Status: New
If I Look Back
#4
I unlock my door and it creaks open, revealing my dark, empty flat. I throw my keys into the bowl on the table by the door and drop my purse to the floor. I kick off my shoes and leave them on the rug by the door.
I shed my clothes as I make my way to the shower. I turn it on as hot as I can stand and step into the water. The water cascades over my face and hair, matting my hair down over my forehead and down my back.
I don’t feel the need to cry, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how else to vent the panic, frustration and loneliness that all constantly simmer below the surface of my calm demeanor. It has lessened over the last few months but sometimes, like today; it roars back up and takes over.
It had started at the office when one of the other girls asked why I didn’t have anything personal in my workspace.
Everyone in the office is kind and eager to see me succeed. The team that I will be a part of is welcoming and helpful. I have my own desk but yes it is bare of all personal touches. I didn’t have anything to put up because I’d thrown away most of the trinkets I’d kept in my cubicle at my last job. I’d thrown away most of my things from that time.
I step out of the shower when the water runs cold and walk, dripping to my closet. I pull out my favorite running leggings, a tank and a long sleeved running top. I mindlessly slip on my clothes, socks and shoes. I pull my wet hair into a careless ponytail.
I grab the spare key on my way out the door and flip my hood up against the rain. I take off running down the street, without an idea of a destination or a goal.
On my way back to my apartment, I pass the pub. After deliberating for a moment, I decide to go inside. I know I look like hell but I scoff and take the chance that the love of my life won’t be in tonight.
The pub is busier than I’ve seen it and I’ve been in nearly every night for the last week. For some reason sitting around my flat is just too depressing at the moment. I’ll grow into it but it’s only been a week and it doesn’t feel right yet.
“Hello Basil,” I say, grabbing the bar stool on the far left end, furthest from the door. “Can I get a glass of water?” I ask with a laugh, realizing that my wallet is back at my flat.
“You can have your usual, on the house.” He says and deposits a pint in front of me. “No room for money in that little outfit, then?” he jokes.
“I hadn’t planned on coming in.”
“Alright, so tell me, girl. What brings you to our lovely little country, hmm?” he asks.
“Well, Basil, I don’t talk about the past. So let’s just leave it at needing a fresh start.” I answer.
“You don’t talk about the past? Is that a personal philosophy?” he asks curiously.
“Om jag ser tillbaka är jag förlorad.” I reply. He raises an eyebrow at me. “It means ‘if I look back, I am lost’ and yes, it’s my personal philosophy.”
“I like that. It’s very concise. Is that Swedish?” He replies, looking thoughtful. I nod to confirm that it is Swedish. “Ah, there’s my favorite thespian!” he calls to the newest addition to the pub crowd.
I look over my shoulder to see who it is. It’s the sad intellectual from the other night. Only now, his face is bright with excitement. It completely changes his features and his smile is disarmingly charming.
“Ben, this is Lilly, our new resident Swede. Lilly, this is Ben, our resident actor.” Basil introduces us cheerfully.
Ben immediately throws his hand out in a gesture of welcome. I put my tiny little hand in his large, warm one and receive a vigorous handshake. His fingers linger momentarily on mine and I feel indecent for a moment, like we’d shared an intimate connection in a room full of strangers.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lilly.” His voice is deep and rich. Like old mahogany and warm, worn leather. He throws himself into the barstool beside me and shrugs off his jacket.
Over the next few hours, I learn that Ben is currently playing Frankenstein at the Royal Theatre but is excited for is upcoming opportunities on television and in American film. He learns that I am a commercial earthquake and miscellaneous high value item underwriter with Lloyds of London and that I’ve only been in England for a week. I agree to watch Sherlock at Basil’s insistence. Ben is humble about the performance on the show but Basil is enthusiastic about the brilliance of it.
Ben makes me laugh. He is charismatic but silly. He is incredibly intelligent but patient enough to explain when I don’t know or understand what he’s speaking about. I don’t even notice the time that has gone by. But in the hours I spent with him, I agree to show him around my office some time and he gives me tickets to see Frankenstein. Basil accepts the second ticket so I have someone to go with.
Ben and I go our separate ways just outside the gate to my apartment building. He, being an incredible example of an English gentleman, insisted on walking me home.
“It was very nice to meet you, Lilly.” He says quietly, running his hand through his hair. “I hope to see you again soon.”
“I would like that.” I reply simply before he pulls me into a warm hug. He smells like clean laundry, faint cologne (or soap, I’m not sure) and cigarette smoke.
I cannot remember the last time someone hugged me. When I’d moved from my last place, none of the people I’d said goodbye to had hugged me.
“Good night.” He says before releasing me. The separation causes the warmth in my limbs to fade into a chill.
He starts off down the street but turns around and waves at me. He motions for me to go into the complex. I wave and unlock the gate, and make my way to my flat. My green light beckons me home.
I shed my clothes as I make my way to the shower. I turn it on as hot as I can stand and step into the water. The water cascades over my face and hair, matting my hair down over my forehead and down my back.
I don’t feel the need to cry, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how else to vent the panic, frustration and loneliness that all constantly simmer below the surface of my calm demeanor. It has lessened over the last few months but sometimes, like today; it roars back up and takes over.
It had started at the office when one of the other girls asked why I didn’t have anything personal in my workspace.
Everyone in the office is kind and eager to see me succeed. The team that I will be a part of is welcoming and helpful. I have my own desk but yes it is bare of all personal touches. I didn’t have anything to put up because I’d thrown away most of the trinkets I’d kept in my cubicle at my last job. I’d thrown away most of my things from that time.
I step out of the shower when the water runs cold and walk, dripping to my closet. I pull out my favorite running leggings, a tank and a long sleeved running top. I mindlessly slip on my clothes, socks and shoes. I pull my wet hair into a careless ponytail.
I grab the spare key on my way out the door and flip my hood up against the rain. I take off running down the street, without an idea of a destination or a goal.
On my way back to my apartment, I pass the pub. After deliberating for a moment, I decide to go inside. I know I look like hell but I scoff and take the chance that the love of my life won’t be in tonight.
The pub is busier than I’ve seen it and I’ve been in nearly every night for the last week. For some reason sitting around my flat is just too depressing at the moment. I’ll grow into it but it’s only been a week and it doesn’t feel right yet.
“Hello Basil,” I say, grabbing the bar stool on the far left end, furthest from the door. “Can I get a glass of water?” I ask with a laugh, realizing that my wallet is back at my flat.
“You can have your usual, on the house.” He says and deposits a pint in front of me. “No room for money in that little outfit, then?” he jokes.
“I hadn’t planned on coming in.”
“Alright, so tell me, girl. What brings you to our lovely little country, hmm?” he asks.
“Well, Basil, I don’t talk about the past. So let’s just leave it at needing a fresh start.” I answer.
“You don’t talk about the past? Is that a personal philosophy?” he asks curiously.
“Om jag ser tillbaka är jag förlorad.” I reply. He raises an eyebrow at me. “It means ‘if I look back, I am lost’ and yes, it’s my personal philosophy.”
“I like that. It’s very concise. Is that Swedish?” He replies, looking thoughtful. I nod to confirm that it is Swedish. “Ah, there’s my favorite thespian!” he calls to the newest addition to the pub crowd.
I look over my shoulder to see who it is. It’s the sad intellectual from the other night. Only now, his face is bright with excitement. It completely changes his features and his smile is disarmingly charming.
“Ben, this is Lilly, our new resident Swede. Lilly, this is Ben, our resident actor.” Basil introduces us cheerfully.
Ben immediately throws his hand out in a gesture of welcome. I put my tiny little hand in his large, warm one and receive a vigorous handshake. His fingers linger momentarily on mine and I feel indecent for a moment, like we’d shared an intimate connection in a room full of strangers.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lilly.” His voice is deep and rich. Like old mahogany and warm, worn leather. He throws himself into the barstool beside me and shrugs off his jacket.
Over the next few hours, I learn that Ben is currently playing Frankenstein at the Royal Theatre but is excited for is upcoming opportunities on television and in American film. He learns that I am a commercial earthquake and miscellaneous high value item underwriter with Lloyds of London and that I’ve only been in England for a week. I agree to watch Sherlock at Basil’s insistence. Ben is humble about the performance on the show but Basil is enthusiastic about the brilliance of it.
Ben makes me laugh. He is charismatic but silly. He is incredibly intelligent but patient enough to explain when I don’t know or understand what he’s speaking about. I don’t even notice the time that has gone by. But in the hours I spent with him, I agree to show him around my office some time and he gives me tickets to see Frankenstein. Basil accepts the second ticket so I have someone to go with.
Ben and I go our separate ways just outside the gate to my apartment building. He, being an incredible example of an English gentleman, insisted on walking me home.
“It was very nice to meet you, Lilly.” He says quietly, running his hand through his hair. “I hope to see you again soon.”
“I would like that.” I reply simply before he pulls me into a warm hug. He smells like clean laundry, faint cologne (or soap, I’m not sure) and cigarette smoke.
I cannot remember the last time someone hugged me. When I’d moved from my last place, none of the people I’d said goodbye to had hugged me.
“Good night.” He says before releasing me. The separation causes the warmth in my limbs to fade into a chill.
He starts off down the street but turns around and waves at me. He motions for me to go into the complex. I wave and unlock the gate, and make my way to my flat. My green light beckons me home.
♠ ♠ ♠
