All The Lost Souls
Recruited
Ruby
It was five hours later that I only began to recover from my episode, the time in between mainly consisted of more crying and thoughts of suicide, which I’m pretty sure is a sin. Not that I care about my soul, Hell can’t be much worse than this, I hope. I finally stood on shaky legs, like when Bambi first learned to walk, and glanced sullenly at the puddle of milk I had spent most of my day in. I mopped it up, placed the empty carton in the bin and halted the flow of tears through sheer force of will. After all, there’s no use crying over spilled milk, or so I’m told.
Only just realizing that I was coated in a thin layer of dairy product, I deemed a shower was in order. After passing the reflective surface of the fridge and noticing the image of myself, I almost wanted to cry again. The disheveled face staring back at me almost felt like a stranger, the dark rings under my puffy red eyes, the gaunt skin and unruly hair was totally alien, until I remembered that this crazy mess is what I had become.
I stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash over me, feeling the milk, and to some extent the crazy, wash away from me. After a good ten minute shower (any droughts out there can eat shit, because I feel better) I stepped in front of the fogged up bathroom mirror. Force of habit lead me to wipe away the condensation, which I immediately regretted; the sight of my still-haggard face making me feel worse than before. More than anything else, I was depressed that I’d let myself fall this far in the first place. I remembered when I’d once been happy, fun-loving and willing to go out in public without screaming at the top of my lungs. But then “It” took over and my life began to crumble around me.
I left the bathroom wearing only a towel, and gave a small shriek of surprise when I found a man lounging on my couch, chewing at a bagel and reading the newspaper. He hardly looked up at my yelp. “Good afternoon, Ruby,” he said calmly, without looking up.
“Dad, you scared the crap out of me!” I almost shouted, “Next time at least signal your presence via greeting or flares or something.” It wasn’t until that moment when I realized that I was standing before my father wearing nothing but a towel. He moved to speak, but I silenced him. “Hold that thought.” I uttered quickly before I sprinted into my bedroom to change.
I changed into a respectable outfit, jeans and a t-shirt, and stepped back into the living room. Dad still hadn’t moved from his seat on the couch, but there was a considerably smaller amount of bagel in his hand. He glanced up from the newspaper and looked me up and down. “You look terrible, sweetheart,” he said, probably the closest I was going to caring I was going to receive. He gestured weakly to the kitchen counter. “I brought you a bagel.”
My stomach gave an involuntary growl when I remembered my attempt at breakfast earlier. I snatched the bagel, which was already sliced and smeared with cream cheese and took a giant mouthful, and mumbled a “thank you” as an afterthought. “So what did you want, Dad?”
Normally it would be right here that any other father would give the whole “Does a father need an excuse to visit their daughter?” spiel, but not my dad. “I have a job for you.”
“What kind of job?” I asked, prior knowledge of my father telling me that this request wouldn’t end well.
“Some associates of mine are going to be conducting a transaction tonight and your talents are required,” he answered.
It was the word “associates” that had me in a panic; Dad’s associates were not what you would call a socially responsible bunch. “No, sorry but I can’t.”
The answer did nothing to alter Dad’s unwavering cool expression. “This irrational fear of other people has to stop. You can’t let it run your life, although after the incident with the maid this morning, it looks like it already has.”
I lost it. “How dare you come in here and judge me?!” I demanded. “You know perfectly well that it’s not people that I’m terrified of, and it’s your fault I’m like this anyway. Now get out right now. And you and your job can get fucked for all I care!”
He remained impassive. “I won’t be going anywhere, Ruby. And think of it this way, if you don’t do this one task for me, you will lose the one safe haven you have. Someone will be here at eleven pm, be ready.” Then he left.
I stood dumbfounded, holding a bagel in hand and staring blankly at the closed front door, trying to make sense of what had just happened to me. I had been recruited for some sort of transaction tonight, and when I tried to get out of it, I was threatened with eviction by my own father. But at least I wasn’t crying in a puddle of milk again.
It was five hours later that I only began to recover from my episode, the time in between mainly consisted of more crying and thoughts of suicide, which I’m pretty sure is a sin. Not that I care about my soul, Hell can’t be much worse than this, I hope. I finally stood on shaky legs, like when Bambi first learned to walk, and glanced sullenly at the puddle of milk I had spent most of my day in. I mopped it up, placed the empty carton in the bin and halted the flow of tears through sheer force of will. After all, there’s no use crying over spilled milk, or so I’m told.
Only just realizing that I was coated in a thin layer of dairy product, I deemed a shower was in order. After passing the reflective surface of the fridge and noticing the image of myself, I almost wanted to cry again. The disheveled face staring back at me almost felt like a stranger, the dark rings under my puffy red eyes, the gaunt skin and unruly hair was totally alien, until I remembered that this crazy mess is what I had become.
I stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash over me, feeling the milk, and to some extent the crazy, wash away from me. After a good ten minute shower (any droughts out there can eat shit, because I feel better) I stepped in front of the fogged up bathroom mirror. Force of habit lead me to wipe away the condensation, which I immediately regretted; the sight of my still-haggard face making me feel worse than before. More than anything else, I was depressed that I’d let myself fall this far in the first place. I remembered when I’d once been happy, fun-loving and willing to go out in public without screaming at the top of my lungs. But then “It” took over and my life began to crumble around me.
I left the bathroom wearing only a towel, and gave a small shriek of surprise when I found a man lounging on my couch, chewing at a bagel and reading the newspaper. He hardly looked up at my yelp. “Good afternoon, Ruby,” he said calmly, without looking up.
“Dad, you scared the crap out of me!” I almost shouted, “Next time at least signal your presence via greeting or flares or something.” It wasn’t until that moment when I realized that I was standing before my father wearing nothing but a towel. He moved to speak, but I silenced him. “Hold that thought.” I uttered quickly before I sprinted into my bedroom to change.
I changed into a respectable outfit, jeans and a t-shirt, and stepped back into the living room. Dad still hadn’t moved from his seat on the couch, but there was a considerably smaller amount of bagel in his hand. He glanced up from the newspaper and looked me up and down. “You look terrible, sweetheart,” he said, probably the closest I was going to caring I was going to receive. He gestured weakly to the kitchen counter. “I brought you a bagel.”
My stomach gave an involuntary growl when I remembered my attempt at breakfast earlier. I snatched the bagel, which was already sliced and smeared with cream cheese and took a giant mouthful, and mumbled a “thank you” as an afterthought. “So what did you want, Dad?”
Normally it would be right here that any other father would give the whole “Does a father need an excuse to visit their daughter?” spiel, but not my dad. “I have a job for you.”
“What kind of job?” I asked, prior knowledge of my father telling me that this request wouldn’t end well.
“Some associates of mine are going to be conducting a transaction tonight and your talents are required,” he answered.
It was the word “associates” that had me in a panic; Dad’s associates were not what you would call a socially responsible bunch. “No, sorry but I can’t.”
The answer did nothing to alter Dad’s unwavering cool expression. “This irrational fear of other people has to stop. You can’t let it run your life, although after the incident with the maid this morning, it looks like it already has.”
I lost it. “How dare you come in here and judge me?!” I demanded. “You know perfectly well that it’s not people that I’m terrified of, and it’s your fault I’m like this anyway. Now get out right now. And you and your job can get fucked for all I care!”
He remained impassive. “I won’t be going anywhere, Ruby. And think of it this way, if you don’t do this one task for me, you will lose the one safe haven you have. Someone will be here at eleven pm, be ready.” Then he left.
I stood dumbfounded, holding a bagel in hand and staring blankly at the closed front door, trying to make sense of what had just happened to me. I had been recruited for some sort of transaction tonight, and when I tried to get out of it, I was threatened with eviction by my own father. But at least I wasn’t crying in a puddle of milk again.