. I get so consumed by watching the red end glow in the dark of night that I don’t even notice someone has walked out the back door and is watching me while they smoke. I look up and meet pale grey eyes. So familiar yet so unknown.
Its the mysterious girl from inside. She had slid into a tight fitting leather jacket to protect
herself from the cold night. I must say say she does look good in minimal clothing, but I prefer this look better. Its edgy. Adds to her mystery. She must have let me stare at her for five minutes before finally clearing her throat and snapping me back to reality. She smiles sweetly, not at all the same kind of smile she was giving the people inside. It makes me feel special. She sits down next to me and grinds her cigarette against the ground to put it out. She gently takes my sore hand into both of hers and looks at it carefully. She smiles a little again, as if she approves. Then suddenly looks up and locks eyes with me. She whispers quietly, asking why it is that I make her feel comfortable. Where it is she knows me from. I whisper back so lightly that it might get lost in the wind that i don’t know.
I open my eyes to the soft glow of the morning sun shining on my white ceiling. What happened last night? It all seems so blurry. I look over to check that the bed is empty aside from myself. It is. I check the door and it is locked from the inside showing no sign that someone else was here. Thats a relief i suppose.
I walk back into my room and sit down on the plush white blanket. Thats when I notice there is a tan butt in my ashtray. That isn’t mine. Everything comes flooding back to me. The bar. The smoke. The guy. My sore hand. The mystery. The girl. Wait. She isn’t a mystery. She told me her name. Blaire. I smile at the thought. I remember more clearly now. We were talking and she gave me her name and number and left and a note with it saying maybe we can figure out why i feel so comfortable to her. The cigarette. Its one I bummed from her for my walk home before she had to go back inside.
The question is, do i text her?