Within the Castle

The steady beep of my alarm woke me from my sleep the trailing day. After I clicked it off, everything went a bit quieter and, when I focused fixedly, I was pretty sure I could decipher the sounds of shuffling and movement next door. Those sounds were what drove me to get out of bed and hurry to get out my door so I could do as I was asked the night before and catch Luke at the lift.

I could’ve sworn that the quicker I padded around my apartment to collect my things, the quicker Luke was treading around his. And then when I could hear he was moving faster to get ready, I would move faster. But then when he could hear I was bustling around speedier, he started going even speedier. And maybe it was just me and my intense imagination, but I was definitely sprinting up and down the length of my room to get dressed and clean my teeth and pack my bag, and the stomping coming from next door told me that Luke was also running around to keep up speed with me and guarantee that we wouldn’t miss one another before our days really begun.

While stepping out the door of my apartment, my first instinct was to check if Luke had already made it out. In sync with me, he did the exact same thing. As our red faces and puffing breaths met, we both, simultaneously, were brightened with a smile and a hoot.

Turning in unison, we locked our doors and then assembled in front of the elevator. Nervously, I tucked my hands away in my pockets. Luke engaged the chatter.

“Morning. What’s up?”

“Good morning.”

“Were we… racing each other to get ready?”

“Thank God I wasn’t the only one of us who thought that.”

Luke’s company turned me light-heated.

“Hey, so, anyway,” he announced, “the sending of messages through the wall…”

Leaving a pause in his declaration, he looked to me vaguely as if wondering if I had anything to say. By keeping silent, it made him continue, “We should do that more.”

I’d been concerned that Luke was about to state how he wanted it to end or how weird he thought it was. That comment truly snagged a smile onto my face.

Nodding, I agreed, “we should.”

Luke’s hair had been slickly combed and directed to the back of his head, away from his face. I looked at him and thought that perhaps, prior to moving into the building, he’d applied permanent hair spray that held his mane back into its position. To me that was a feasible concept because Luke’s hair was never any different. Not that it needed to be versatile – it looked striking just as it was.

“I wish I knew more about what happens inside your head,” Luke mentioned as he swanned into the elevator.

Raising my eyebrows, I let out a single laugh, “you’ve said that once before, and I don’t know if you really do.”

“I’m pretty sure I definitely do,” he retorted.

“I dunno,” I mumbled back.

“Ninety percent of the time, you look so deep in thought,” he started, “but then when you talk, you’ll only say a few words.”

I sauntered back to dwelling on the previous night. Specifically, to when I had said that I was terrible at talking. He had denied it last night, but he was admitting it now. But, of course, he was suddenly quick to make sure I didn’t take it as an insult.

“But that doesn’t mean ‘you suck’ at conversing, like you tried to convey last night. You just hold back a lot… I’m really analysing you the core, aren’t I?”

If only he knew the depth that I analyse him.

“So, off to uni today? How many lectures you got?”

“Just one,” I responded.

“What else are you going to do with the day?” he stared at me with legitimate interest.

“I’ll hang around in the library I think. There are some assignments I can try to get done.”

“Sounds good,” he speculated, “I will have to deal with a few exuberant clients who will probably spend four or five hours asking me the same questions over and over, no doubt.”

That came out sounding as a horrific day planned ahead for him, but a smile and a positive tone of voice juxtaposed what he was saying.

As the famous ding sounded and the lift’s doors staggered open, Luke and I emerged and made our way out the entrance. I felt a soft nudge scrape placidly against my shoulder when I entered the open street.

“Talk tonight, then,” Luke avowed, removing his elbow from me and walking backward, in the reverse direction I was headed, “have a good day, Aurora.”

“Y-you too,” I croaked.

It was the fact that he touched me, I reckoned, that made me a bit graceless in replying. Even though it was just a brush of contact, it altered my stomach to melted cheese. After the last time, when he held me with my injured foot, I guess I desired to feel his warmth again. Receiving a nudge only gave me a spark of that comforting sensation, which left me, impulsively, hankering for more.

The day rolled by fervently fast. Chipping away at my work in the library definitely, in turn, chipped away at the hours remaining in the day. In my morning lecture, a student made a scene and stood from their seat to disagree with something the professor said. It was amusing, to say the least, but afterwards, it just made me question my ability to raise conflict. And then, I realised… what ability?

When did I ever really stand up for myself? Ever?

So, typical me, I went and wrote something about it, and it made me feel worse, or maybe better, about the situation. Getting it out made me clutch a sense of relief, but realising that I was living my life in a cloth of cowardice made me sorrowful for myself.
I could only feel worse when I arrived home later, in the afternoon, to be met with the last human on Earth that I could ever want to see.

“I’m starving,” were his first frustrated words as I headed through the door.

The fridge was open and he’d been leant over, gaping onto the shelves. They were practically empty, so I could understand his anger.

“I’ll go out and get something,” I insisted, almost too cheerfully – my mind already thinking of the likelihood that Luke could be at the super market on the travel home from work.

“Get me some beer too,” he gritted, but I was already half way out the door.

I started gauging in my brain whether I would get to run into Luke. If the time now was 4:55pm, and it would only take me five minutes to reach the store, that would be around when Luke clocked off. I would have to slow myself down if I was going to try and see him. Wishful thinking, it was, anyway, that he would be there at all.

When I arrived, the first thing I did was disembark to the meat section. Steak seemed a logical choice, as I knew it was one of my devil’s favourite meals. No hesitation led me to picking the cheapest of all the steaks. There would have been other frozen vegetables at the apartment, so it wasn’t fundamental I bought more. Nearing the end of the month, I distrusted that there was enough money left in my bank account to be used anyway.

Lucky for me, each month I got a payment from the government. Without parents or family, they treated me to be in an ‘unfortunate circumstance’ and, thankfully, had been handing me out some regular dollars to support my situation. At heart, I understood that it was just because, four years ago, they had failed to find me a foster family. Since I was 14, I had been living alone. Well, in the bygone year, it’d been only somewhat alone.

But the money just paid the rent and food. Sometimes, if it had been a month where the brute hadn’t been around much, and I had only been purchasing meals for myself, I would end with some cash left over. Normally, though, it was a near scour through, and only one dollar or seventy cents would endure before the next payment. Prior to meeting the scamp, it was largely simpler, as I balanced a part time job and collected money from that. He made me quit, however, as it was taking me away from him too often. How am I supposed to tend to his needs while I’m at work?

Pursuing my search around the store, I ended up in the alcohol aisle, about to pick up a carton of cheap beers.

“Can I make a suggestion?” a voice gawked over my shoulder, “I think if you’re having beef steak, your best bet would be to buy a red.”

Luke’s feet sent him a few steps to the left, down the aisle, where he mused over the shelves of wines, “you see, with such a strong tasting meat, it’s better to have a light, but still rich in flavour, drink to suit.”

I watched as he rubbed his forefinger and thumb over his hairless chin and then reached out his hand to grab the neck of a black bottle, picking it from the wide scope.

“This one is abounding and smooth at the same time. It’d be a good contrast to the thick meat. I think you would like it, but there’s a high alcohol content, so one drink and you’ll probably be seeing things fuzzy.”

Listening to him speak so fluently about the drink enticed me. He didn’t just know about it; when he spoke, he preached about it. I could hear the passion. When he held the bottle out in front of me, wanting me to take it in my hands, I couldn’t resist.

It was only when he’d started walking away, and I begun spontaneously following, that I actually disclosed to him, “Luke, I wouldn’t be able to afford this in a million years.”

“You haven’t even looked at the price,” he gloated.

That was true, but when I did twist the neck in my hands and the $50.00 tag screeched in my face, I was able to accurately muse, “I didn’t even need to.”

“Well,” he said, as he led us down the grocery isle and took at some carrots, “I’ll buy it for you then.”

Rolling my eyes, I went to rebuttal but he got in speedier, “you deserve a good, mid-week drink.”

“It’s only Tuesday,” I jeered.

“True,” he nodded, “but you could still just have a taste tonight.”

After plucking a couple more vegetables from the shelves, Luke faced me and stole the wine bottle from the bundle in my arms. I was pleased.

“So, good day?” he inquired, starting to now head towards the checkouts.

“It was okay,” I recalled, “you?”

“Long and tiring. But, if it equals more time spent with you, I wouldn’t mind it going even longer.”

Immediately, I looked down to the ground. And then I remembered how I always do that, and then how Luke knows that I always do that, and then I snapped my head back up, but Luke was already grinning.

He didn’t go through the same register as the last time we were together at that store, and I saw the blonde checkout girl’s face, and dreams, drop when he didn’t join her queue. Luke gestured for me to go ahead of him to be served.

“Paying together?” the teenage boy asked, dodging his eyes between us, probably confused as to why myself, a mediocre girl with mediocre clothes and mediocre hair and mediocre expression, was with Luke, momentously higher on the spectrum for all of those things.

“No,” I advised, placing my items on the counter.

While Luke’s much more expensive purchases were being scanned, he didn’t vacillate to bust out a conversation with the kid. I’m positive that it is the job of the cashier to instigate dialogue, but, no, Luke was the first to question, ‘how are you?’ ‘has it been busy today?’ ‘hope the rest of shift is well.’ By the time we left, I think the boy was quite overwhelmed.

As we wandered home, Luke explained to me about a blunder he’d made at work. It was to do with the photocopying machine, and how he accidentally managed to print three hundred copies of a bank statement rather than just one.

“That’s probably an entire forest, you know?” I stated.

“Oh, yeah,” he broke in between laughs, “says you – the girl who I’m sure would’ve read enough novels to equate to the whole of Africa’s agriculture being demolished.”

“Touche,” I confessed with a smile.

Unfortunately, our walk home couldn’t last forever – even if I wanted it too. We got back to the apartments and waited for the lift for what seemed like an even longer time than usual. As the doors crunched apart, Luke even theorised whether there was another way we could start getting up to our flats if the elevator broke down totally.

“There’s no stairs believe it or not,” I told him, “even though I’m sure that’s against some sort of regulation or something.”

“Wow,” he snickered, “every day I find out something else wrong with this place.”

“I know,” I shrilled, “it’s terr-“

“Hilarious,” he interrupted, “it’s actually quite hilarious.”

Shutting my mouth for a moment, I pondered and then realised for myself that it is kind of funny. Sure, it’s dangerous too, and there’s a chance the complex with collapse on top of our heads one day. However, the fact that Luke and I are both living through that risk is stupid and humorous.

“Oh,” Luke shot, “on that note. I need to remember to tell you that you have to be careful when we’re passing notes under the wall. The top of the gap is really jagged and I don’t want you to scrape your fingers on it or get your hand stuck in there.”

“You’re assuming that I want to keep sending you notes,” I responded to him quietly.

His mouth opened as he went to speak but cut himself short, deciding to tease, “touché.”

When we were about to disband to our own rooms, Luke remembered something.

“Oh, Aurora. Here.”

From the plastic shopping bag, he lifted out the bottle of wine from earlier and held it over to my chest.

“Luke,’” I moaned, “I’m not taking your stuff.”

“Please,” he insisted, plumping his bottom lip to extend outward, “take it. You’ll love it.”

I wasn’t one to accept gifts from anybody, but that was primarily because I never received gifts from anybody. Scrunching my toes inside my shoes, I became awkward because I honestly had never even practised or previously had the chance to turn down an offering from someone. Slowly, Luke pushed the bottle closer and closer until it was placed into the palms of my hands and I nonsensically stared down at it.

“Enjoy,” he quipped before toddling off and bolting to his apartment.

In my room, I need not even hide the bottle from the eyes of my terror because he was too mesmerised in a sitcom to acknowledge my entrance. I made dinner, handed it to the ass, and then slumped to the bedroom to eat my own. I could have sat at the dining table like usual, but today I was not feeling like listening to the roaring from the TV, and being in a separate room with the door shut blocked some of that noise.

I wasn’t sure how Luke knew I was even in the room, but once I had sat down on my bed and grabbed my knife and fork, ready to eat, a white paper was skidded under the wall. Fretting, I dove from my position to snatch the note. On the odd possibility that the devil were to walk in at that very second and witness the note, I would have been dead. And probably Luke would have been killed too. Especially with the kind words that he wrote.

Forgot to tell you that you looked nice in that outfit today, Aurora. :) xo

Needing to react to a compliment was a foreign event for me. Having someone say something like so was rare, or never happened. So I was inexperienced in how to reply. Moreover, I was frightened to send back a message in case I got caught. Strangely, the urge to continue passing notes to him was strong. It overrode any fear. While chewing at a piece of steak, I found my notepad and pen, scratching out a letter for him.

I find that hard to believe but thank you

My eyes dashed zippingly to my bedroom door and I froze to listen if my beast was returning. No sounds. No sights. He must have still been content in the lounge, I decided. In a rush, I dropped my paper to the ground and then slid it under the hole with my foot and toes. Excitedly, I jumped back onto the bed and nibbled at my food until I saw another note being pushed through to me.

You did.
Tried some of that wine yet? xx

No, I thought. I hadn’t. But since he was bringing it up, for yet another time, I guessed that I really should. Darting up, I kept the note in my hand as I started to gallop out to the kitchen where I deserted the bottle.

I didn’t make it out the bedroom, though. A broad figure stopped me part way on my trip out, and grabbed onto my shoulders to push me back near the bed and then push me so viciously downward, that my knees caved and I fell to the floor. That was what he aimed for. And when he’d undone his belt and lowered his pants in less than a millisecond, I was at the perfect angle and stance to get to work on him. Just what he wanted.

For the next, maybe, half an hour, possibly even an hour, I choked, gagged, came near enough to suffocation. All of the above.

The worst thing was not that I was having to fight for breath; the worst thing was that I understood that Luke would have probably been so near to the dividing wall, waiting for a message back from me. He may have heard my retching for oxygen, or the manly grunts of the man above me.

Afterwards I felt unclean and my internal organs were heavy and heaving. Luke may have gotten a reply from me if I didn’t deem myself as so burdensome. It was early in the night, but the dick lying in the bed next to me had procured what he wanted, and now he was set on sleep. Every tiny bit of deliberation about responding to Luke was booted away when he asked, or rather told, me to turn off the bedroom lights. With him snoring rowdily next to me, it was insanely difficult to turn my brain off for the night. More tough than usual, maybe, because I was insufficient in flinging away the thought that I had left Luke hanging. Worry created a shiver down my spine when I depicted he was sad about that.

But, that was just me being foolish. Surely Luke wouldn’t care that I failed to reply. In fact, Luke probably wanted me, the dull whore, not to reply.

My thoughts continued as a scattered mess the next day, and, cowardly, I reverted to what I had done before – keeping a distance from Luke. Well, the best that I could. In the morning, I delayed myself to a point where I didn’t have to see him, but in the afternoon, I forgot that I was trying to stay clear and he came to stand by me while I waited for the lift.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Not a lot,” I replied under my breath.

“You didn’t respond to my last message last night,” he pouted.

“Oh,” I was grateful he had not yet mentioned about any weird noises after the note, “yeah, I must have forgotten.”

He was so speedy to respond, “that’s okay.”

Racking my brain, I sought to find what was the last thing he had asked me about so I could continue the conversation now. The wine. “I’m going to try some of the wine as soon as I get in my apartment this afternoon.”

“Okay, okay,” he smiled, “then tell me what you think. And by the way, I’m not some crazy wine enthusiast, I swear. But… at the same time, I kind of am.”

He hummed for a second and then let his eyes drift away, “or I’m something like that.”

The first instinct of mine was to see whether I was alone in my flat. And I was. After dumping my bag on the kitchen table, it was then up to me to grab a glass, grab the bottle and pour some. But the lid wasn’t just any screw top, it was a cork that needed to be popped. I had no idea what I was doing. My fingers fumbled as I attempted to push the wood out from the neck but it wasn’t budging. Eventually, I was just giggling at myself and potentially even forcing the cork further inward. There was no option for me except to ask Luke how to do it. So that was what I did.

Call me crazy but I don’t know how to get the cork out… :(

Less than a minute later I received a response.

Easy! I’ll come over now and help xxx

My heart jumped up into my throat and beat ferociously as I scrambled to shove him back a rejection.

No don’t

Holding my breath, I anticipated a knock on the front door to which I would have to ignore, but luckily there was just another note passed to me.

Okay :) Well tilt the bottle’s top away from your face but not too far that it’s horizontal. Then using one thumb (use other hand to hold bottom of bottle) push the cork up but also slightly twist it left!
It’ll loosen eventually!! Xoxo

Following Luke’s instructions led to success, and when there was finally maroon liquid sitting in my clear glass, I was able to have my first alcoholic drink in… maybe forever. I knew that I shouldn’t have, but I just couldn’t help feel guilty. Drinking wasn’t wrong, and I did not need to feel that way.

I just did.

And I also hoped the bastard didn’t come over anytime during the night, because I well aware that the drink was affecting me. Messages continued to be sent back and forward between Luke and I, and I assumed that either my handwriting had become sloppier and messier, or perhaps I was spelling words incorrectly, as he curiously questioned how many glasses I had drunk. Naturally, he didn’t believe when I told him only one and a bit – I was talking as if I skulled the entire bottle – but that was the truth.

Aurora, you should show me a poem that you’ve written xx

Any other day, any other time, I would have turned down that offer in a blink. At that very moment, however, while my vision was swaying and my legs couldn’t handle the weight of my body properly, I thought why the hell not. Luke is so smart, and sophisticated, and too wonderful for me. I should do what Luke says. He would be right.

The first piece of writing in my university notebook was one I wrote the previous day in under two minutes. Not bothering to read over it to elect whether or not it were appropriate to send, I tore out the page and, while stumbling to the ground myself, slot it under the wall.

Would you stand
In order to demand
A right, a delight, or some limelight

You might bicker
If you’re a nit picker
To win, to grin, or gain within

But I won’t fight
Even for my own delight
Because I don’t have the strength. The courage. Or the audacity.

While waiting for Luke to reply, I sipped more. And even giggled a bit at myself because it felt really good to not be worried by things. My instincts weren’t fearful anymore – they were rebellious. Even though I knew that the poem could well have been the worst thing I had ever written, I just did not care. The way that the alcohol was making me trust Luke was peculiar, but fantastic. His reply put me in all smiles.

Amazing. It’s about you, I assume?
The last line doesn’t rhyme like the others though :o xx

I rolled my eyes and grinned. Talking about poems was fun. I liked it. But I was rapidly losing a filter on what I was saying.

Yep it’s about stupid weak me! …it’s not supposed to rhyme! There is meant to be a change of tempo so it sounds sad lol like my life. Do you want to know why my life is so sad?

I desired pity. I desired affection. I wanted to tell Luke that I’m a hostage of somebody else’s sexual requirements, and I wanted him to come save me. In my tipsy state, everything was blurry, yet I could still clearly see the unhappiness that surrounded my existence and it only occurred to me now that Luke was a gate to freedom.

You’re not weak at all. Your life doesn’t have to be sad. We can change that Aurora.
Don’t tell me now, I want to hear everything from you when you’re sober and ready. I’m not going anywhere, I can wait.

Luke, make sure I don’t live like this forever. I don’t want to live like this forever.

I’ll make sure.
You should get yourself into bed and get some sleep now, you need it. I will see you tomorrow morning. xxxx

I wasn’t even tired. Actually, I wanted to keep talking to my neighbour and informing him of my life, or write him another poem. His wish for sleep was a command to me, though, and after sending a nifty good night note, I hopped underneath my covers and waited for my brain to drift into a slumber.

When I woke up, I was instantly in a condition of panic. Pieces of torn paper with writing on them were strewn all over my carpet and littering the edge of my bed. The empty wine glass was still positioned next to the hole in the wall, and the clothes that I had worn all day yesterday were on my body. Alcohol makes you forget to clean up or wear pyjamas, apparently.

As my eyes lingered over some of the exchanges that were on the bits of notepad, I recalled exactly how last night had ended. Luke may not have known precisely what my life was all about, but now he knew there was something different about me. I’m sure that with how I was speaking, he understood, firstly, that I considered myself trash. And, secondly, that that was due to events in my life.

There was so much regret pulsing through my veins that I contemplated diverting my morning routine, again, to not see him before he went to work and I went to uni. I knew better. Doing so would surely just add to the negative emotions I was feeling because I would hate that I was the cause of remoteness between us. Hearing him walking about his own apartment made me copy and get ready for the day. A shower, clean and change of clothes later, I was standing next to Luke at the foot of the elevator.

“Hangover?”

I creased my forehead, “I didn’t drink that much.”

Luke sniggered softly, “you definitely drunk enough though.”

A blush swept over my skin, “it was a good tasting drink.”

“Oh,” he cried happily, “I know. You only told me that about a hundred times.”

I fiddled hopelessly with my hands.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he cooed, “you are more than lovely when you’ve had a drink. And, hey, do you remember sending me a poem? That was good. You should most definitely send more.”

I teetered on my own word, “maybe.”

“Well… I’m hopeful,” he perked.

I was hopeful that I would have the guts to send him more as well. Venting emotions to someone is meant to be good, and even though I originally woke up with remorse, I didn’t feel that anymore once I had spoken to Luke. He didn’t think I was weird or whacky; he appreciated the things I had to say. I liked that. And, as more and more and more time ticked by, I confessed there were a wider range of things I liked about Luke. The more and more days that I knew him, the more I became conscious of them.

I liked that he honestly cared about me.

Every morning it was, “have a good day.”

And every afternoon it was, “how was your day?”

And the more weeks we spent living in the same vicinity, the greater he would be able to distinguish immediately whether I was happy or not. Most of the time, I was not happy – particularly if he was asking me after I had been acquainted with the devil in my room. Snapping, I would give Luke a short reply as if I didn’t want to speak at all. But Luke never listened to that joinder. Almost like it was a goal for him, he would go to all extents to get me laughing. A smile was a trophy for him.

That leads to another aspect I liked about him. That he was always successful in getting that trophy.

Luke could make a joke out of anything. Slowly, surely, week by week, he was demonstrating to me how everything could be funny. The world is funny. Tripping over a paver and falling into his chest is funny. Waiting ten minutes for the lift is funny. Running out of paper from sending so many messages to each other, and restoring to writing on tissue, is funny. Life is easier if you let frustration go and laugh about it.

I decided, once, to tell Luke, amid conversation, that I was enjoyed his relentlessly positive company. Over and over, I wrote messages to explain how his easy-going attitude was flipping my pessimistic world upside down. None of them truly expressed it, though. Annoyed, I scratched out a poem and slipped it to him, wishing he would be able to understand the grand change his sweetness incurred in the world.

When you smile
I smile
Someone sees us smile
And they smile

When I frown
Someone sees me frown
And they frown
But you don’t frown

You smile.
And then I smile
Someone sees us smile
And they smile

When I am sad
Someone will see me sad
And they’ll be sad
But you won’t be sad

You will smile.
Which means I will smile
And they will see us smile
So they will smile.

It was a while later that Luke replied, and I had prepared myself for him to judge me or determine it was the worst thing he had read. In reality, it probably was.

I love it! You’re the best writer in the world! Is it supposed to be very repetitive?
Who did you write it about? xox

It’s about you and your smile. :) Yes, it’s supposed to be repetitive – like a cycle that always ends with your smiley affect on the world!

Here I was brought to another thing I liked. I liked that Luke was interested in my interests.

Every Sunday night, he got into a habit of asking what I thought about the newspaper. What was the best written article? Was the creative lift out interesting this week? Which part was my favourite part?

And every poem I wrote and passed to him, he would ask questions, reach for information. According to him, never in his life had he been blessed with literature works – which was a real shame, I believed. But one day, he had shocked me to a near heart attack with a message he sent me.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Would thou come to mine for dinner tonight? xxxx

The poem was outstanding. It was beauty in raw form. No words would fall from my tongue or drip from the ink in my pen as I stared at the page Luke had linked the lines onto. I was desperate to believe it. That Luke wrote that with the creative component of his brain. He bent his neck over the plain paper and laid out each word himself.

But I just couldn’t.

And soon, a light clicked on for me. Lord Byron’s poem, it was. The first verse of ‘She walks in beauty.’ Luke hadn’t written that poem at all. He had only manipulated the last line to say what he wanted. I was laughing to myself as I replied.

You should watch out – you might get sued for copyright soon! It sucks for you that I know classic poetry lol :)

Hahaha I didn’t think I would get away with it… Oh well. But the last line was mine! And your answer to coming over to mine for dinner is…..? Xxx

Luke, I can’t…

I had felt awful having to turn him down yet again. There just wasn’t much else I could do. And I could not help the fact that Luke was so persistent in asking me to come over for dinner. I wasn’t really sure why. He could have been trying to show some incredible cookery skills, or maybe he was planning out my murder in his apartment. I didn’t know which, although it was more likely to be the first one, even if I preferred the second one.

But, that wraps another thing. I liked that Luke didn’t dwell on the matter of me not being able to see him often.

Sometimes, if the asshole was in my apartment for the night, and I was sending messages through the wall sneakily, it would take me up to an hour to reply. I would need to, firstly, make sure that he was not about to come into the bedroom and see me slipping the note to Luke. Then, I would need to be certain he wouldn’t enter in the next few minutes while Luke replied. But then, I would further need to leave the bedroom for however long and cater for him. Keep him happy. Get him drinks, was he hungry, is he still too deep in the TV to realise I am talking – flirting, maybe – with the next-door neighbour.

Luke never questioned my lagging responses. He didn’t get annoyed if I could only give him a short reply, a yes/no. Not once had he been intensely mad if there were days that I wouldn’t meet him at the lift. It didn’t take long for him to catch onto the concept that on Saturday nights I was never home. On Sunday mornings, he waited as long as necessary to see me go down and get the newspaper. Then, he’d ask if I was okay. I liked all that.

Also, I liked how he never asked about where the manly voices in my apartment came from. I liked that he never asked about why I bought meals that were packaged for ‘two’ instead of one. I liked that instead of asking directly where my bruises were from, he asked if I wanted ice, or if I had painkillers back home.

It was like Luke understood, but didn’t.

There was a possibility that he did know what was happening to me. But, if he did, he never mentioned it, and I’m glad I didn’t have to deal with that conversation.

So many other aspects about Luke drew to my attention, as well. Things I had always known, but had only grown to like over time. One was his appearance.

A few times, I had seriously attempted to discover an adjective that could describe Luke’s looks. Beautiful was too much of a floaty, curved word. Luke was too defined and well structured for that. You just needed to see how sharp his jaw was. Classy was too pristine and proper of a word. Luke had an edge about him, for sure. He was a bit quirky, not too formal. The closest word that I could manage to depict him was ‘hot,’ but even that held too many negative connotations.

Furthermore, I won’t deny, I liked that Luke had money. After more run-ins at the supermarket, he’d proved why I liked that aspect of him.

I was at the register, and once I had seen there was not a single note or coin in my purse, I took out my credit card to pay for my dinner. The transaction was denied, to my discretion. Before embarrassment could even take over my body, Luke had speechlessly whipped his hand in front of me, swiftly swiping his card through the machine. When I asked about it while we trailed home, he didn’t seem bothered.

“What’s the big deal?” he said joyfully, “I’m helping you pay for a dinner. Not the end of the world.”

Also, another time, Luke had purchased me more wine. At first when he passed it off into my arms after buying it, I thought the worst.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“No,” he hawked instantly, “of course not. Aurora, not everybody has bad intentions for you.”

I also liked that Luke was intelligent.

Being an accountant, you would expect that he could add numbers and multiply when need be, but his smarts went beyond that. Luke was a walking, breathing calculator. And I saw it as impressive. When we encountered each other in the supermarket, I had, on various occasions, stared down at the items in my arms and begun adding up the damage, but Luke always just spat it out straight away.

“It’s $21.30,” he’d say, and I would just look blankly at him. Every time, he would brush it off with a laugh, “I work with money for a job. What do you expect?”

Oh, and that is just one more thing. I liked his modesty.

Because Luke had adhered to complimenting me often, I had settled on a coping strategy for every circumstance. Simply compliment him back. The initial time I tested it out was just a normal week day morning. Reasonably tired, I hadn’t bothered much to go with an extravagant hairdo or clothes – not as if I did normally anyway. But Luke didn’t let that slide when we hopped into the elevator together.

“Your hair looks nice today,” he commented, sounding sincere.

Taking a breath in, I choked out, “so does yours, but it does everyday.”

I guess Luke was taken aback because any time before that I would have just shuffled my feet and failed to reply.

A moment passed before he smiled, “thank you, maybe one day I will be half as attractive as you.”

Subsequent to that, I stifled and he needed to change the subject. But that’s just another thing about him.

I liked his ability to talk.

As much as he disagreed with it, I knew that I was not the greatest at real life conversing. Luke did not seem to mind, however. He just spoke. A lot. For me. His amount of talking was enough for the both of us. Prior to Luke moving in, I actually didn’t have anyone that I could have many extended conversations with. Besides my professor - who only ever spoke to me about university work, and, hence, it was easy for me to talk back - I only ever said a few words to shop workers or to my demon.
Still, even though I was improving with Luke, my conversing skills lacked. Luckily, I could express myself when we sent messages. Half of the time, I don’t reckon Luke really understood my poems, but he usually got the gist of the mood I was portraying. There was one night, I truly felt horrific. It was consecutively after my man had thrown my body onto the bed and done all he knows to do with me. The lights were off because he had gone straight to sleep after, and I was left, feeling dirty and stranded, waiting, hoping, that Luke would push a note under the wall. My prayers were answered. Squinting through the black air, I read.

What’s up? Xxxx

I didn’t want to explain to him what just happened, so I spilt my brain into a couple of stanzas instead. The distress I was experiencing made me not care that my sleeping log was in the same room and could easily wake and witness me passing paper between walls. Getting all the emotion out onto the note, and sliding to Luke, made me grasp a slight sense of release.

Do you see that doll? She’s a porcelain soul.

Brush her long hair, throw her mid-air,
Treat that dolly with love and care.
Change her clothes, tie her shoes in bows,
Give her little kisses atop her nose.
Take her outside, hold her with pride,
Make her feel as special as a bride.

Do you see that doll? She’s a porcelain soul.

Why do you pull her hair, and throw her everywhere,
You may as well put that dolly on an electric chair.
You take off her clothes, and tie her hands while she woes,
The pain you inflict jolts from her head to her heart to her toes.
You trap her inside, and put her body aside,
Until you decide you need her as a sex supply.

Do you see that doll? She’s been ridden of a soul.

The room was echoing of silence while I waited for Luke to send back a reply. A cough, like someone had choked, rung from his side of the wall. It didn’t take long and he shoved a letter back to me.

Aurora, go have a shower and put something warm on, please. Then hop into bed and think about nice things, okay? Like think about sunsets at the beach and animals when they see their owner and they get excited. Xoxox

I was bitter and sad, and, without thinking, I scribbled a miserable reply.

My mum died because an animal ran across the road.

At this point, I was too despondent to read his message back from that. My vision had reached the same blurriness as my brain, clothed in a low depression. It was too hard to determine how, but I got up from my crouch near the wall, and slumped from the bedroom to the bathroom. Luke was smart, as I stated before, so I thought I should take a shower and do what he said.

I did really feel better afterward, so I skimmed over what Luke had finished his last message with.

You’re so strong, Aurora, I promise you will be okay and I know you will get past this small section of your life. Let your mum be an inspiration, not a hindrance. Please get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning. XXXX

Giving me a pet name was new; I could quickly attach that to the list of other things I liked about him.

About two or so months had passed with Luke living next to me. It took quite that long to realise that maybe I didn’t just like all these things about Luke.

I think I was beginning to love them.