CHAPTER 1:
We’re Here Now
“So this shit is
supposed to help me?
“That’s not up
to me,” he peered back over his notes.”This thing here is like
most anything in life. You
get what you put in.
If you’re not willing to try it is a waste of time. You have to
want to. You have to
want to make changes
and be a better person.”
“How do you know
what I want? We’ve spoken for 20 minutes. I’m sorry, let me stop
myself quickly. I
know it’s not
immediate. It just feels like you don’t give a shit what I’m
going through?”
He drops his notes
in his lap and looks back at him.
“Why do you think
that?”
“Think what? That
you don’t give a fuck? You don’t.”
“Yes, I do give a
“fuck,” why would you think I don’t?”
“I’m nothing but
a number to you. A paycheck. I get it. You can’t get attached to
every client you have.
I’m not saying you
even should, but maybe drop the act? You have a job to do and it ends
as soon as
our time does.”
He looks down at the
carpeted floor, black with golden tassel trim on the outskirts.
Towards the middle
of the carpet design
was ancient sigils. It looked like them, anyways.
“Expensive,” he
shot at his therapist.
“Me?”
“Ha. I meant the
carpeting, but yeah. You too.”
“The best money
can buy some say. That’s not the point here. You’ve been staring
at the floor and have
said ten words since
you walked in. Are you sure you really want to be here?”
He shook his head
around, stood up and peered out the window. Letting out a deep exhale
and
rubbing his facial
hair, he leaned against the wall next to the pane glass. He folds his
arms and begins
to explain.
“Do I want to be
here? No. Of course I don’t. I am here by choice though. I’m
asking a lot of you. To
figure out what’s
wrong with me. To tell me why I am the way I am. I HAVE to be here.
For my own
good. I’m paying
you to fix me. Do you think you are capable of it? I’m asking
seriously and honestly.
I have a lot wrong
with me so just be honest. If you can’t, I’ll respect that and
walk out the door.”
Collecting his
thoughts briefly, he responded with a deep breath of his own. It
sounded like he gave up
before he even
started the process.
“I’m not saying
you ‘get me, can fix me, or even want to. I’m asking you to be
honest about your
motives and
reasoning so I can figure out where to go from here. I have no time
to waste, my livelihood
is hanging in the
balance and you’re sitting there nodding along like a fucking
idiot.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Am
I wrong?
“It sounds like an
accurate representation, but we’re still on new ground here. I’m
getting to know
you.”
The client wipes his
face and turns his back to the bald headed, clean shaven therapist.
He rattles the
blackout curtains
next to him and looks back at him.
“That’s the
problem,” he says, looking at him with disgust. “You people don’t
give enough of a
shit to CARE. Which
is fine. As I said you have many clients, I’m nothing to you but an
hourly fee.
Which again,is fine.
It comes with the territory. I need someone who will be committed to
me healing
and becoming the
person I should be, the one I need to be.
“And do you think
I can do that?”
“I don’t know
yet. I’m willing to give you another session to find out. I’m
still learning you, too.”
The client stands up
as soon as the therapists iPhone alarm goes off. Session over.
“Perfect timing,
huh?”
The client stands up
and heads towards the mahogany door. As he pulls for the door handle
he feels a
grip on his
shoulder.
“Give us a shot,
would ya?”
“I said I would.
See you next week, yeah?”
“Sure thing. See
you then, John.”
“Yeah.”
The client pulls the
door open and steps out into the lobby. The door shuts behind him. He
crumples up
the business card he
was given from a friend two weeks ago and shoves it into his mouth,
eating it.
Pressing the ground
floor button the elevator, he gets in as the doors close in front of
him. The ding of
the doors opening
cause his sight to shift upwards as he stepped on.
The doors shut as he
heads downstairs.
CHAPTER
2: TAKE MY HAND
She
walked in the door, shutting the door behind her lightly. The smooth
spring breeze caused
the
curtains to do a little dance behind her as she tossed the mail on
the table. Underneath the stack of
bills
was something she had received for months, but
never opened. She
had been getting these letters
in
the mail periodically, almost like they were aligned to arrive on the
1st
and 15th.
Very rarely did they
come
later than that, and if they did it was only about a day or two.
Expert planning in the COVID era
of
slow mail delivery, it seemed.
It
was impossible, anyways. It was clearly a prank, after all. A sick
one, to be clear. To send a
widow
of three years letters from her long dead husband was twisted in a
way she couldn’t begin to
process.
The only reason she held on to them was for the “what if?” Maybe
some day she would get the
courage
to rip them open and see what this sick fuck was trying to do, but
for now, she didn’t have the
strength
to do so.
Her
blonde hair run ragged from the daily grind, working sixty hour weeks
to make ends meet.
Joseph
didn’t have any life insurance policies in place at the time of his
passing. They were
married
young,
and to be fair nobody expected his life to be cut short at the age of
28. It wasn’t like he had
a
dangerous profession like a police officer or firefighter, it was
genetic. They say heart disease is the
silent
killer, and unfortunately he fell victim to it.
Karina
brushed the hair out of her face and took a deep breath. She could
almost feel a deep
scream
come out of her when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked
behind her but didn’t see
anybody.
She chalked it up to stress and rose up out of the wooden chair
tucked into the dining
room
table,
littered with bills and celebrity gossip magazines. The magazines
helped her escape the madness
of
her own life. It was easy to be amused and even entertained by the
lives of those who were meant to
be
glamorous. The scandals, the dirty
smear headlines, the Hollywood feuds that meant nothing in the
grand
scheme of things.
A
welcome distraction.
Walking
towards the kitchen she cracked open the fridge and reached for a
bottle of green tea.
Always
striving for health over wealth wasn’t working for her at this
point, but it’s all she had ever
known.
The pile of bills scattered across her table in the adjacent room.
Again, a tap on the shoulder as
she
put the bottle to her lips just after cracking it open. This time, a
whisper accompanied the tap.
“Karina,”
in the softest voice she had ever heard. It sounded like safety, it
sounded like warmth, it
sounded
like a hug. The bottle of tea splashed off of the floor and she
jumped back, banging her waist
off
of the kitchen counter directly behind her. Panic mode set in and she
ran towards the door, twisting
the
handle but to no avail.
Whatever
was in here with her wasn’t letting her out of the house, but in
the back of her mind
was
comfort. Maybe it was Joseph. She thought to herself that it couldn’t
be, the voice she heard was a
woman.
A soothing voice. She walked slowly back towards the kitchen, very
weary of the surroundings
she
had called home for the last three plus years.
Something
in her told her to clear the table of every bill she had and rip open
the very first letter
from
Joseph. She sat at the table, light tears streaming down her delicate
face. She wasn’t prepared for
this
moment, but maybe she was. She had put this off for 18 months. A
letter every two weeks.
“Yes,”
the voice whispered as she reached for the very first envelope. Her
hands shuttered as
she
picked it up and removed the top of the envelope.
CHAPTER 3:
RIGHT WHERE I BELONG
July
has never been our month. In fact, if we’re being honest, there’s
sections of the year where
we
have to be our “best selves.” If you’ve been where I’ve been
you know exactly what I’m talking
about.
Every couple has a three month stretch where things are awful, it’s
unavoidable. Ours happen
to
be May through July. Devastating.
I’ve
caught myself half jokingly saying I’d rather be in a Chinese
torture rack than fight with
him
on any level. I don’t have to tell you that it’s a losing battle.
Life happens. When life happens, you
need
to have a plan, but most people don’t. Let me rephrase that. When
life happens to everybody else,
you
don’t have a plan. Our dynamic is very different. Not in a bad way,
to be clear. It’s just I’ve learned
to
expect the unexpected, to never comprehend exactly what is up with
him today. I sound like an
abused
wife to my friends and family, but it’s not like that at all.
Well,
‘at all,’ would be a stretch. If I said he never put his hands on
me in that way I would be
lying.
But they don’t get us. They don’t get what makes us, us. They
will never understand what makes
us
tick like I do, and how can I expect them to? They don’t live my
life. They don’t live our life. They
are
guarded from it. They only hear the bad. It’s something innate in
me that doesn’t like to share our
good
times, the great 98% we share. It may be my victim complex, even if
unintentional.
Have
we fought, physically? Yes.
Is
it every day? No.
Do
I initiate more than half of it? Yes.
The
drugs play a role, of course. I can’t say no to him. All he cares
about is my happiness and
whether
he perceives me as happy, whether he sees a smile on my face. He
thinks it’s all about drugs.
It’s
not. I do not love him any more and haven’t for some time. I love
his company, he is my honest to
God
best friend. I’d be lost without him, but I don’t want this
anymore. I wish I did. I wish
I was still
enamored
with his spirit, his face, his love, his gestures. There was a time
that I would have done
anything
in this world to be in his arms. Now, I can’t look at his face
without wanting to spit in it.
I
know this makes me an awful person. I would not deny that to God
himself. I have been
emotionally
cheating on him with multiple others. I haven’t crossed that
particular line as of yet, but
the
urge is there. I can’t help it. It’s not that I hate him, I
don’t. I’m just unable to let go of some things,
and
he knows it. He sees a difference in me, he just doesn’t know
exactly what it is. To his credit, our
relationship
is and always has been built on trust and me speaking honestly, and I
haven’t been doing
that
as of late.
It’s
out of necessity. Survival. He makes me happy, he provides for me,
he’s my best friend. I
feel
selfish. I feel incredibly selfish, what else could I ask for? He’s
everything I could ever want and
ask
for, so why am I not satisfied? I should be. I ask, want and need for
nothing. He always tells me he
loves
me more than he loves himself. From anybody else, those are just
words. From him, its a
promise.
He means every syllable. Every consonant, every vowel. Every noun and
verb, down to his
soul.
I
wish I was better. He deserves the best of me and I don’t have it
in me to give it. I want to. It’s
not
a matter of want, it’s a matter of will. I can’t do this. It’s
overwhelming. He makes up for every
thing
he’s ever done, ten fold. I just can’t let go, and I don’t
know why. I know one thing, though. I’m
right
where I belong.
And
he doesn’t even know it. Lucky me.
CHAPTER
4: NEXT WEEK, YEAH?
“So,
what have you learned?”
John
sat up from his laid back position on the couch, gripping the dirty
sand colored couch arms
to
pull himself up before addressing his therapist. He opened his mouth
as if a dam was about to roll
out,
but quickly corrected course before he demeaned his character.
“You
take my money and send me home with homework.” He chuckled to
himself ahead of
speaking
to him directly. “What’s your name again, doc?”
“Williams.
Paul Williams. We have been scheduling your session for months before
you every
stepped
into the room, you don’t know my name?”
John
robbed his facial hair and sprung towards the front of the couch,
still sitting, hands now
on
his knees, looking down at the floor.
“You
admiring the carpeting again? I’ll get rid of it, if it means
getting you to a healthy place.
I’m
not fucking around, John. I think you are my most….,” Paul sat
back for a moment, making the
finger
pyramid around his lips before speaking further. “I think you are
my most damaged, hurt
client.”
“Will
you please stop fucking call me that?”
“Calling
you what exactly?”
“A
fucking client. You see this stupid fucking picture behind you? The
giraffe grazing around a
god
damn barn? It makes no fucking sense, Paul. None. Zero. Why the fuck
is a giraffe hanging out at
a
farm? Please tell me, go ahead.”
“Well
why don’t you tell me why
he is somewhere he doesn’t belong. You said it yourself. He
doesn’t
belong there, right? I’m not gonna lead you into any thoughts, so
go ahead. Tell me what that
means
to you.”
“What
it means to me? He doesn’t belong, what else is there to say? I
already said it. Giraffes
historically
do not chill on a farm, dude.”
“So
what does that make you?”
John
rolled back into the couch with a look of disappointment on his face,
gripping the leather
edges
of the couch. “So, to be clear, you see as a fucking giraffe?” He
rose up from the chair and
gestured
that he was over the entire process before Paul cut him off.
“Sit
down and allow me to explain myself. Please,” Paul gestured back,
his arms open,
welcoming
him to sit back on the therapy couch. “John, you need to stop
taking everything so
personally.
This is part of the process. I have to poke and prod, I have to
figure you out. Allow that
to
happen.” John rustled around the cushions, visibly uncomfortable.
“John,
relax. You are taking it as an insult, it’s not. Listen to me. You
aren’t a giraffe, but
you
are a giraffe. You are the giraffe. You
are him but not in the way you think.”
“So
he’s a he? A boy? How do you know that?”
John
gazes back at the portrait, taking in the reds, browns and spots on
his neck. Paul
spouts
back, why does it matter? For right now, in this moment, for all
intents and purposes, the
giraffe
is named John, and he is you, you get me?”
John
shook his head no, and again stood up as if he was about to leave.
“This
is stupid, Mr Williams. You’re telling me I’m a fucking giraffe.
I’m this close,” gesturing
towards
his impeccable hairline, “to walking out the mother fucking door.
You’re supposed to help me
work
through this and you’re comparing me to an animal.”
“I
did no such thing. You said he doesn’t belong there. You don’t
belong here either. Am I
wrong?”
John
paced around the room for a couple of seconds before sitting back
down on the couch.
“So,
you see what I see? In myself?”
Paul
shot back, “this place isn’t yours and we both know it. The
question here is, why can’t
anybody
else? You’re the giraffe, but where do you belong, John?”
John
sat forward, head in his hands, tears streaming down his face.
“I
don’t fucking know, but I don’t want to be a giraffe.”
“You’re
not a giraffe.”
“I’m
the giraffe. Thee fucking giraffe.”
“That’s
how you see yourself?”
“You
have helped me more than anybody else, so I’ll be honest with you.
I’m the
giraffe.
I’m the god damn giraffe.”
Paul
sat up a bit in his recliner and threw his notes beside him on the
desk. “So are you ready to
get
to fucking work, or are we still playing games here?” Paul grabbed
the check that John had tossed
on
his desk upon entering his office, and ripped it in half.
“Your
money means nothing here. Take my hand.” Paul stretched out his
open palm, awaiting
John
to accept it and embrace.
CHAPTER
5: FOLLOW ME
She
ripped open the envelope and threw it on the floor out of fear.
Instinctively, she knew that
whatever
was inside was not something she was prepared for. Tears streamed
down her face as she
buried
her head into her lap, crying. Her
sadness dripping on to her jeans, wet
spots dropping by the
second.
“it’s
too much, it’s too much to deal with, it’s too much,” repeating
the phrase over and over
until
again, a tap on the shoulder. She let out a scream that emanated deep
within the bowels of her
soul.
Turning around, she seen nothing behind her but the wind playing with
the curtains behind her
from
the open window. Her plants
twisted in the wind as if they had a supporting role on Broadway.
Nothing
but wind.
She
paced around back and forth, putting her hand on the beige wall to
think things over. She
was
convinced she was losing her mind. There was no other explanation.
Taps on the shoulder, letters
from
her late husband, she looked down at the hard wood floor and cried
some more. This time out of
despair
more than sadness. She was totally lost. Lost
and alone wasn’t a feeling she was used to. She
always
had Joseph to depend on, and for the first time in two and a half
years, his absence hit her hard.
The
taps on the shoulder subsided and accelerated to more of a push, a
shove in the small of her
back.
Whatever, whoever it was, wanted her attention and she knew it. She
turned once more and
shouted,
“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!,” at such a level she could feel the
energy shift in
front
of her face. Rage. The mood switched, and when it did, she revealed
herself.
A
stoic woman, slender and tall
appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She extended her hand to
introduce
herself, but Karina took a step back, visibly shaken. She had never
seen this woman in her
life,
and there she stood, in her dining room where many memories were made
between her and Joseph.
She
tried to speak but words could not be uttered. She was taken aback by
her presence itself, and
finally
the mysterious woman spoke.
“You
know who I am, yes?”
“No,”
Karina said, again taking a step back away from her.
The
woman took one step towards her and again extended her hand as a
gesture of openness,
and
once more, Karina took one
back.
“Be
not afraid of me, I am no enemy. I am a friend, I have been with you
your entire life. On the
day
you got married, I was in the first pew. On the day of your
Confirmation, I knelt with you. When
your
mother died, I held your hand and every time you were lost I guided
you home. I know you well,
Karina
Michelle Salton.”
Her
full name being spoken by someone, or something she had never seen
took her breath away.
In
front of her stood an olive skinned woman, beads around her neck,
shells around both wrists. A black
band
held them both together.
“My
name is Sasha and I have been with you since birth, for every bad
thing and every good
one.
I was assigned to you over 437 years
ago, and I’m tired of dancing with you in the shadows. It’s
time
to graduate, do you understand?”
Karina
shook her head no.
“Sit.
Pull up a chair and listen to me. I don’t like repeating myself so
listen well.”
Karina
apprehensively took a seat
and looked down at the letters spread across the table and let
out
a small shriek before throwing her arms at them, tossing them on the
floor.
“Now
why you go and do that? Now you got a whole ass mess… you know
what? It’s your
mess,
it ain’t mine. Which means by extension it ain’t my fucking
problem. You mind if I smoke in
here?,”
she asked as she pulled out a brand new pack of cigars. Reaching
into her gray cloak, she
pulled
out a BIC lighter and sparked the cigar almost instantaneously. The
smell wasn’t of a normal
cigar,
but a mixture of a small hint of marijuana and sage.
Sasha
pounded the table with her first, shaking not only the table itself
but the dreadlocks from
her
head as well.
“Now
you know why I’m here, don’t you?”
Karina
shook her head no and stood up from the chair, pacing back and forth
before shouting,
“What
the fuck do you want from me?!” Prompting Sasha again to extend her
hand.
“Take
my hand and follow me. I will show you everything.”
Karina
reached back for the first time and they both dissipated into thin
air, leaving an empty
room
behind, bills and letters scattered across the floor. The wind sent
the curtains into a frenzy, doing
a
small number along the base boards. Nothing but silence was heard
throughout the room. A knock at
front
door sent the dining room
into a tail spin, every letter, every bill as if it was in a
hurricane. The
energy
had shifted.
CHAPTER 6: ROOM 205
Waking
up every day in a panic. Same as every other day. I wake up in the
same room.
But
I know she’s in the next room over. This isn’t the same place. I
can’t believe I was panicking ten
minutes
ago. I gotta pee. My
body is so stiff but I don’t got any bruises, though. I know I swim
when I
sleep,
but it’s not always pleasant. Sometimes I wake up feeling like went
to war with myself in my
dreams.
In
the same position to be clear.
in
my sleep. Another trip to the bathroom, another long journey.
“Oh
hello there, ain’t you a little pretty ugly thang,” I
said which I guess could be described as a
southern
drawl. “I picked that
up in Virginia.” I talk to myself, and? Act like you don’t. Oh
damn.
Here
we fucking go. “Good
morning to you, you ugly ass,” she said directed towards the
upstairs
window.
Again, awoken in the
morning by her
neighbor, Alexander. She felt the soil around her plants
to
check to see if they
needed to be tended to. The
apartment building was something of a sanctuary for
her.
A revolving door of side characters who came and left as quick as
they pushed their way in.
Temporary
people. Annoying if we’re being honest. She looked up at the
ceiling and had a brief
moment
in the past. That’s common place for me. I used to be scared of it
but I just accept it now. I like
to
look at it as I’m traveling through time, because in that moment, I
am fucking there. I feel it. I know
it.
I
am still dealing with hospital anxiety. Every
time I look up, I am reminded of my own
personal
hell. The funny thing is if you had to guess what my anchor was,
you’d never know, and I
ain’t
ever telling.
“Well
good morning to you to too, Darrel, with your stanky ass cigarettes.
I do need his help
today
though, damn. I looked over at my crutch, that I know is exactly
that, a crutch. My whole life
feels
like a metaphor, or some kind of twisted joke. Everything always
circles back.
Alright,
let me call this bastard. You know what, let me chill. He always
looks out for me,
he
ain’t ever been a bastard to me. Shit, we haven’t even really
ever had it out like that now that
I
think about it. Well, there was one time. We
had it out over him and his girl, actually. I don’t even
know
why I’m thinking about this, HA! Probably because I’m about to
call his ass and say good
morning.
Anyway,
what had happened was, him and his girl got into it. I mean, really
got into it.
You
get what I mean by that I hope cause I ain’t going no further with
that one. So anyways, she
got
kicked out and this bitch ass mother fucker who lives above me
refused to pay her way home so
I
had to do it. He told me he didn’t have the money and I knew he was
lying anyways, he was just
deep
in his feelings. I’m saying though, like Michael Phelps Olympic
pool in his feelings, so I had to
check
his ass right quick. I told him straight up, you better give me my
money back cause if we’re
being
realistic, that’s my girl now. I paid her way, did I not? Oh that’s
right I did, that’s my bitch now.
When
I tell you he ran that paper back within seconds of me hanging up
that day, I ain’t playing
with
you one bit. Anyway. Fuck! Where is my god damn phone at? Oh shit,
ok. I forget my power
sometimes.
I’ll get into that later, though. I reached for my phone that was
on my work desk to the right ‘
of
me and pulled up his number.
“Good
mornin’”
“Yeooooo!”
“You
always gotta say that, switch it up.”
“That
shit bothers you though?”
“Shit,
kind of. Anyways, I need a favor, come see me, doll.”
“You
gotta gimme a few, I’m in the middle of something.”
“Middle
of what? An 8 ball? You better get your ass down here right now.”
He
sighed cause he knew he couldn’t say no.
“I’ll
be right there.”
I
hung the phone up with a smile like the Cheshire cat. He had no idea
the journey he was about
to
go on. I’m gonna fix him once and for all. Rock with me. I’ll see
ya’ll soon.
CHAPTER
7: IN WHICH WE MEET LAURAINA
She
hiked up the mountain, looking down at her phone, which she turned to
airplane mode. It
was
just something she did to avoid being disturbed in a place that felt
like home. It felt natural to be
here,
and she believed she knew why. Peace
live here. It was like being hugged by the most loving
spirit
in the world. Imagine the day after you drop ecstasy. On top of the
world, confident, not
questioning
a single thing in the world no matter what you’re going through.
That was it, the feeling.
The one we all chase, the one fake churches sell to desperate people
looking
for inner peace. Chasing
it is always better than having it, and she knew that too.
She
wasn’t always this person, she used to be the party girl. You know,
the girl you could call
on
at the drop of a hat offering any drug you could muster, and she’d
be there ten minutes later? That
girl.
Self care and therapy were the reasons she cited when people asked,
but in her soul she knew it
was
all her. Her commitment, her drive.
Her
dirty blonde her briefly waved in her face, causing her to push it
back into place for a
second
before reaching into her back pocket for a black hairband, wrapping a
ponytail within seconds.
A
brief flash came over her, taking her back to roughly five years ago,
when she was ‘that
girl,’ Visions
of
bright lights, being escorted to the toilet to vomit and a guy who
she knew was attracted to but
couldn’t
remember his name. She turned towards her friend, handing her drink
to monitor while she
away
before she snapped back to the hike she was on. She stumbled a bit,
rocking her head from side to
side,
acting like she was shaking some cobwebs loose within her head.
Suddenly,
a tap on the shoulder.
“Lauraina!
Are you ok? I was having a conversation with a brick wall for about
two minutes.
You
totally zoned out. Are you good?”
She
took a deep breath and smiled her beautiful smile, which she faked,
as she always did
to
get out of undesirable situations. She looked back at him, watching
him size up her slender figure
which
actually disgusted her. “I’m fine,” she shot back, “just got
lost in my thoughts.”
“Oh,
okay I guess. I didn’t think you had anything in there,” he said
with a sheepishly
jerk
kind of smile. She did the same back, sizing him up. His ripped
jeans, his bald head, his unkempt
beard.
She didn’t even know why she was with this guy. She deserved better
and she knew it, but time
and
comfortably can be a real mother fucker. That’s what she chalked it
up to. The breeze picked up,
the
sky darkened like there was a storm coming within minutes, causing
her to leave what she was
about
to say back for later.
“We
should get going, you know what that means,” pointing up to the
slate gray sky above them
both.
He nodded in agreement before insulting her again, even if
unintentionally. “You knew this was a
stupid
idea before we ever headed out here. We have an appointment this
evening and you want to go
hiking.”
Lauraina
looked back at him, before scoping out the area and admiring the
forest green leaves
twisting
in the wind.
“You
really wanna be an asshole right now, dude? I’m the only one who
knows the way back
and
you’re gonna do this?” She plopped down next to her baby blue
backpack and pulled out a
thermal
bottle of water. “I got all day, Gavin. Why you’re fucking with
me right now is beyond me, but
let’s
do this. Sit down next to me.”
Gavin
paced around the high grass and let out a visceral growl. “You
always, always, always
fucking
do this.”
“I
do it? How in the… excuse me, how did you reach that conclusion?”
“Lauraina….
Can we please, for the love of God and everything holy pack our shit
up and
LEAVE?!”
“Nope.
We can’t. Sit down.” The wind picked up fiercely, as if her anger
was dictating the
gusts
themselves. “You’re really make me do this to you,
because you won’t be
honest with me?
You
are
literally the biggest joke I ever played on myself. I’m so fu---
I’m so stupid.”
This
caused him to sit down next to her.
“Fine.
What is it? What I do that is so fucking awful? I’m dying to know.”
Another
tap on her shoulder. She turned to look at Gavin and let him know she
heard him,
but
when she turned her head, she was no longer in the woods. She was no
longer with Gavin, but she
didn’t
panic. She felt comfortable.
She
felt comfortable in the waiting room of the therapists office. Out
walked John,
surprised
to see her. He tipped his cap to her regardless, and wished her well.
The
doctor came out, scanning the room, acting like she wasn’t the only
one in the room.
“Well
then. Guess it’s your turn. Lauraina, right? Come on in.”
CHAPTER
8: SESSION THREE
Peering
around the waiting
room, he noticed a woman who wasn’t there just a second ago, or
so
it seemed. John wanted to make a comment about it but was taken aback
by her beauty. For the first
time
in his life he couldn’t come up with a wise crack about it or her.
Suddenly, the door swung open,
his
therapist standing in the doorway. “John? Ah, there you are
Lauraina,” he said with a smile, “we’ve
been
expecting you. Just sit tight, grab a magazine there, we’ll be with
you shortly.”
The
door shut without John even stepping through it. He didn’t get much
sleep last night,
and
he couldn’t blame the medication, because he flushed it as soon as
he got home.
“Oh,
are you experiencing a time loss, John? We’ve been trying to get
your attention for the
past
hour. You completely ruined Lauraina’s time with me, you should
really apologize.”
John
bit back, “you should apologize to me, god damn it. Take that
fucking giraffe picture down
now.
I ain’t no giraffe, you’re really pissing me off with this thing,
dude.” Lauraina gave him a
glimpse,
and then back to the doctor, “ what is he talking about?”
“Behind
you, there,” he instructed.
Lauraina
first pulled herself around to see it, inspect it, and unload on
John.
“Wait,
why the fuck is a gir… I can swear here, right?”
Dr.
Williams nodded in approval.
Pointing
at the painting, she shouted, “So why the FUCK is a giraffe on a
god damn
farm?”
She definitely needed that outlet to shoot that anger out of her.
John
sat up from his recliner he had sat down on less than a minute prior,
shoved his
arms
out in front of himself and yelled, “Exactly!”
“Don’t
get too excited, you piece of shit. Bastard. Mother fucker!! You
ruined my entire
fucking
hour!” John started to scramble into his back pocket for his wallet
and offered to paycheck
for
the hour, and then some. “I’ll give you, well,” he paused to
thumb through his cash, “four hundred
dollars
to forgive me for this. I didn’t hear a thing, I promise.”
Her
neck twisted to the side ever so slightly, her hair dangling across
her shoulders, “Keep
it.
But come out with me, let’s go grab a drink.” The therapist tried
to intervene and reason with the
both
of them about how this was a horrible idea.
“Says
the guy with a phD, supposedly, with a giraffe painting hanging out
with Old McDonald,
dude,
shut the fuck up. You said I can swear in here!”
Dr
Williamson took a step back when Lauriana raised her arm, maybe out
of experience or fear.
“Yeah,
you can!”
“Thanks
for the permission, fuck you, pal. See ya next week. That’s the
game we play over here
right?
She grabbed John by the arm and lead him out the door before slamming
it shut. Dr. Williamson
yelled
something about how they were ruining everything, but she didn’t
care. Her more than him, to
be
honest. Lauriana mashed the elevator buttons until they pushed open.
As they stepped inside, and the
doors
shut, she looked John in the eyes and asked if he was ready for what
came next. His eyes told
the
story, but he shook his head yes.
An
unwilling participant to astral projection.
=================================================
She
requested a booth as the short and slender, brunette waitress grabbed
two menus after
Lauraina
confirmed back it was only a party of two. Billy Joel played on the
jukebox as they were
seated,
to the vocal dismay of John. An audible grunt of disgust accompanied
a shake of his head just
before
he slid into his side of the booth.
“So,
what can we start you with,” asked the waitress whose name tag read
‘STACI.’
John
answered with a double shot of Evan Williams. “So much better than
Jack.”
“Yeah,
what he said, but can I grab a side of ginger ale with mine?”
John
looked kind of surprised, “didn’t expect that.”
The
waitress scurried away to grab their drinks. John was checking her
out she walked off
towards
the bar.
“I’m
Irish,” she said with a slight giggle. “Twenty bucks says I can
out drink you,” she
challenged,
digging into her purse for a twenty dollar bill to place on the
table.
The
walls by their booth were decorated with old actors and actresses,
entertainers, singers,
there
wasn’t a person on the establishment’s décor who was not a
household name. Photos
of
Frank
Sinatra and Dean Martin giving a cheers before downing a martini.
Marilyn Monroe posing
on
the edge of a bar top with a white dress.
“You
think this shit on the walls, is it tacky?”
She
rolled her eyes, “nope, but way to avoid the bet.”
“Wasn’t
avoiding, was trying to get your attention of me eyeing the waitress’
ass. Anywho,
yeah,
I’m in. I’ll drink you under the table.”
“if
I had a dollar for every time I heard that one,” she shot back.
Before
she could finish her sentence, John was digging in his pocket to
place a dollar on the
red
oak table. “Now you do,” he said with a half-laugh. The waitress
approached with their drinks and
placed
them in front of John and Lauraina each.
“That’ll
be it for now,” she said, “we’re only drinking tonight. We have
somewhere to be.”
John
glanced back with a confused look on his face, “we do?”
“Just
wait to see what I have planned for you.”
He
chuckled and took a sip of his drink, “should I be scared?”
“You
tell me,” licking the corner of her lips, soaking up every drop of
the shot she just drank
down.
=======================================
An
hour had passed and they were still at the booth with tacky décor.
The conversation was
consistent
and humorous, John was impressed. He never had a connection like this
right off the bat in
this
life, or any other. Well, he took that back, saying that assumed they
didn’t have a forever
connection
spanning several lifetimes. He imagined being her husband while she
served over a
kingdom
that was the envy of the world. All she required was him to wave and
be friendly to her
public.
Nothing more and nothing less. Just as he was about to venture off to
another lifetime she
banged
on the table with a closed fist.
“Hey!”
You’re up. We’re tied, 7-7. I think I’m winning.”
He
snapped back to reality and played it off like he was just
daydreaming, which technically
speaking,
he was. Reaching for the clear shot glass filled with the golden
elixir, he tipped it back and
took
it down. “Going down like water, you’re in trouble now.” He
reached for the next one, he assumed
while
he was spaced out that Lauraina went extra hard and ordered a dozen
shots. Drinking one more
and
slamming the glass down, letting out a satisfying, “ahhh.”
“I’m
in the lead now,” John remarked.
“You
are, and luckily for you, you’ll stay there for a few minutes. I
gotta go to the bathroom,
you
want to accompany me?”
“Sure.
Let’s go.”
Lauraina
first scooted out of the booth, John was next out. They rose up to
their feet and
collected
themselves and their balance.
“You
good?”
“Yeah.
I’ve been here before,” Lauraina said. John reached for the
middle of her back and lead
her
towards the signs that directed patrons to the restrooms. They walked
past a big crowd at a table,
cracking
jokes about a business deal they had just closed. He disdained people
like this, loathed them.
He
never understood why they did this, a whole pack of businessmen
acting like commoners. It was
almost
like they were rubbing the nine to five crowd, the working people’s
face. If it wasn’t for his
company
he would have said something to them. He thought back to his past
life.
Friendly
to the public, no matter who they may be. They arrived at the
restroom and Lauraina
turned
to him before entering.
“Tell
me everything you know about mirrors.”
“What?
I don’t know. Vampires can’t see their reflection in them. Humans
can. That’s about it.”
She
bent over in laughter.
“Come
in with me, I have to show you something.”
“What?
Are you some kind of sicko? Why would I do that? You want people to
think I’m some
kind
of freak?”
“I’m
being serious. Besides, you’re allowed in there. Obama said so,
remember?”
It
wasn’t too often that a woman got a laugh out of him, but she
pulled it off. She grabbed his
hand
and pulled the handle, pushing the door open. Following her lead, the
door slammed behind them
both.
Her hand still in his they stared into the mirror together.
“I
really have to show you this. Do you trust me, John?”
He
paused for a moment and shook his head yes while vocalizing it as
well.
“I’m
so glad to hear that. I think you’re ready. Go put your arms on the
sink, relax yourself
neck
and take a deep look into your eyes. Tell me what you see.”
He
did as he was told, just as he had in his past live, or lives with
her. Trust wasn’t an easy thing
for
John, but for whatever reason he believed her. He believed in them.
The brown ceramic wall tiles
began
to fade around him and the only thing in the room that he
acknowledged was his own reflection,
the
hazel of his eyes. As he got lost in them, he felt a rush of warmth
run down from his wrist, dripping
to
the floor.
“Roll
with it, ignore it,” Lauraina said, razor in hand, crouching up
from underneath the sink.
She
had slit his wrist the long way, causing him to bleed profusely until
he could stand no more. As he
fell
to the floor softly, she caught his head to make sure it was as
painless as possible.
“You
have to trust me. It has to be this way. I’ll be back for you, I
love you. I always have.”
She
closed the door behind her, walked back to their table and left a
twenty dollar tip for Staci.
As
she reached the door, she pushed it open, the wind chimes above the
door singing as she left the
establishment.
CHAPTER
9: YOU ASKED FOR THIS
Sasha
escorted her into a world eerily similar to her own, but very
different than the one she had
left
behind. The walls were painted differently, but the dimensions were
the same. There were slight
changes
that only should would know. The paint was a different shade of blue,
but barely. This place
had
a cerulean blue shade, while the place Karina had left had donned a
baby blue paint job. To the
untrained
eye, they would be the same, but cerulean blue was just a tad
lighter. It was perfect. It looked
like
the sky on a day you’d plan a beach trip and a picnic.
Sitting
on the now pink sheets, which were previously navy blue, Sasha
glanced over at Karina
with
a side eye, waiting for her to become accustomed to her new
surroundings.
“You
good now, baby doll?”
Karina
placed her hands on her head, as if she mimicking Psyduck. She rolled
around on the
hardwood
floor, looking up at Sasha, who was lighting another cigar. “Fuck.
It feels like I got slammed
on
to the floor and hit by an eighteen wheeler, and there you are. Just
A-fucking OK, smoking some
kind
of joint or whatever it is you do.”
Inhaling
and then speaking, Sasha said, “maybe that’s how it went. It used
to be that way for
me
too. You ain’t special.”
Putting
her hands on the floor behind her back to help her raise up from the
floor, she let out a
groan.
“You’re supposed to be my friend and you talk to me like that?
Some friend you are.”
Sasha
almost choked on her smoke. “I ain’t say shit about your friend.
I am your guide. I’m
tired.
In fact, Karina, I’m sick too.”
With
a concerned tone, Karina asked, “you’re sick? Sick how?”
“Sick
and tired of seeing you fuck up, bitch. You don’t ever listen.”
Karina
stood up and started pacing around the bedroom. “How am I supposed
to listen to you?
I’ve
never MET you!”
“Sit
down next to me right here, hit this while I tell you a short story.
Don’t be scared. I ain’t
gonna
slap you, even though I should.” That made Karina giggle and opened
her trust up a bit, causing
her
sit next to her, and eventually lay back. She apologized for doing
so, “I’m sorry. I’m so tired. It
feels
like jet lag. I feel like from here to China on a non stop flight.”
Holding
out her cigar, Sasha demanded, “take it. I got a story to tell.”
Apprehensively,
Karina took the smoke stick and looked at it, twirling it around her
fingers. “I
don’t
really do this.” Sasha gave her a dismissive look, causing her to
take a hit without even saying a
word.
“Ha!
So we just gonna erase college, huh? You know, what never mind, back
to what we were
talking
about. So you said I never spoke to you. I shouldn’t have to. You
really have no idea how our
relationship
is supposed to work, so let me break it down for you. I show you
signs, you’re supposed to
see
them. You never do though, and you never have. I don’t get it. I’ve
been assigned to you for
hundreds
of years. You are easily the most difficult soul I’ve ever had to
work with. Do you realize
I’ve
worked with starlets, musicians, actors… none as difficult as you.
Now…”
Karina
sat up from her laid back position and attempted to ask a question.
“Excuse
me, I ain’t done.” The sunlight just protruded through the
window, causing a
reflection
to show up on the floor right below it. “Sorry, I kinda got
sidetracked there,” Sasha said.
“There
was once a man,”
“Oh
god,” Karina sighed.
“If
you’re gonna be like that, gimme that back.”
“No,
I’m sorry. Go. Go on,” Karina bounced back, hitting the blunt.
“Yeah,
that’s what I thought,” causing a sarcastic snicker from Karina.
“There
once was a man who fell victim to a flood. He climbed up the attic
and made his
way
onto the roof. He sat up there for days. Days and days, we are
talking like, about a week. No
food,
no clean water, nothing. Just him and his dog he carried out the
attic window and up onto
the
roof. The third day he was up there, they sent a boat to get him. He
screamed to them, ‘don’t
worry
about me, God has got me!’ The fifth day they sent another, and he
said the same. The sixth day
they
sent a helicopter, and he said the same. They all left his ass right
where he was, and on the seventh
day
he was up there, both him and his dog had died. The water got too
high, he drowned on the roof.”
Karina,
hitting it one more looked back at her, side eyed and glossy eyed,
“what the fuck
is
that supposed to mean?”
“Girl,
first of all, you better pass that shit back, secondly, you missed it
didn’t you?”
Passing
it back, coughing slightly, Karina said through a cough, or tried to
that she had
missed
the point.
“Damn,
Karina. I really thought you were smarter than that. The point is,”
ashing on the
floor
before she was cut off by Karina. “Do NOT ash on my floor.”
Sasha
looked back at her with a look that could kill, “it ain’t your
floor, it’s mine. Secondly,
the
floor is mine to explain the point to your blind ass self.” Karina
laid back, sprawling on the bed.
“My
point is, you have been sitting here asking, damn near begging for
signs when they’ve been in
front
of you this whole time. How many I gotta send you? You require me to
take human form and
break
this down to you, in your language? It should have never come to
this, baby girl. You ain’t
stupid,
and we both know it.” As soon as she finished her sentence she
deaded the blunt and stood to
her
feet.
“Come
with me.”
“Come
with you where?”
“That
matters now? It didn’t matter where we went but now it matters
where we go,” she said
before
finishing her sentence with a loud LOL,
spoken aloud. “Girl, get your ass up, you gotta go talk
to
Sara.”
Karina
stood up, finally noticing her hair was in tendrils, wearing loose
fitting white clothing.
She
was confused but just rolled with it. She had learned her lesson when
it came to questioning Sasha,
she
would never get a clear answer, and only got scolded for asking what
it meant. “Alright, show me
Sara.”
“It
doesn’t work like that.”
“Oh,
Christ. What do I have to do, open my heart to the love of the
almighty Sara? I give
myself
over to my lord and savior, Sara? This
is crazy, where the fuck am I?
Sasha
chuckled and looked her dead in her eyes, “which one do you want me
to answer first?
Because
the answer to one is, ‘exactly, and the other is not exactly.
Actually, let’s keep it like this, it’ll
be
fun.”
“It
was literally a joke…,” Karina said.
“So
was your life before this, now come here.” Karina didn’t find the
comment funny, but
Sasha
did. She lead the way, Karina right behind her, twisting the door
handle and kicking the bottom
of
the door to open it.
They
stepped into the kitchen, which again was exactly like hers, except
the paint was indigo
blue.
The realization caused her to take a step back, which in turn caused
Sasha to allow her to step in
front
of her.
“Oh,
we ain’t playing this game, you first then.”
Karina
gave her a look back, rolling her eyes slightly.
“And
we ain’t doing that either. Go forward and trust me. You see that
door ahead of you?”
She
did, it was her closet in the other place. The place where she would
place her plastic bags
for
any reason whatsoever. Sasha had to gently shove her back towards the
door.
“Knock
like you’re at a speakeasy. An identifiable knock.”
She
followed her words, and knocked a patdadapatpatpatpat.
“Wait,
who is Sara to you?”
“You
pick a bad time to ask a question like that,” she said as the door
opened. “She’s
like
my boss.”
Karina
took a deep breath and stumbled into what she always knew as a
closet.
CHAPTER
10: WHERE IT
LIVES
It’s
been over a week. I don’t hate you any less. I feel like
I have to convince myself to do so.
It’s
unfair to both of us, really. More
so you than me. I’m the one putting roadblocks in your way. My
hair
is so long now. This journal is probably my most prized possession.
It’s all of me. If God forbid
there
was ever a fire and I could save one thing, it would be this. It
means just as much as you do. I
know,
that sounds silly, ridiculous, however you want to put it. I
guess that makes me a hypocrite,
doesn’t
it?
Oh,
well. I’ve been worse than that. I’ve been called a number of
four and five letter words, but
never
a nine letter one. Bitch. Whore. Slut. Cunt. Never a hypocrite, or
even a liar. I am a liar, I just do
it
well enough to where I’m never questioned about
it. A skill or a habit? Does it even matter? It’s just
as
bad no matter the reasoning. It’s a sin, isn’t it? A
lying tongue hates it’s victims, and a flattering
mouth
works ruin. Proverbs 26:28. If that’s the case, half the world,
maybe even three quarters of this
hellscape
we inhabit is living in it as well. I don’t even care.
I’m
the type of girl to make you break up with your boyfriend just
because she has you and I
don’t,
knowing I don’t even like you in that way. Only sometimes though,
it really depends. It depends
on
how bored I am, or if I’m in a relationship. Speaking of, you
really infuriate me. I haven’t talked to
you
in months, or at least it felt like it.
I
wish I hadn’t killed you. I told that’s exactly what I came here
to do, and you laughed at me,
Like
I was a fucking joke, a god damn punchline to you. You fell asleep
next to me, like you trusted
me,
even after all of it. You had it coming, right? Everything you did,
everything you put me through.
Even
through all of that, I wish I didn’t. Digging that hole took a
week. As of today I’m 5’2, 114
pounds.
It felt like I was lifting Mount Olympus with every scoop of dirt. I
read something once, it
was
a joke, I
think.
The
guy in the video detailed how to get away with murder if it ever came
down to it. He
said
to bury an animal two feet above where you put the corpse, so when
the police send the cadaver
dogs
they would smell the animal and not the human. You bury a person
eight feet deep, with the
animal
at six. I wish I wasn’t blind to it all, numbed. The
drugs accomplish that at least. Obviously
it’s
not healthy, but it’s what I need right now.
I
twirl my hair around my fingers, looking at the split ends and not
really caring too much at
the
moment, they’re just kinda there. My thoughts are all over the
place, but what do you expect out
of
me here? I’ve been through it, and that’s not me throwing a pity
party for myself, that’s just being
honest.
I
heard a gentle knock at my door, it was probably the neighbor boy who
always flirts with
me.
He’s very endearing, but he’s only sixteen years old. I don’t
even view him that way, but
perception
is reality in our world. The
voice in my head came back to nudge me into having lunch
with
the kid. I slammed my foot to the floor to tell them I was in
control. They had no say here, not
anymore.
It’s a fucked up spot that I’m in, I’m sure others have been
there too, but I’ve never met
someone
who has ever told me that their thoughts aren’t their own. That’s
what I go through every day.
Every
single one. Literally there is not a day that goes by where I’m not
being pushed into something
I
don’t want to to. I’m not saying every thought is a bad one, but
they’re not mine, which means in turn
that
they’re not authentic. The only ones that are mine, and the ones
about you, and how fucking
fucked
is that?
Haunted
by our good times and the bad ones. The good ones might be worse
because it makes
me
remember everything you made me take away from not only you, but me.
Twisting the knife in
chest,
the shock on your face, the blood dripping from your mouth felt
orgasmic. I felt above it all,
above
the heavens, above you. I never counted on losing you, taking you,
however you want to word it,
would
devastate me in this way. Clearly I loved you, I gave you everything
I had, even when I didn’t
have
it to give, and it still wasn’t enough. Never enough to satisfy
you, right? No, never. All I can do is
keep
trying. You reminded me of those ancient ruins they’d find in the
middle of the jungle where they
would
sacrifice people
to appease the Gods.
I
guess in the end that’s what I’m doing here, isn’t it? There is
no amount of blood I won’t spill,
no
throat I won’t cut in order to get you back in my life. I would
move mountains, I would sacrifice
entire
villages, I would slaughter civilizations to hold you once more. I’d
give myself for it, and
everything
I ever was and will be. You told me three months ago we were a
forever thing. You better
hope
and pray that you meant it, because I believed you. She draped her
bare right palm across her
chest,
right in the middle and repeated out loud, “I pledge allegiance to
you and this calling. It lives
here.
I know you are yearning to be fed. I promise you, my Lord, this is
the last time you ever
experience
hunger pains.”
She
side stepped into the frame of the mirror that was inside the
bathroom just one doorway
over.
She dug into her chest with her long, white nails. With every inch
they broke the skin, they got
sharper
and more strong. She laughed to herself and she tore her chest apart,
right above her breast
plate.
Blood circled around her breasts and soaked into her white pajama
top. She laughed with a
sinister
pervasiveness, like she was watching a Sam Kinnison clip on YouTube
for the first time. She
slinked
down to the floor, crawling towards the closet in the bathroom.
Her
split end hair dragging across the tile floor, she reached the closet
and was able to
partition
it open. Her laughs got more consistent and she revealed a shrine,
complete with horns at the
head
and tarot cards at the base. It appeared as if she was claiming some
type of power from this shrine,
as
her face suddenly got more serious and she stood up as if the last
three minutes was all her
imagination.
Again,
facing the mirror, with a bigger smile than before, she shook her
head in approval.
“So,
you haven’t given up on me yet?”
Her
wounds healed in front of her very eyes, and the blood dissipated.
She reached into a
drawer
that was attached to the left side of the sink. She pulled out a
small handheld notebook and
sat
down at the dining room table to create a list. With a black gel pen
in hand, she got to work.
