Status: In progress
Within the Castle
Two
And then I managed to keep my distance from Luke for a while longer.
I put myself into a solid spinning routine that consisted of me avoiding him at all costs. In the afternoons, I ensured that I was going to be home before 5:00 so I would not end up in the same elevator up as him. At nights I didn’t leave. And in the morning, I spent as long as necessary, sometimes up to thirty minutes, holding my ear to my door and tenaciously waiting until I heard Luke go down to leave the building. Moreover, at every cost, I evaded the supermarket that he had spotted me in – tending to buy anything I required now at a shop further away.
It was impossible for me to pinpoint exactly why I was doing this to myself. Luke was a ray of sunlight; I struggled going an hour or two without my thoughts floating to him. Every limb in my body ached for a conversation with him. Just a short one in the lift or something. Only so I could obtain some comic relief, or so I could have someone speak to me like they cared.
But, like I am often reminded, bad people don’t get nice things. I am a bad person. Hence, I shouldn’t get the blessing of knowing Luke. On top of that, the concept that maybe he had heard something from my apartment one night scared me to ruins. The blue-eyed seraph had proved not to be the kind that pushes on a topic which makes the other person feel disconcerted, however, he did seem the type to easily become concerned for someone. Something told me that if he grasped the idea of what occurred in my flat, he would hardly hesitant to involve himself.
Knowledgably, I had depicted this future and every dawn, day and dusk, my lips had been sealed. The racket that my partner and I previously were had softened. Thanks to my ability to remain unspoken, and simply following all commands, the devil had not sparked a fight in me for days. I was blameless. There was not a single thing that I could be shunned for not doing or doing incorrect.
As a weekend rolled around, I was ploughed into a usual worry; Saturday nights are habitually the loudest, and most disastrous, time of the week. Already, I was buoyantly looking forward to Sunday. That’s when the newspapers arrive, and I would be sucked into the free world of reading.
Just like I had anticipated, the stages leading up to Sunday were long, never ending. Early Saturday, around noon, my behemoth commenced drinking. One o’clock and three empty bottlenecks were sitting in the corner of the lounge, resting until I would take them and place them into the bin. By two o’clock, another one joined the crew. Three o’clock, the pile expanded to six. Four o’clock, eleven. Five o’clock, I stopped counting. Six o’clock – “Hurry up, bitch, we’re leaving soon.”
Over the course of the day, his conduction had plat formed lower and lower. The first hours, he could actually make it to the bathroom himself, but, as the night rolled in, he started stumbling everywhere. Crashing into the wall, the couch, chairs. Every hit, I flinched and silently prayed that the sound was not strident enough to go through the building’s walls so Luke cold hear.
I replaced my casual daywear for a pink and white checked dress, and quickly dashed to take my bag and slip my flat shoes on. An angry jeer was the first thing I perceived when leaving the bedroom and walking into his black eyes.
“Wear something sexier,” he sneered, his mouth pouting upward disapprovingly, “last week, it was embarrassing to walk around with an ugly girl.”
Sadly, I suppressed the urge to scream. Breathing heavily, I leant on the back of my heel, spinning around 180 degrees to slump back to my wardrobe. Finding an outfit is complex enough. Being insulted, and then needing to find an outfit that makes you look ‘sexier’ is abstruse. Well, impenetrable for me. Because I don’t hold the capacity to look sexy in anything. I am ugly.
Needing to be quick so that he couldn’t get irritated with me, I took a hold of the tightest and shortest dress I owned. The black colour of it did not match with the light makeup I had applied, and the slim fit was not made to suit long, straightened blonde hair. But it would have to do. With my luck, the cut, above mid-thigh, would make it too sexy for him and he’d want me to dress in something more modest. I was sure, though, that in the time I had changed clothes, he would have skulled more alcohol down his oesophagus, and probably would not even be able to see me through his blurry vision.
I was right. On the trip down to ground floor, he swayed endlessly, and grasped onto the rails that lined around the square elevator so he wouldn’t fall. His dry cackling, while he drunkenly attempted to get a hold of my ass, bounced around the petite area. In the year I had been living in the complex, there had only ever been two different people I had ever been in the lift with.
Isn’t it intriguing how some people’s laugh is quite contagious, and other people’s can put an end to the possibility of any other laughs around them?
Making comparisons only supported me in recognising how horrific my life was.
Eight o’clock at the house party, I had discovered a vacant deck chair in the backyard, and I formally appointed it to be my position for the rest of the night. Lost in a crowd of high-fives and slaps on the back, my fiend had been stolen from my view as immediately as we entered the oversized door. Peering through the glass screens from my seat, I was effortlessly able to watch as people danced and drunk, loosening their bodies to the happiness in the atmosphere.
If I could drink, I definitely would. A want had been brewing inside of me for a long time to join a party at my own will. My responsibility needed me to be sober for him, though. Liquor on my lips would not taste as good as water after an elongated night out. And by chance, I drank too much? Nobody would be there to take decent care of me.
Whilst waiting for him to be ready to leave, there is never much for me to do. I just tend to think. I think about where everybody else in the world is right now, on this Saturday night. I think about the weirdness of things happening. I think about how I ended in the life I’m in. Then, often, I think about my parents. My mum should be happy. She’s in a better place now. My dad – I don’t know at all. It’s fun to create stories in my head of where he could be. I hope my dad is good and I hope that the rumour about dead people looking down on you from heaven is a myth, because I doubt mum would be smiling at how I’ve turned out.
The time at the party ended when I felt him singlehandedly attach his fingers to my wrist, tearing me from my chair and hauling me between the toppling bodies and over spilt sticky drinks. When I put the new dress on earlier, I had changed my shoes as well, sporting a higher heel. Only on the walk home did I understand the significance of this. Naturally, I would have battled to keep up speed with him, as my legs were only three quarters the length of his anyway, but then the imbalance and slowness that the shoes gave exacerbated the problem. Relentlessly, my ankle curled on the cement, sometimes tipping me off the path so my foot would fall into the gutter. Already, swelling was introducing itself to my lower calf and Achilles, which, in turn, made the shoes tighter on my skin and even more uncomfortable. Along with the riding up of my dress, reaching so high that my underwear was almost on display to passing vehicles, I had never been so discomposed in my life.
It was in his drunkenness when I found him to be the worst. When alcohol poisoned his veins, it was like he accessed a new strength inside of him that he could force upon me. Not that he had an extensive moral judgment on a normal day, but it even worse when intoxicated. On the walk home, although it was short, I could count that he slapped his hand across the skin of my ass six times.
Whenever my leg curdled thanks to the heels, he would snare at me, “get the fuck up,” “God, you’re so slow,” “Clumsy bitch.”
Back in our flat, he was more loudmouthed than I had heard him in a while. I had a slim figure; I was reasonably weak. And he took advantage of that. Pushing me into the bedroom, throwing me onto the bed.
“You like that?” he repeated constantly. I didn’t. Obviously I didn’t.
But what I didn’t like more was how he was barking the words so violently loud. Luke sprung into my head, and I tipped my head over to read the time. One o’clock in the morning. No doubt, he would be next door, trying to sleep, and being rudely interrupted and terrified at the pornographic sounds.
It dawned on me that there was really only one thing I could attempt. Finish him off quicker, end it sooner. So that’s what I did. Tears may have been brimming, my throat may have been begging for a sob – I knew I just had to continue going. Every drip of energy I could find was being abused as I quickened, hardened my actions. It did work. He finished earlier than normal and slopped onto the other side of the mattress.
Sickness simmered in my stomach and kept me awake. Hope remained somewhere inside of me that possibly I had ended the loudness fast enough for Luke to not even have been stirred.
Approximately two hours of staggered sleep was had for me after that. When I trailed out of bed and into the bathroom, the sad beast staring back at me in the mirror sunk my stomach even more. Half asleep in the shower, I examined the remainder of my mascara, foundation, and shadow being dripped off my face by the streaming water. Pouring off my face, the blacks and beiges slapped into the tiles, and then spun and spun and spun until the force sent it all spilling down the drain. It felt like I was being stripped of identity. But that actually happened last night.
Guilt should be this simple to wash off. Then my mornings could be a lot easier.
Ridden of shoes and ridden of dignity, I lumbered from my apartment and dragged myself towards the lift, lodging my thumb into the down button. Just as I did so, the harsh rubbing of a door against its frame was sounded behind me, and I rotated to be met with non other than the bright pearls of Luke.
“What’s up?” he chimed, focusing his gaze on me even while pulling his door shut.
How could he bare to look at me when I could not even look at myself? Although incredibly light, grey spots were fading into the skin under his eyes now. The poor thing. Maybe it was the sounds from my bedroom that caused his deficiency of sleep. Gulping, I could sense the disgust mustering up like a cancer in my lungs.
“Are you alright?”
His smile fell when I failed to return one. There was legitimate concern in his tone when he questioned me, and that made me feel bad. So, suddenly, I mimicked his original impression, opening the sentiment on my face.
“Yeah,” I countered.
Inquisitively, he scrutinised my facial features – seeking possibly to find if my expression was a lie. I wished that I could see inside his thoughts for a while.
“You know,” he opened, “I really want to get inside your brain. I’m certain there is a lot of things happening in there that I’m not lucky enough to see.”
Funny that.
When the doors slid apart, we hustled inside. Luke must have been watching me carefully.
“Is your foot alright, Aurora?” he posed once the doors closed back shut.
“Huh?” I responded curtly.
“Your foot,” he reiterated, “you’re limping.”
Gaping down, it came to a shock that I was actually leant onto one side of my body. My right ankle bone could not even be seen because it was hidden under bruised tissue. The area was quite purple and the width of two tennis balls. I’d been too caught up deliberating other things to even feel the ache there, and I had automatically been limping for it to hurt less.
“Oh,” I gasped, “yeah.”
Luke was begging to ask how it happened, I could tell. His eyebrows were raised invitingly and his pupils skimmed up and down from my head to my foot.
For his sake, I continued, “I wore heels last night and tripped over once or twice. It doesn’t hurt though.”
“Well did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” Luke’s face was painted with seriousness.
It took me a moment to process his pick-up line. I was disoriented with how to respond because it was surely a joke, yet his face said otherwise. An instant passed though and a grin and laugh cracked his stern look.
Once I begun snickering too, unable to hold a straight face while he was splashing in chuckles, he spoke up, “Someone at work told me I should use that one. It’s supposed to make me sound smooth.”
“These people at your work,” you replied, “first it was the 2-minute-noodles, now this.”
“Hey!” he exclaimed, “those noodles. You really can’t trust the name of them. I spent about ten minutes trying to get them ready for eating.”
“Wow, taking that long is almost an achievement in itself, congratulations.”
“Then I guess I should say thank you.”
The elevator jolted when hitting the bottom floor, and now that I was aware of my foot, I could feel the sting of it paining me as I tried to leave through the doors.
“Here,” Luke scampered immediately, seeing me wince. His long arm wound around my back and on my the opposite side of my waist, he softly rested his hand.
Warmth radiating through his polo shirt and I couldn’t help but lean into his torso while he supported me to walk. To me, it was the equivalent of snuggling into a pillow. Believe it or not, my bruised hips were being pushed slightly into him, but they didn’t seem to hurt. I knew I should have said something so that would take his hands off me. It was practically forbidden for anybody to come within a metre of my existence. But the hand he had placed on my waist was so gentle and comforting. His thumb was brushing up and down casually over my ribs while we hobbled our way across the foyer. I wanted his body sticky taped to the side of mine forever.
The moment didn’t last long enough.
Once we’d reached the table that was set up every Sunday to hold the free newspapers, he removed his contact with me, furrowing his nose and grabbing a paper. The only paper.
“How many of these normally get delivered?” he asked curiously.
“About ten, normally,” I alleged, “and normally when I come down they’re all still here.”
He hummed for a brief second, then took back to his pose before, soliciting his long arm around me. Was I walking in a summer cloud or was I walking next to Luke? Or are they the same thing?
“I guess I’ll have to be quicker getting the paper next week then,” he sighed, looking down to me with a smile.
“O-Oh no,” I stuttered, “you can have it. I don’t need it.”
We’d reached the lift again when Luke frowned and laughed concurrently, “no. You’re having it. I remember you coming down to get it last week. If you get it every Sunday, I’m not going to halter your routine.”
Determinedly, he pressed the button, and as the elevator hadn’t needed to manoeuvre anywhere since we got down, the doors instantly chuffed open for us.
“Ah,” he sighed in a happy shock before accompanying me in, “finally the lift does something nice for us.”
“We could share the paper,” I blurted, my face turning red because I spoke so fast and so long after that conversation had already ended.
One side of Luke’s lips heightened more than the other so his smile shaped into a smirk. I didn’t understand my need to impress him, but I couldn’t seem to stop it. Offering to share my newspaper was not something typical of me to do. I treasured it, each week. I’m not even sure why.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he conferred, “but only if you want to, Aurora.”
“Of course I want to,” I stated quickly.
“Okay,” he bit his lip, “well you have it first, and whenever you’re done, just come next door and hand it to me.”
“Sounds good,” I cheered.
I was still enclosed in his muscles, staring up into his eyes while he stared down into mine. It confused me that I tried to keep away from Luke for the whole week. It also puzzled me that, not even an hour ago, I was fighting a mental crisis and begging my heart to stop pulsing, and here I was now, revelling in the quickening pace of its beats. Unfortunately, thinking about that transition led me to consider why ever I was so sad in the first place.
My smile instinctively turned down when I thought about that, and with that movement, a single strand of hair dropped in front of my eye. Luke’s right hand that held the newspaper rose for a split second, but then he pulled it back down. I felt his left hand tense then, as though he were going to move that too, yet he relaxed it again and left it lingering on my body. Forming his lips into an ‘o’ he blew a shot of air onto my forehead, angling so that it would puff the hair back from my face. When it worked, a grin of success irradiated over him. Like a domino effect, I reflected his countenance.
“You look even prettier when you’re smiling,” he whispered.
Mechanically, my eyes ripped apart from his and pounced to the floor.
“Did I say that aloud?” he enquired much louder.
“Yeah.”
“Whoops,” he uttered, leaving a few seconds before averring, “well, at least that’s out in the open in case you hide from me for the rest of the week again.”
Rashly, I started self-justifying my actions, “I haven’t been hiding from you, I’ve just been busy with other things, sometimes I just find it hard because it’s not that-“
When I looked back up, I had to discontinue my sentence because Luke’s eyes were being squinted by his cheeky beam.
“I’m just playing with you,” he joked, amused heavily by my reaction.
“Oh,” I exhaled, “sorry.”
Opening his mouth to say something, Luke was silenced by the ding of the lift doors. It was back on this floor that I was suddenly reminded, again, of my terror. Moving away from Luke, I hopped to my apartment door and leant against it for support. Gripping the side of my shorts with anxiousness, I peeked to Luke, who was hardly even alarmed that I had zoomed away from him so abruptly.
“Luke, I can’t come over later to give you back the paper. So, you can just have it.”
Instead of responding with bewilderment at my sudden change of mind, Luke kept calm and seemed un-perplexed as if he knew this was coming. Striding in front of me, he gripped the paper and held it up so it was less than a centimetre from my chest.
“You take it, Aurora,” he urged, “and then when you’re done, push it to me through that gap in the wall that I told you about.”
Unwilling to compromise, he released it from his hands and, as he wanted, my reflexes had me grasp it mid-air. Next, he skid back to his own door, nudging it open with his knee, a new technique that seemed to work, and flit out of my view.
When I propelled my door open, I was relieved that the demon had not risen from bed yet, so he would not have heard any conversation in the hallway. Diving down into the seat nearest to me, I jerked my thigh to prop my leg on the chair opposing, giving some respite to my burning foot. Flipping open the first flimsy page of the load in front of me, I skimmed over the contents page, wanting first and foremost to read the creative lift-out. Perfect.
Like usual, hours went by with my nose stuck into the black and white text. Ink smudges were traced over my hands from where I had been touching the words. I’d updated myself with the events surpassing in the outer world, and I’d pampered myself with the works of a few famous poets and authors who had been exploited.
It had well and truly passed lunchtime when the bang of the bedroom door being slammed open tore me from my world.
“Jesus Christ,” he stormed, “You could have gotten me some pain killers out.”
That was true. And stupid of me. I don’t know how I’d forgotten.
As per usual, I continued to fish through the newspaper while he relaxed on the lounge and clicked past loud channels. Changing voices and flickering lights emitting from the TV set my brain into a frenzy and gave me a stabbing headache. I found it beyond amazing that he could cope with the blasting of sound with a hangover.
While the day continued on, the things I could find to do were decreasing. My university work had been long completed, every piece of paper or novel in my apartment had been read. Multiple times. Really, I craved the outside air. A walk somewhere would be fantastic, but he would not fancy me leaving in case he needed me to grab something for him. Moving from the couch; such a difficult task. In due course, I went into the bedroom and stared blankly at the red numbers on my digital clock until my head was swaying side to side.
I was too insane to be able to tell if I was not insane enough to be able to tell if I was sane enough to be able to tell if I was insane.
5:00
5:20
5:41
5:45
5:50
6:00
Cooking dinner finally discharged my boredom for a while. Like a trained robot, I scouted around the kitchen until eventually, meat and salad had been dispersed onto two plates. After digesting the food, he abandoned the dirty plate and utensils onto the floor and stood, jingling with some keys that were in his pocket to make positive they were still there.
“I’m off,” he chuffed, vision planted on the door rather than me.
There was no time for me to respond before his figure had seeped away and I was encompassed by the desertion of my empty room. Now with nutrients in my stomach, I felt like my body was prepared to rest, so, without further wait, I took myself into the bedroom and dropped onto the bed.
Probably 35 hours went by.
Or more.
Or less.
Sometimes that would happen when I was tired.
Because it wasn’t just a lack of sleep.
It was a lack of care.
And a lack of will to be alive anymore.
The ass hadn’t come home and that made it worse because I really did not have a single reason to make it out of bed.
Not that I was in bed.
My body literally rested atop the covers. No bother to get underneath.
At nights it was cold and, I’m sure, if there was energy in my system I might have shook from the chill.
I didn’t even know if I was asleep because, if I was awake, then my brain must have not been working properly because, hell, I was stuck motionless on a mattress because what is the point of moving anyway because I will only end up right back there, lying on the bed, every single day.
Beneath my head, the pillow had gone wet and I think that was from tears that maybe fell without me noticing, but maybe not because my mouth was dry from not drinking so surely there was no liquid available to come out my eyes.
The sun comes up.
The sun goes down.
The sun comes up.
The sun goes down.
Up
Down
Up
Down
Day.
Night.
Day.
Night.
He came back, and I roused a little when I distinguished his grunt as he writhed with the door to get it open. I hadn’t used it for days so it had gotten tight and a tad rusted against the doorframe. What a mistake that was; he was mad about needing to employ that additional exertion to get inside. As he waltzed into the bedroom, he spotted my deathly form and groaned again. His hand clumped up a bundle of my dried-out hair and tugged it viciously until I was yanked upright. My body failed to cope with the movement, and my visualisation went fuzzy in front of me before blacking completely.
Once I was well enough to have the ability of recognising my surroundings and what was happening, I could see that I was stripped naked and unaided. Back on the bed. By the sounds of things, nobody else was in the apartment. Something did urge me to stand up, however. Potentially it was because I did bear a slight amount of energy. I made the assumption that he gave me some food earlier, even though that seems heavily out of character.
Walking out of the bedroom, it was possible to perceive the beeps and skids of cars travelling in the city nearby. They were vociferous, meaning today must have been a work day. After a while, I remembered how I was a university student, and it dawned to me that I would have missed a noteworthy sum of lectures. I’d have to go and catch up today.
Quickly, I took an invigorating shower, got myself a drink, dressed, piled everything I needed into my bad, and headed out my door, pushing it shut, locking it, and then shifted to stand in front of the elevator. Already, my arm had raised, ready to press the down button, but when my finger was only a centimetre away from it, I saw the button was dug into the wall, already pushed in.
That was when I became acquainted with the presence of someone else beside me – Luke. Appearing the same as always, with his smooth hair strung backward, his body concealed by a shirt, thick grey suit and matching pants. Comparatively to other occasions, his head was ascertained forward, instead of facing me and already deeply in a conversation. I knew that he knew I was there because the longer I studied him, the more he gulped or twitched his knee up and down.
Clearly there was a reason that he was choosing to ignore me, and that made me too nervous to be the initial speaker. The doors tottered and wobbled open, straining themselves more than they’d needed to the last time I saw. Luke raced in with a stern face and I shadowed him in.
A screech panged through the air when the lift reeled downward, and it had barely been ten seconds before Luke let out a gush of air and asked in a half-hearted tone, “what’s up, Aurora?”
Due to the tensioned silence beforehand, my voice trembled when I greeted back, “hey.”
“You know,” he blabbered, his voice gentle and even quite sad, “It’s been 8 days since I saw you last.”
Guilt came flooding back into my blood. Never had I intended to make it seem like I was ignoring him or aiming to run away from him.
Luke bounced away from his sombre mood when it started mirroring onto me, “But, I get to see you now, which is wonderful. And I don’t doubt you’ve done a lot since we previously spoke, and I’m exciting to hear it sometime. Maybe over dinner?”
Smiling hurt and really put pressure on my cheek muscles that hadn’t been in action for a while.
“I was concerned about you at one point,” Luke now couldn’t help but keep waffling, “I tried to look you up in the local phonebook and see if you had a number I could get you on. Like, to call your mobile or phone your home.”
“E.T. Phone home,” my lips moved without warning my brain to produce unemotional, machinelike words. Promptly, I said, “sorry.”
Luke laughed at me for a while and then continued, “But then I realised that was kind of thoughtless because I could just go and knock on your door to see if you were alright. So I did... But you didn’t answer.”
Alarm set in, and I quietly, scaredly, asked, “did anyone answer?”
“No,” he responded and I exhaled, “nobody did. I just hadn’t seen you leave your room at all so that’s why I was worried. Even yesterday, you didn’t go downstairs to get the Sunday newspaper. I told myself if I didn’t see you today, I would call the police.”
Well that was either lucky or unlucky that he didn’t do that.
“But,” he declared, “here you are. Off to uni, I presume?”
“Yeah,” I sighed.
His eyes squinted down on me for a second, “you don’t need to be nervous about going back to classes, Aurora. You’ll be fine. You’re smart – I’m sure you’ll catch up straightaway.”
I was stunned momentarily by his words, and had to shake off to reply, “thank you.”
At ground floor, we stepped out the lift and Luke paced himself faster to get a step ahead of me and hold out the complex’s front doors.
“Thanks,” I smiled at the pavement underneath my feet as I strode through.
“It’s good to see your foot has healed up,” he disregarded that I was genuinely grateful for him opening the door, as if it wasn’t a big deal.
“Oh, yeah,” I muttered.
It was an overcast day, clouds drifted around in the sky, but the sun was bright for me after being inside for more than a week.
Luke concluded the chat, saying, “well, I’m off. Have a nice day, hopefully I’ll be granted the opportunity to see you later this afternoon.”
Here was the first point ever that I realised how tall Luke was. I attempted to look up to give a smile as I said goodbye, but the glare from the sun above seemed to literally block my vision. He was literally so tall that when I attempted to look at his face, I was tilting my head at the same angle I needed to look at the sun. The reason, that I calculated, as to why I’d never recognised the amazing height on him before was because he didn’t use his enormous stature against me.
Being a greater height than somebody else immediately puts you at a greater authority than him or her. Luke, however, didn’t seem to use this authority. He may have been psychically taller, but he treated me like we were at the same height. Hence, I never noticed how much he towered over my small body. Sometimes, even, his chivalry, by holding doors, helping me in various ways, made me feel the superior. I shuddered at that thought. It wasn’t right.
Luke had begun off in the opposite direction before I could choke up a reply. Although I’m sure I did come off impolite, I hoped he didn’t think I was rude for not responding.
Two lectures, I had, during the day. My professor came and spoke to me about my absence. He wouldn’t normally do that for anybody else; most of the students never turned up even for one class a week anyway. He felt a certain loyalty to me, however, as I think I was the highest held grade point average he had had in years. Behind his 1960’s round rim glasses and underneath his frizzy grey beard, I think he held a bit of hope for me and my writing career. It is good knowing someone had hope for me.
During the times I spent wasting away in the library, he would frequently come and sit with me to discuss assignments I had completed or ones I was yet to do. He never failed to inform me how interested he was in my creative pieces. Also, on more than one occasion, he had invited me to events where recognisable authors or artists would conglomerate. You can bet I was always yearning to go. Imagine deliberating a novel with the real author who was the one who sat down and spent hours and hours writing it. Just the mental thought of talking with a renowned author about their motives, how they begun, what persuaded them to create characters or settings or ideas. It blew me into a frenzy.
Unambiguously, I had rejected ever offer from my professor. Every event was always a Saturday night, and on Saturday nights it was required that I attend to my messy prick at parties.
Thankfully, after the week I missed, the professor helped me to draw alongside the class in terms of being up to date with his teaching and becoming aware of nearing due dates. Time zoomed past and soon, the librarians were ushering me to pack up and leave as they were closing. It gave me a fright when I trudged outside and the world was darkening around me, streetlights turning on. Knowing that the monster could be home, and waiting, made me hurry my steps as I manoeuvred through the streets on my way to the apartment building.
I was less than a block away when I heard heavy footsteps clopping the ground behind me. There wasn’t any such time for me to become fretted because I heard him call out to me.
“Aurora!” it was Luke.
Pausing my feet, I waited until the blonde was beside me to keep moving again. As customary, he was professionally made up. Unlike other businessmen, he didn’t tear off his suit jacket, or loosen his tie and undo the tight top button on his shirt, as soon as it was home time. Luke continuously presented himself smartly.
“What’s up,” he gushed, out of breath.
“Nothing,” I claimed, “you?”
“I was just in the supermarket back there and saw you walk past the windows. It’s pretty late out now, you know. It makes me apprehensive that you’re roaming the streets at nights.”
‘I’m fine,” I stated firmly.
“Dayum right, girl,” Luke changed his tone of voice to a stereotypical hoodlum, “you is lookin’ fine.”
He’d already spilt into a chuckle at his own acting when I did too. How does he lighten a mood so easily?
“Anyway,” he calmed down slowly, “if you’re not busy tonight, you can come over for something to eat?”
My eyes directed themselves to the white, plastic bag he was gripping. The thin material allowed me to see the items he had purchased. Cookie dough and a tin of spaghetti.
“Oh, it really looks like you’ve got a nutritious meal ahead of you,” I joked.
He bit down on his lip forcefully, “well, these are other things that I’ve been told I need to try before I die. Along with the 2-minute-noodles.”
Closing my eyes for a minute, I spoke up, “I don’t get you, Luke. How can anyone have gone their life without having tinned spaghetti?”
“I told you,” he contended, “I’ve grown up in the country. We do things differently out there.”
I couldn’t imagine Luke on his knees trying to milk a cow or feed a goat. The farm idea didn’t resonate in my head. Not when I could see him now, looking at peace, all dolled in his expensive clothes.
We got to the apartment and snuck inside. Waiting for the elevator seemed to take less time when I was listening to Luke talk.
Inside, he brought up the newspaper, “So I still have my copy of the newspaper from yesterday morning if you would like it to gloss over. Considering you didn’t grab one. I left it somewhere in my flat.”
“Really?” I vived, “I’d love to if you’re sure.”
“Of course,” he piped, “come into my flat and you’ll just have to wait a moment until I can find it.”
“Oh,” I begun stuttering, “I-I- it’s- maybe- I shouldn’t go into your apartment- I can’t…”
“That’s okay,” he asserted, “I’ll go find it and then I’ll knock on your door once I’ve got it.”
“Um,” I was spluttering, “that’s not a good idea, really. I’m- it’s just-“
All I could think was if the fiend was home. If he heard me go into Luke’s apartment, I would be slaughtered, and if Luke came knocking on my apartment, I’d similarly be chopped into little pieces. I didn’t know how Luke was so easy going about things. Almost every conversation, I would become awkward around some questions or be unable to do things he suggested. Never did he ridicule me, or even hassle me for reasons why. Happily, he just worked around my needs.
“Okay, I have an idea,” he perked, “I’ll do the plan from last week. Slotting it under that gap between our bedroom walls.”
I thought for a moment and then nodded, “okay.”
“Let’s hope it fits underneath,” he propounded, looking to be exciting at taking the chance.
When we ditched from the lift and dispersed to our own doors, he whispered to me, “ciao, Aurora.”
“Bye, Luke,” I responded.
The first feat of mine was to check if I was by myself or to be convoyed for the night. Dining, kitchen and lounge were empty, I managed to see with a quick glance. Revealing the bedroom with a push of the door, I was alleviated to discover that empty too. Lastly, the bathroom. Likewise, it was empty. This probably meant he wasn’t coming home at all tonight. But I couldn’t just believe that as the truth. For all I knew, he would return at that very instant.
My stomach rumbled and I decided I really should get something to eat. In the fridge, however, there was minimal option. If only I could have taken Luke up on the offer for dinner. Cookie dough would be much more fulfilling than anything I owned. Without much other choice, and knowing it really was too late to be heading out to the shops now, I nibbled away at some cheese on crackers.
Part way through scavenging the kitchen, I remembered Luke’s plan and dashed into the bedroom eagerly. Scatting around my bed, I saw the lump of paper lying on top of the carpet. Half of the front page had been torn off though, meaning some of the headline story was missing. Just as I noticed that, the other half of it was pushed underneath the gap in the wall. I picked up the actual newspaper, and the torn off piece, and plumped down onto my bed.
Then I noticed on the ripped piece, surrounding the actual text, was blue ink and tiny handwriting. As I tried to read it, I had to rotate and twist the page along with the words, following the sentence as it wavered between the news article and along the column.
Sorry! When I was shoving the paper through, the top page got caught because the wall is so ragged! I didn’t mean for it to tear off. Don’t hate me!! Xoxo Luke
I couldn’t help but giggle at his little message to me. My cheeks flushed, which made me feel a giddy, and I had to roll my eyes. My imagination whirled at how he would have written it. Probably laughing and shaking his head at himself. Biting my nails with forethought, I contemplated whether or not to send a message back.
Nobody was home to get angry at me for doing it, I thought. So why not?
Taking my notepad and pen from bag, where it was still situated from earlier at uni, I tapped at the page until I could determine what to write. Soon enough, I looped some letters with my pen, being sure that my words were in neat print so he could read.
How could I ever hate you Luke. Thank you for giving me the paper.
Dropping to my hands and knees in front of the gap, I placed the page flat on the floor. It was a reasonable sized opening in the wall. About three centimetres in height and almost twenty centimetres wide. With effort, my fingers could possibly just fit underneath it. Lying flat on the floor, I could just peer into Luke’s apartment, but I was unable to visualise more than the colour of his carpet – the same plain beige as mine. A small push was vital for my note to go underneath and out of my view. Assuming he wouldn’t send any more back, I dove back to my bed and opened the newspaper up, ready to read. Opportunely, however, my eyes flickered back to the gap by the wall every so often.
Two minutes would have passed when I noticed something in the corner of my eye. Another piece of paper. This one was just a plain white sheet, unlike mine which had pre-ruled lines. Leaning over, I grabbed it from the floor and brought it up to my face, skimming over the words, which were severely slanted and linked fashionably.
No problem! It’s not like I need it now anyway. By the way… I think there’s a drink stain around about page 20. Sorry haha!! Xox
I was bouncing out of my seat wanting to reply so that we could keep talking. But I couldn’t let myself do that. Sending a message back when he didn’t even ask a question could seem really desperate for attention. And I wasn’t. In fact, I understood that Luke and I shouldn’t be talking at all.
Restraining myself, I made my way through all of the reports in the front pages, updating myself in the world. Then, to my joy, I flipped open at the important section. Smack bam in the perfect centre of the spread, though, was a large, circular discolouring. Luke’s drink stain. Without even hesitating this time, I snatched back my pen and paper and scrawled a note for next door.
The stain is on my most favourite part of the whole newspaper… I don’t know if I can forgive you for this one :O
Once I’d snuck it under the spot, I became nervous that he wouldn’t see the lighter side of it. I wasn’t really mad, at all. Paper skid across the carpet not long later. Again, I scrambled to read it.
Whoops, my bad! What part was it spilt on? I feel terrible! How can I make it up to you?? xx
I wasn’t sure why, but with every message I was more and more frivolous. The way that Luke was ending each of his messages had to be a part of the reason. But I knew Luke was a friendly spirit and he applied the x’s in a chum manner. In writing my response, I constantly stopped and re-wrote, and then stopped, and then re-started and re-wrote. There was this need to sound clever that I couldn’t meet. Fed up, I settled on an honest, boring message back.
It was spilt on the creative lift out. You don’t need to make it up to me, I’m not actually mad. :)
Even if I wanted, I didn’t have time between the exchanges to get back stuck into reading the newspaper. My body fluttered as I lingered for Luke’s replies.
I should have known! Of course that’s your favourite part! I should probably start reading that section more myself (when I don’t spill drinks on it!!). I don’t read enough poems/novels/creativity cool awesome stuff. What is your favourite type of literature? xxx
There was an easy answer to that. Merely a second later I had replied.
Poetry, for sure.
A long delay hung after I’d slid that note under the gap. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I twiddled with a loose thread on my quilt as I awaited Luke’s next words. Doubt begun to circle me like a flock of birds. Was that too short of a response? I should have asked him something so there would be purpose to rejoinder back. Liberation trinkled over me, like a saint, when my room was met with his next letter being skimmed through the hole.
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Why is poetry
So exciting for you?
(ps. That’s the first poem I’ve ever written in my life. You might want to frame it before it becomes famous! xo)
Sniggering to myself, I couldn’t help but be somewhat honoured he went to the effort of finding something that could rhyme. Too well did I understand how any poems, short or long, could be difficult to write. I replied instantly, this time lengthily.
Not bad, not bad!
And to answer your question, poetry is just my favourite form of expression. I suck at talking in real life (if you haven’t already noticed lol) but I feel like I can say anything if I’m writing it. Especially if I can put it into a poem.
Luke did not take an elongated time to send back a message like previously. When the paper glided under the gap and I picked it up, his initial lack of exclamation marks made it seem he had taken a serious turn.
Aurora, you don’t suck at talking. You keep to yourself a lot. And shy away or turn your eyes to the floor whenever it’s your turn to talk about yourself. And you say sorry after doing nothing wrong.
So he noticed all that.
But you should definitely talk to me in the form of poems if that’s how you roll! :) xxxx
No way would I be responding with a poem. I’d be way too panicky that he would think it was bad or he wouldn’t be able to twig what it meant. Frowning, I lacked idea of what to say. Instead, I gave up and, in a quick scribble, ended our talking.
I’m going to get some sleep. Goodnight
Another sharp reply.
Night Aurora, rest easy.
Please catch the same lift as me tomorrow morning xx
That night, I slept much easier than any time in a long time. The pillows were still a bit scratchy on my skin and the air was still cold. I wasn’t shaking in a complete shiver, however. There were just a couple of goose bumps.
I put myself into a solid spinning routine that consisted of me avoiding him at all costs. In the afternoons, I ensured that I was going to be home before 5:00 so I would not end up in the same elevator up as him. At nights I didn’t leave. And in the morning, I spent as long as necessary, sometimes up to thirty minutes, holding my ear to my door and tenaciously waiting until I heard Luke go down to leave the building. Moreover, at every cost, I evaded the supermarket that he had spotted me in – tending to buy anything I required now at a shop further away.
It was impossible for me to pinpoint exactly why I was doing this to myself. Luke was a ray of sunlight; I struggled going an hour or two without my thoughts floating to him. Every limb in my body ached for a conversation with him. Just a short one in the lift or something. Only so I could obtain some comic relief, or so I could have someone speak to me like they cared.
But, like I am often reminded, bad people don’t get nice things. I am a bad person. Hence, I shouldn’t get the blessing of knowing Luke. On top of that, the concept that maybe he had heard something from my apartment one night scared me to ruins. The blue-eyed seraph had proved not to be the kind that pushes on a topic which makes the other person feel disconcerted, however, he did seem the type to easily become concerned for someone. Something told me that if he grasped the idea of what occurred in my flat, he would hardly hesitant to involve himself.
Knowledgably, I had depicted this future and every dawn, day and dusk, my lips had been sealed. The racket that my partner and I previously were had softened. Thanks to my ability to remain unspoken, and simply following all commands, the devil had not sparked a fight in me for days. I was blameless. There was not a single thing that I could be shunned for not doing or doing incorrect.
As a weekend rolled around, I was ploughed into a usual worry; Saturday nights are habitually the loudest, and most disastrous, time of the week. Already, I was buoyantly looking forward to Sunday. That’s when the newspapers arrive, and I would be sucked into the free world of reading.
Just like I had anticipated, the stages leading up to Sunday were long, never ending. Early Saturday, around noon, my behemoth commenced drinking. One o’clock and three empty bottlenecks were sitting in the corner of the lounge, resting until I would take them and place them into the bin. By two o’clock, another one joined the crew. Three o’clock, the pile expanded to six. Four o’clock, eleven. Five o’clock, I stopped counting. Six o’clock – “Hurry up, bitch, we’re leaving soon.”
Over the course of the day, his conduction had plat formed lower and lower. The first hours, he could actually make it to the bathroom himself, but, as the night rolled in, he started stumbling everywhere. Crashing into the wall, the couch, chairs. Every hit, I flinched and silently prayed that the sound was not strident enough to go through the building’s walls so Luke cold hear.
I replaced my casual daywear for a pink and white checked dress, and quickly dashed to take my bag and slip my flat shoes on. An angry jeer was the first thing I perceived when leaving the bedroom and walking into his black eyes.
“Wear something sexier,” he sneered, his mouth pouting upward disapprovingly, “last week, it was embarrassing to walk around with an ugly girl.”
Sadly, I suppressed the urge to scream. Breathing heavily, I leant on the back of my heel, spinning around 180 degrees to slump back to my wardrobe. Finding an outfit is complex enough. Being insulted, and then needing to find an outfit that makes you look ‘sexier’ is abstruse. Well, impenetrable for me. Because I don’t hold the capacity to look sexy in anything. I am ugly.
Needing to be quick so that he couldn’t get irritated with me, I took a hold of the tightest and shortest dress I owned. The black colour of it did not match with the light makeup I had applied, and the slim fit was not made to suit long, straightened blonde hair. But it would have to do. With my luck, the cut, above mid-thigh, would make it too sexy for him and he’d want me to dress in something more modest. I was sure, though, that in the time I had changed clothes, he would have skulled more alcohol down his oesophagus, and probably would not even be able to see me through his blurry vision.
I was right. On the trip down to ground floor, he swayed endlessly, and grasped onto the rails that lined around the square elevator so he wouldn’t fall. His dry cackling, while he drunkenly attempted to get a hold of my ass, bounced around the petite area. In the year I had been living in the complex, there had only ever been two different people I had ever been in the lift with.
Isn’t it intriguing how some people’s laugh is quite contagious, and other people’s can put an end to the possibility of any other laughs around them?
Making comparisons only supported me in recognising how horrific my life was.
Eight o’clock at the house party, I had discovered a vacant deck chair in the backyard, and I formally appointed it to be my position for the rest of the night. Lost in a crowd of high-fives and slaps on the back, my fiend had been stolen from my view as immediately as we entered the oversized door. Peering through the glass screens from my seat, I was effortlessly able to watch as people danced and drunk, loosening their bodies to the happiness in the atmosphere.
If I could drink, I definitely would. A want had been brewing inside of me for a long time to join a party at my own will. My responsibility needed me to be sober for him, though. Liquor on my lips would not taste as good as water after an elongated night out. And by chance, I drank too much? Nobody would be there to take decent care of me.
Whilst waiting for him to be ready to leave, there is never much for me to do. I just tend to think. I think about where everybody else in the world is right now, on this Saturday night. I think about the weirdness of things happening. I think about how I ended in the life I’m in. Then, often, I think about my parents. My mum should be happy. She’s in a better place now. My dad – I don’t know at all. It’s fun to create stories in my head of where he could be. I hope my dad is good and I hope that the rumour about dead people looking down on you from heaven is a myth, because I doubt mum would be smiling at how I’ve turned out.
The time at the party ended when I felt him singlehandedly attach his fingers to my wrist, tearing me from my chair and hauling me between the toppling bodies and over spilt sticky drinks. When I put the new dress on earlier, I had changed my shoes as well, sporting a higher heel. Only on the walk home did I understand the significance of this. Naturally, I would have battled to keep up speed with him, as my legs were only three quarters the length of his anyway, but then the imbalance and slowness that the shoes gave exacerbated the problem. Relentlessly, my ankle curled on the cement, sometimes tipping me off the path so my foot would fall into the gutter. Already, swelling was introducing itself to my lower calf and Achilles, which, in turn, made the shoes tighter on my skin and even more uncomfortable. Along with the riding up of my dress, reaching so high that my underwear was almost on display to passing vehicles, I had never been so discomposed in my life.
It was in his drunkenness when I found him to be the worst. When alcohol poisoned his veins, it was like he accessed a new strength inside of him that he could force upon me. Not that he had an extensive moral judgment on a normal day, but it even worse when intoxicated. On the walk home, although it was short, I could count that he slapped his hand across the skin of my ass six times.
Whenever my leg curdled thanks to the heels, he would snare at me, “get the fuck up,” “God, you’re so slow,” “Clumsy bitch.”
Back in our flat, he was more loudmouthed than I had heard him in a while. I had a slim figure; I was reasonably weak. And he took advantage of that. Pushing me into the bedroom, throwing me onto the bed.
“You like that?” he repeated constantly. I didn’t. Obviously I didn’t.
But what I didn’t like more was how he was barking the words so violently loud. Luke sprung into my head, and I tipped my head over to read the time. One o’clock in the morning. No doubt, he would be next door, trying to sleep, and being rudely interrupted and terrified at the pornographic sounds.
It dawned on me that there was really only one thing I could attempt. Finish him off quicker, end it sooner. So that’s what I did. Tears may have been brimming, my throat may have been begging for a sob – I knew I just had to continue going. Every drip of energy I could find was being abused as I quickened, hardened my actions. It did work. He finished earlier than normal and slopped onto the other side of the mattress.
Sickness simmered in my stomach and kept me awake. Hope remained somewhere inside of me that possibly I had ended the loudness fast enough for Luke to not even have been stirred.
Approximately two hours of staggered sleep was had for me after that. When I trailed out of bed and into the bathroom, the sad beast staring back at me in the mirror sunk my stomach even more. Half asleep in the shower, I examined the remainder of my mascara, foundation, and shadow being dripped off my face by the streaming water. Pouring off my face, the blacks and beiges slapped into the tiles, and then spun and spun and spun until the force sent it all spilling down the drain. It felt like I was being stripped of identity. But that actually happened last night.
Guilt should be this simple to wash off. Then my mornings could be a lot easier.
Ridden of shoes and ridden of dignity, I lumbered from my apartment and dragged myself towards the lift, lodging my thumb into the down button. Just as I did so, the harsh rubbing of a door against its frame was sounded behind me, and I rotated to be met with non other than the bright pearls of Luke.
“What’s up?” he chimed, focusing his gaze on me even while pulling his door shut.
How could he bare to look at me when I could not even look at myself? Although incredibly light, grey spots were fading into the skin under his eyes now. The poor thing. Maybe it was the sounds from my bedroom that caused his deficiency of sleep. Gulping, I could sense the disgust mustering up like a cancer in my lungs.
“Are you alright?”
His smile fell when I failed to return one. There was legitimate concern in his tone when he questioned me, and that made me feel bad. So, suddenly, I mimicked his original impression, opening the sentiment on my face.
“Yeah,” I countered.
Inquisitively, he scrutinised my facial features – seeking possibly to find if my expression was a lie. I wished that I could see inside his thoughts for a while.
“You know,” he opened, “I really want to get inside your brain. I’m certain there is a lot of things happening in there that I’m not lucky enough to see.”
Funny that.
When the doors slid apart, we hustled inside. Luke must have been watching me carefully.
“Is your foot alright, Aurora?” he posed once the doors closed back shut.
“Huh?” I responded curtly.
“Your foot,” he reiterated, “you’re limping.”
Gaping down, it came to a shock that I was actually leant onto one side of my body. My right ankle bone could not even be seen because it was hidden under bruised tissue. The area was quite purple and the width of two tennis balls. I’d been too caught up deliberating other things to even feel the ache there, and I had automatically been limping for it to hurt less.
“Oh,” I gasped, “yeah.”
Luke was begging to ask how it happened, I could tell. His eyebrows were raised invitingly and his pupils skimmed up and down from my head to my foot.
For his sake, I continued, “I wore heels last night and tripped over once or twice. It doesn’t hurt though.”
“Well did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” Luke’s face was painted with seriousness.
It took me a moment to process his pick-up line. I was disoriented with how to respond because it was surely a joke, yet his face said otherwise. An instant passed though and a grin and laugh cracked his stern look.
Once I begun snickering too, unable to hold a straight face while he was splashing in chuckles, he spoke up, “Someone at work told me I should use that one. It’s supposed to make me sound smooth.”
“These people at your work,” you replied, “first it was the 2-minute-noodles, now this.”
“Hey!” he exclaimed, “those noodles. You really can’t trust the name of them. I spent about ten minutes trying to get them ready for eating.”
“Wow, taking that long is almost an achievement in itself, congratulations.”
“Then I guess I should say thank you.”
The elevator jolted when hitting the bottom floor, and now that I was aware of my foot, I could feel the sting of it paining me as I tried to leave through the doors.
“Here,” Luke scampered immediately, seeing me wince. His long arm wound around my back and on my the opposite side of my waist, he softly rested his hand.
Warmth radiating through his polo shirt and I couldn’t help but lean into his torso while he supported me to walk. To me, it was the equivalent of snuggling into a pillow. Believe it or not, my bruised hips were being pushed slightly into him, but they didn’t seem to hurt. I knew I should have said something so that would take his hands off me. It was practically forbidden for anybody to come within a metre of my existence. But the hand he had placed on my waist was so gentle and comforting. His thumb was brushing up and down casually over my ribs while we hobbled our way across the foyer. I wanted his body sticky taped to the side of mine forever.
The moment didn’t last long enough.
Once we’d reached the table that was set up every Sunday to hold the free newspapers, he removed his contact with me, furrowing his nose and grabbing a paper. The only paper.
“How many of these normally get delivered?” he asked curiously.
“About ten, normally,” I alleged, “and normally when I come down they’re all still here.”
He hummed for a brief second, then took back to his pose before, soliciting his long arm around me. Was I walking in a summer cloud or was I walking next to Luke? Or are they the same thing?
“I guess I’ll have to be quicker getting the paper next week then,” he sighed, looking down to me with a smile.
“O-Oh no,” I stuttered, “you can have it. I don’t need it.”
We’d reached the lift again when Luke frowned and laughed concurrently, “no. You’re having it. I remember you coming down to get it last week. If you get it every Sunday, I’m not going to halter your routine.”
Determinedly, he pressed the button, and as the elevator hadn’t needed to manoeuvre anywhere since we got down, the doors instantly chuffed open for us.
“Ah,” he sighed in a happy shock before accompanying me in, “finally the lift does something nice for us.”
“We could share the paper,” I blurted, my face turning red because I spoke so fast and so long after that conversation had already ended.
One side of Luke’s lips heightened more than the other so his smile shaped into a smirk. I didn’t understand my need to impress him, but I couldn’t seem to stop it. Offering to share my newspaper was not something typical of me to do. I treasured it, each week. I’m not even sure why.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he conferred, “but only if you want to, Aurora.”
“Of course I want to,” I stated quickly.
“Okay,” he bit his lip, “well you have it first, and whenever you’re done, just come next door and hand it to me.”
“Sounds good,” I cheered.
I was still enclosed in his muscles, staring up into his eyes while he stared down into mine. It confused me that I tried to keep away from Luke for the whole week. It also puzzled me that, not even an hour ago, I was fighting a mental crisis and begging my heart to stop pulsing, and here I was now, revelling in the quickening pace of its beats. Unfortunately, thinking about that transition led me to consider why ever I was so sad in the first place.
My smile instinctively turned down when I thought about that, and with that movement, a single strand of hair dropped in front of my eye. Luke’s right hand that held the newspaper rose for a split second, but then he pulled it back down. I felt his left hand tense then, as though he were going to move that too, yet he relaxed it again and left it lingering on my body. Forming his lips into an ‘o’ he blew a shot of air onto my forehead, angling so that it would puff the hair back from my face. When it worked, a grin of success irradiated over him. Like a domino effect, I reflected his countenance.
“You look even prettier when you’re smiling,” he whispered.
Mechanically, my eyes ripped apart from his and pounced to the floor.
“Did I say that aloud?” he enquired much louder.
“Yeah.”
“Whoops,” he uttered, leaving a few seconds before averring, “well, at least that’s out in the open in case you hide from me for the rest of the week again.”
Rashly, I started self-justifying my actions, “I haven’t been hiding from you, I’ve just been busy with other things, sometimes I just find it hard because it’s not that-“
When I looked back up, I had to discontinue my sentence because Luke’s eyes were being squinted by his cheeky beam.
“I’m just playing with you,” he joked, amused heavily by my reaction.
“Oh,” I exhaled, “sorry.”
Opening his mouth to say something, Luke was silenced by the ding of the lift doors. It was back on this floor that I was suddenly reminded, again, of my terror. Moving away from Luke, I hopped to my apartment door and leant against it for support. Gripping the side of my shorts with anxiousness, I peeked to Luke, who was hardly even alarmed that I had zoomed away from him so abruptly.
“Luke, I can’t come over later to give you back the paper. So, you can just have it.”
Instead of responding with bewilderment at my sudden change of mind, Luke kept calm and seemed un-perplexed as if he knew this was coming. Striding in front of me, he gripped the paper and held it up so it was less than a centimetre from my chest.
“You take it, Aurora,” he urged, “and then when you’re done, push it to me through that gap in the wall that I told you about.”
Unwilling to compromise, he released it from his hands and, as he wanted, my reflexes had me grasp it mid-air. Next, he skid back to his own door, nudging it open with his knee, a new technique that seemed to work, and flit out of my view.
When I propelled my door open, I was relieved that the demon had not risen from bed yet, so he would not have heard any conversation in the hallway. Diving down into the seat nearest to me, I jerked my thigh to prop my leg on the chair opposing, giving some respite to my burning foot. Flipping open the first flimsy page of the load in front of me, I skimmed over the contents page, wanting first and foremost to read the creative lift-out. Perfect.
Like usual, hours went by with my nose stuck into the black and white text. Ink smudges were traced over my hands from where I had been touching the words. I’d updated myself with the events surpassing in the outer world, and I’d pampered myself with the works of a few famous poets and authors who had been exploited.
It had well and truly passed lunchtime when the bang of the bedroom door being slammed open tore me from my world.
“Jesus Christ,” he stormed, “You could have gotten me some pain killers out.”
That was true. And stupid of me. I don’t know how I’d forgotten.
As per usual, I continued to fish through the newspaper while he relaxed on the lounge and clicked past loud channels. Changing voices and flickering lights emitting from the TV set my brain into a frenzy and gave me a stabbing headache. I found it beyond amazing that he could cope with the blasting of sound with a hangover.
While the day continued on, the things I could find to do were decreasing. My university work had been long completed, every piece of paper or novel in my apartment had been read. Multiple times. Really, I craved the outside air. A walk somewhere would be fantastic, but he would not fancy me leaving in case he needed me to grab something for him. Moving from the couch; such a difficult task. In due course, I went into the bedroom and stared blankly at the red numbers on my digital clock until my head was swaying side to side.
I was too insane to be able to tell if I was not insane enough to be able to tell if I was sane enough to be able to tell if I was insane.
5:00
5:20
5:41
5:45
5:50
6:00
Cooking dinner finally discharged my boredom for a while. Like a trained robot, I scouted around the kitchen until eventually, meat and salad had been dispersed onto two plates. After digesting the food, he abandoned the dirty plate and utensils onto the floor and stood, jingling with some keys that were in his pocket to make positive they were still there.
“I’m off,” he chuffed, vision planted on the door rather than me.
There was no time for me to respond before his figure had seeped away and I was encompassed by the desertion of my empty room. Now with nutrients in my stomach, I felt like my body was prepared to rest, so, without further wait, I took myself into the bedroom and dropped onto the bed.
Probably 35 hours went by.
Or more.
Or less.
Sometimes that would happen when I was tired.
Because it wasn’t just a lack of sleep.
It was a lack of care.
And a lack of will to be alive anymore.
The ass hadn’t come home and that made it worse because I really did not have a single reason to make it out of bed.
Not that I was in bed.
My body literally rested atop the covers. No bother to get underneath.
At nights it was cold and, I’m sure, if there was energy in my system I might have shook from the chill.
I didn’t even know if I was asleep because, if I was awake, then my brain must have not been working properly because, hell, I was stuck motionless on a mattress because what is the point of moving anyway because I will only end up right back there, lying on the bed, every single day.
Beneath my head, the pillow had gone wet and I think that was from tears that maybe fell without me noticing, but maybe not because my mouth was dry from not drinking so surely there was no liquid available to come out my eyes.
The sun comes up.
The sun goes down.
The sun comes up.
The sun goes down.
Up
Down
Up
Down
Day.
Night.
Day.
Night.
He came back, and I roused a little when I distinguished his grunt as he writhed with the door to get it open. I hadn’t used it for days so it had gotten tight and a tad rusted against the doorframe. What a mistake that was; he was mad about needing to employ that additional exertion to get inside. As he waltzed into the bedroom, he spotted my deathly form and groaned again. His hand clumped up a bundle of my dried-out hair and tugged it viciously until I was yanked upright. My body failed to cope with the movement, and my visualisation went fuzzy in front of me before blacking completely.
Once I was well enough to have the ability of recognising my surroundings and what was happening, I could see that I was stripped naked and unaided. Back on the bed. By the sounds of things, nobody else was in the apartment. Something did urge me to stand up, however. Potentially it was because I did bear a slight amount of energy. I made the assumption that he gave me some food earlier, even though that seems heavily out of character.
Walking out of the bedroom, it was possible to perceive the beeps and skids of cars travelling in the city nearby. They were vociferous, meaning today must have been a work day. After a while, I remembered how I was a university student, and it dawned to me that I would have missed a noteworthy sum of lectures. I’d have to go and catch up today.
Quickly, I took an invigorating shower, got myself a drink, dressed, piled everything I needed into my bad, and headed out my door, pushing it shut, locking it, and then shifted to stand in front of the elevator. Already, my arm had raised, ready to press the down button, but when my finger was only a centimetre away from it, I saw the button was dug into the wall, already pushed in.
That was when I became acquainted with the presence of someone else beside me – Luke. Appearing the same as always, with his smooth hair strung backward, his body concealed by a shirt, thick grey suit and matching pants. Comparatively to other occasions, his head was ascertained forward, instead of facing me and already deeply in a conversation. I knew that he knew I was there because the longer I studied him, the more he gulped or twitched his knee up and down.
Clearly there was a reason that he was choosing to ignore me, and that made me too nervous to be the initial speaker. The doors tottered and wobbled open, straining themselves more than they’d needed to the last time I saw. Luke raced in with a stern face and I shadowed him in.
A screech panged through the air when the lift reeled downward, and it had barely been ten seconds before Luke let out a gush of air and asked in a half-hearted tone, “what’s up, Aurora?”
Due to the tensioned silence beforehand, my voice trembled when I greeted back, “hey.”
“You know,” he blabbered, his voice gentle and even quite sad, “It’s been 8 days since I saw you last.”
Guilt came flooding back into my blood. Never had I intended to make it seem like I was ignoring him or aiming to run away from him.
Luke bounced away from his sombre mood when it started mirroring onto me, “But, I get to see you now, which is wonderful. And I don’t doubt you’ve done a lot since we previously spoke, and I’m exciting to hear it sometime. Maybe over dinner?”
Smiling hurt and really put pressure on my cheek muscles that hadn’t been in action for a while.
“I was concerned about you at one point,” Luke now couldn’t help but keep waffling, “I tried to look you up in the local phonebook and see if you had a number I could get you on. Like, to call your mobile or phone your home.”
“E.T. Phone home,” my lips moved without warning my brain to produce unemotional, machinelike words. Promptly, I said, “sorry.”
Luke laughed at me for a while and then continued, “But then I realised that was kind of thoughtless because I could just go and knock on your door to see if you were alright. So I did... But you didn’t answer.”
Alarm set in, and I quietly, scaredly, asked, “did anyone answer?”
“No,” he responded and I exhaled, “nobody did. I just hadn’t seen you leave your room at all so that’s why I was worried. Even yesterday, you didn’t go downstairs to get the Sunday newspaper. I told myself if I didn’t see you today, I would call the police.”
Well that was either lucky or unlucky that he didn’t do that.
“But,” he declared, “here you are. Off to uni, I presume?”
“Yeah,” I sighed.
His eyes squinted down on me for a second, “you don’t need to be nervous about going back to classes, Aurora. You’ll be fine. You’re smart – I’m sure you’ll catch up straightaway.”
I was stunned momentarily by his words, and had to shake off to reply, “thank you.”
At ground floor, we stepped out the lift and Luke paced himself faster to get a step ahead of me and hold out the complex’s front doors.
“Thanks,” I smiled at the pavement underneath my feet as I strode through.
“It’s good to see your foot has healed up,” he disregarded that I was genuinely grateful for him opening the door, as if it wasn’t a big deal.
“Oh, yeah,” I muttered.
It was an overcast day, clouds drifted around in the sky, but the sun was bright for me after being inside for more than a week.
Luke concluded the chat, saying, “well, I’m off. Have a nice day, hopefully I’ll be granted the opportunity to see you later this afternoon.”
Here was the first point ever that I realised how tall Luke was. I attempted to look up to give a smile as I said goodbye, but the glare from the sun above seemed to literally block my vision. He was literally so tall that when I attempted to look at his face, I was tilting my head at the same angle I needed to look at the sun. The reason, that I calculated, as to why I’d never recognised the amazing height on him before was because he didn’t use his enormous stature against me.
Being a greater height than somebody else immediately puts you at a greater authority than him or her. Luke, however, didn’t seem to use this authority. He may have been psychically taller, but he treated me like we were at the same height. Hence, I never noticed how much he towered over my small body. Sometimes, even, his chivalry, by holding doors, helping me in various ways, made me feel the superior. I shuddered at that thought. It wasn’t right.
Luke had begun off in the opposite direction before I could choke up a reply. Although I’m sure I did come off impolite, I hoped he didn’t think I was rude for not responding.
Two lectures, I had, during the day. My professor came and spoke to me about my absence. He wouldn’t normally do that for anybody else; most of the students never turned up even for one class a week anyway. He felt a certain loyalty to me, however, as I think I was the highest held grade point average he had had in years. Behind his 1960’s round rim glasses and underneath his frizzy grey beard, I think he held a bit of hope for me and my writing career. It is good knowing someone had hope for me.
During the times I spent wasting away in the library, he would frequently come and sit with me to discuss assignments I had completed or ones I was yet to do. He never failed to inform me how interested he was in my creative pieces. Also, on more than one occasion, he had invited me to events where recognisable authors or artists would conglomerate. You can bet I was always yearning to go. Imagine deliberating a novel with the real author who was the one who sat down and spent hours and hours writing it. Just the mental thought of talking with a renowned author about their motives, how they begun, what persuaded them to create characters or settings or ideas. It blew me into a frenzy.
Unambiguously, I had rejected ever offer from my professor. Every event was always a Saturday night, and on Saturday nights it was required that I attend to my messy prick at parties.
Thankfully, after the week I missed, the professor helped me to draw alongside the class in terms of being up to date with his teaching and becoming aware of nearing due dates. Time zoomed past and soon, the librarians were ushering me to pack up and leave as they were closing. It gave me a fright when I trudged outside and the world was darkening around me, streetlights turning on. Knowing that the monster could be home, and waiting, made me hurry my steps as I manoeuvred through the streets on my way to the apartment building.
I was less than a block away when I heard heavy footsteps clopping the ground behind me. There wasn’t any such time for me to become fretted because I heard him call out to me.
“Aurora!” it was Luke.
Pausing my feet, I waited until the blonde was beside me to keep moving again. As customary, he was professionally made up. Unlike other businessmen, he didn’t tear off his suit jacket, or loosen his tie and undo the tight top button on his shirt, as soon as it was home time. Luke continuously presented himself smartly.
“What’s up,” he gushed, out of breath.
“Nothing,” I claimed, “you?”
“I was just in the supermarket back there and saw you walk past the windows. It’s pretty late out now, you know. It makes me apprehensive that you’re roaming the streets at nights.”
‘I’m fine,” I stated firmly.
“Dayum right, girl,” Luke changed his tone of voice to a stereotypical hoodlum, “you is lookin’ fine.”
He’d already spilt into a chuckle at his own acting when I did too. How does he lighten a mood so easily?
“Anyway,” he calmed down slowly, “if you’re not busy tonight, you can come over for something to eat?”
My eyes directed themselves to the white, plastic bag he was gripping. The thin material allowed me to see the items he had purchased. Cookie dough and a tin of spaghetti.
“Oh, it really looks like you’ve got a nutritious meal ahead of you,” I joked.
He bit down on his lip forcefully, “well, these are other things that I’ve been told I need to try before I die. Along with the 2-minute-noodles.”
Closing my eyes for a minute, I spoke up, “I don’t get you, Luke. How can anyone have gone their life without having tinned spaghetti?”
“I told you,” he contended, “I’ve grown up in the country. We do things differently out there.”
I couldn’t imagine Luke on his knees trying to milk a cow or feed a goat. The farm idea didn’t resonate in my head. Not when I could see him now, looking at peace, all dolled in his expensive clothes.
We got to the apartment and snuck inside. Waiting for the elevator seemed to take less time when I was listening to Luke talk.
Inside, he brought up the newspaper, “So I still have my copy of the newspaper from yesterday morning if you would like it to gloss over. Considering you didn’t grab one. I left it somewhere in my flat.”
“Really?” I vived, “I’d love to if you’re sure.”
“Of course,” he piped, “come into my flat and you’ll just have to wait a moment until I can find it.”
“Oh,” I begun stuttering, “I-I- it’s- maybe- I shouldn’t go into your apartment- I can’t…”
“That’s okay,” he asserted, “I’ll go find it and then I’ll knock on your door once I’ve got it.”
“Um,” I was spluttering, “that’s not a good idea, really. I’m- it’s just-“
All I could think was if the fiend was home. If he heard me go into Luke’s apartment, I would be slaughtered, and if Luke came knocking on my apartment, I’d similarly be chopped into little pieces. I didn’t know how Luke was so easy going about things. Almost every conversation, I would become awkward around some questions or be unable to do things he suggested. Never did he ridicule me, or even hassle me for reasons why. Happily, he just worked around my needs.
“Okay, I have an idea,” he perked, “I’ll do the plan from last week. Slotting it under that gap between our bedroom walls.”
I thought for a moment and then nodded, “okay.”
“Let’s hope it fits underneath,” he propounded, looking to be exciting at taking the chance.
When we ditched from the lift and dispersed to our own doors, he whispered to me, “ciao, Aurora.”
“Bye, Luke,” I responded.
The first feat of mine was to check if I was by myself or to be convoyed for the night. Dining, kitchen and lounge were empty, I managed to see with a quick glance. Revealing the bedroom with a push of the door, I was alleviated to discover that empty too. Lastly, the bathroom. Likewise, it was empty. This probably meant he wasn’t coming home at all tonight. But I couldn’t just believe that as the truth. For all I knew, he would return at that very instant.
My stomach rumbled and I decided I really should get something to eat. In the fridge, however, there was minimal option. If only I could have taken Luke up on the offer for dinner. Cookie dough would be much more fulfilling than anything I owned. Without much other choice, and knowing it really was too late to be heading out to the shops now, I nibbled away at some cheese on crackers.
Part way through scavenging the kitchen, I remembered Luke’s plan and dashed into the bedroom eagerly. Scatting around my bed, I saw the lump of paper lying on top of the carpet. Half of the front page had been torn off though, meaning some of the headline story was missing. Just as I noticed that, the other half of it was pushed underneath the gap in the wall. I picked up the actual newspaper, and the torn off piece, and plumped down onto my bed.
Then I noticed on the ripped piece, surrounding the actual text, was blue ink and tiny handwriting. As I tried to read it, I had to rotate and twist the page along with the words, following the sentence as it wavered between the news article and along the column.
Sorry! When I was shoving the paper through, the top page got caught because the wall is so ragged! I didn’t mean for it to tear off. Don’t hate me!! Xoxo Luke
I couldn’t help but giggle at his little message to me. My cheeks flushed, which made me feel a giddy, and I had to roll my eyes. My imagination whirled at how he would have written it. Probably laughing and shaking his head at himself. Biting my nails with forethought, I contemplated whether or not to send a message back.
Nobody was home to get angry at me for doing it, I thought. So why not?
Taking my notepad and pen from bag, where it was still situated from earlier at uni, I tapped at the page until I could determine what to write. Soon enough, I looped some letters with my pen, being sure that my words were in neat print so he could read.
How could I ever hate you Luke. Thank you for giving me the paper.
Dropping to my hands and knees in front of the gap, I placed the page flat on the floor. It was a reasonable sized opening in the wall. About three centimetres in height and almost twenty centimetres wide. With effort, my fingers could possibly just fit underneath it. Lying flat on the floor, I could just peer into Luke’s apartment, but I was unable to visualise more than the colour of his carpet – the same plain beige as mine. A small push was vital for my note to go underneath and out of my view. Assuming he wouldn’t send any more back, I dove back to my bed and opened the newspaper up, ready to read. Opportunely, however, my eyes flickered back to the gap by the wall every so often.
Two minutes would have passed when I noticed something in the corner of my eye. Another piece of paper. This one was just a plain white sheet, unlike mine which had pre-ruled lines. Leaning over, I grabbed it from the floor and brought it up to my face, skimming over the words, which were severely slanted and linked fashionably.
No problem! It’s not like I need it now anyway. By the way… I think there’s a drink stain around about page 20. Sorry haha!! Xox
I was bouncing out of my seat wanting to reply so that we could keep talking. But I couldn’t let myself do that. Sending a message back when he didn’t even ask a question could seem really desperate for attention. And I wasn’t. In fact, I understood that Luke and I shouldn’t be talking at all.
Restraining myself, I made my way through all of the reports in the front pages, updating myself in the world. Then, to my joy, I flipped open at the important section. Smack bam in the perfect centre of the spread, though, was a large, circular discolouring. Luke’s drink stain. Without even hesitating this time, I snatched back my pen and paper and scrawled a note for next door.
The stain is on my most favourite part of the whole newspaper… I don’t know if I can forgive you for this one :O
Once I’d snuck it under the spot, I became nervous that he wouldn’t see the lighter side of it. I wasn’t really mad, at all. Paper skid across the carpet not long later. Again, I scrambled to read it.
Whoops, my bad! What part was it spilt on? I feel terrible! How can I make it up to you?? xx
I wasn’t sure why, but with every message I was more and more frivolous. The way that Luke was ending each of his messages had to be a part of the reason. But I knew Luke was a friendly spirit and he applied the x’s in a chum manner. In writing my response, I constantly stopped and re-wrote, and then stopped, and then re-started and re-wrote. There was this need to sound clever that I couldn’t meet. Fed up, I settled on an honest, boring message back.
It was spilt on the creative lift out. You don’t need to make it up to me, I’m not actually mad. :)
Even if I wanted, I didn’t have time between the exchanges to get back stuck into reading the newspaper. My body fluttered as I lingered for Luke’s replies.
I should have known! Of course that’s your favourite part! I should probably start reading that section more myself (when I don’t spill drinks on it!!). I don’t read enough poems/novels/creativity cool awesome stuff. What is your favourite type of literature? xxx
There was an easy answer to that. Merely a second later I had replied.
Poetry, for sure.
A long delay hung after I’d slid that note under the gap. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I twiddled with a loose thread on my quilt as I awaited Luke’s next words. Doubt begun to circle me like a flock of birds. Was that too short of a response? I should have asked him something so there would be purpose to rejoinder back. Liberation trinkled over me, like a saint, when my room was met with his next letter being skimmed through the hole.
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Why is poetry
So exciting for you?
(ps. That’s the first poem I’ve ever written in my life. You might want to frame it before it becomes famous! xo)
Sniggering to myself, I couldn’t help but be somewhat honoured he went to the effort of finding something that could rhyme. Too well did I understand how any poems, short or long, could be difficult to write. I replied instantly, this time lengthily.
Not bad, not bad!
And to answer your question, poetry is just my favourite form of expression. I suck at talking in real life (if you haven’t already noticed lol) but I feel like I can say anything if I’m writing it. Especially if I can put it into a poem.
Luke did not take an elongated time to send back a message like previously. When the paper glided under the gap and I picked it up, his initial lack of exclamation marks made it seem he had taken a serious turn.
Aurora, you don’t suck at talking. You keep to yourself a lot. And shy away or turn your eyes to the floor whenever it’s your turn to talk about yourself. And you say sorry after doing nothing wrong.
So he noticed all that.
But you should definitely talk to me in the form of poems if that’s how you roll! :) xxxx
No way would I be responding with a poem. I’d be way too panicky that he would think it was bad or he wouldn’t be able to twig what it meant. Frowning, I lacked idea of what to say. Instead, I gave up and, in a quick scribble, ended our talking.
I’m going to get some sleep. Goodnight
Another sharp reply.
Night Aurora, rest easy.
Please catch the same lift as me tomorrow morning xx
That night, I slept much easier than any time in a long time. The pillows were still a bit scratchy on my skin and the air was still cold. I wasn’t shaking in a complete shiver, however. There were just a couple of goose bumps.