a tired mind is a dangerous one
.
flood / verb /
arrive in overwhelming amounts or quantities
I slip through an open door and maneuver slowly through the crowd to get to the bar. Warm music, people playing pool, a lot of conversations blending together. An all too familiar scenery, the past and present intertwining in my head. Finally, I find him, looking through a list of orders, adding some numbers on a worn-out green calculator. I gaze at him until he looks up, sensing some tension in the air. His eyebrows lift and he gives me a quick once over.
Well, look what the cat dragged in. I see you’re looking better than before. Skin not as white, no cold sweats. Less insanity as if the whole world was out to get you, no conspiracy theories about the government... Oh, wait, the last one is mine.
He winks at me and gets a tall glass for a beer. I stop him, lifting my hand.
Coke would be fine, Phil.
Well, my, my, my. Times are changing, aren’t they now?
I watch as he pours the soda into a glass and throws in a pink umbrella in it. I narrow my eyes but then smile slightly. Somethings never change. I watch him, as he mops the counter, distracted. His face not showing any emotions. I put a hand on his, and he looks up.
I’m better than I was. But nowhere near good - if that’s what you were meaning to ask.
He doesn’t respond, so I continue.
Phil, the shit I got myself into is so complicated, that I couldn’t explain even if I wanted to. But I can tell you this. I found someone to help me.
He stares calmly at me, then pours himself a shot of whiskey and gulps it down in one movement. I look amused at him; he rarely drinks unless he is talking about politics, or if it’s the Superbowl season and his team is winning - or losing.
Listen, Elle.
I interrupt him before he can start all over again with one of his famous speeches.
Phil, I don’t mean drugs, I’m smarter now to know that crap doesn’t work. I learned my lesson hard.
Besides drugs messed up my brain as much as alcohol these days, they made the voices more agitated and louder, so all in all, a really bad combination, yet not something I could share with my ex-boss.
I find that hard to believe after everything that happened to you before.
He looks worried now, his mask slowly slipping.
I know and I get it, I really do, I wouldn’t trust myself if I were you either (a heavy sigh) but I’m telling the truth now, and here is proof.
I pull out a crumpled piece of paper out of the back pocket of my jeans and hand it to him, he looks suspiciously at me but takes it.
What is it?
Look for yourself.
I say and drink half of the coke at once, stress made me thirsty.
Elle?
Oh, come on, Phil. It’s not a poison letter. It’s a drug test and it’s negative.
He stares at me, gives me a funny look but puts on his glasses and looks closely at the paper, then lifts an eyebrow.
It’s all legit boss. You can call the hospital if you want or go with me so I can take another test. Fine with me.
Alright, Elle. I believe you, otherwise, you wouldn’t be giving me the whole PowerPoint presentation, but more likely storming out of here and grabbing some liquor on the way out.
I smile wide at him, feeling the warmth in my dead cold heart.
Oh, Phil, you know me all too well.
He smiles back at me.
Missed you kiddo, the place hasn’t been the same without you.
Do you mean in one piece and with fewer fights?
Exactly, it was boring.
I stare at him and finally relax a bit; taking my time and talking with him about all the things I could tell him and hiding everything else. Which ends the conversation topics rather fast. So instead of squirming and navigating between the truth and lies, I let him talk about everything he wants. And I don’t have to do or say anything back. Phil is a one-man orchestra and is fine to keep the show on his own. All he needs is an audience; which I am happy to provide. I let myself sit more comfortably and listen patiently as my boss regains his colors, gesticulating with energy and jumping into his (both) grump and conspiracy theories mode. I smile at him, feeling at home.
_______
The next day hovers over me, pulling me in before I can even realize it. The night turning into the early morning. It’s barely after 5 a.m. when I step into the hospital, but I know he’s at work and I desperately need my batteries charged before I head back home. To a place, that I hadn’t been back since I left Phil and his constant flow of words. Conversations about the situation at the bar and all the issues he had to take care of; including the new employee, Carl. The one that kept leaving things in all the wrong places, causing a lot of chaos around. He was a nephew of his long-time friend, so he offered to help and give the boy a temporary job. His one of a kind employee truly unaware of his mistakes, bit of a scatterbrain but with the right personality for this line of business. Safe to say, they were still operating through their issues, and my ex-boss was pinning after my reckless but organized ways. “Even with your temper and a strong fist, there was less broken glass to clean up later”.
You smell like cigarettes, whiskey, and beer. You smell like a bar.
I quickly snap out of my thoughts and enter the room. He wrinkles his nose as I walk in but still manages to look amused.
Exactly. Besides, I didn’t shower.
He eyes me suspiciously.
You don’t look drunk.
Because I’m not.
Care to explain?
Just visiting old friends.
I shrug my shoulders and sit on a couch in the nurses’ lounge room. My stare focuses on a small TV receiver put on a shelf; a soap opera seems to be playing. I watch as some woman on the screen pushes the other one in front of a car; they both have elegant clothes and perfect over the top make-up. I gaze at the dramatic close-ups and nod my head. Yes, definitely a soap opera. Charlie sighs and sits next to me and unwraps a sandwich. I smell cheese, lettuce, and tomato; my mouth starts to water.
So do your friends own a bar or are those your new perfume?
I turn my head towards him and narrow my eyebrows; then I grab half of his sandwich.
You don’t mind, do you?
Nora.
Yes, my lord. You are correct, I was at the chambers of Tennessee Joe’s local bar, and my previous master is the owner, satisfied? Oh, my savior and the only source of light in this cruel world.
He mumbles something in response and starts to fill in some documents. Then he looks up.
Did you sleep in your clothes?
I glance at him and contemplate my answer, deciding there was no need for any lies.
I left late from my boss, but I didn’t go home. I was never in my bed.
What do you mean?
My eyes wander to his and I see it; he’s thinking of one million and one possibilities what my words might actually imply. I try to hold back a smile, almost hearing the question behind his tone. Then who’s bed, were you in? The words were pretty much painted out on his forehead. I lift my hand and brush off his concern. Honestly, not everything was about just one thing alone.
I didn’t sleep. Instead, I walked a lot, thinking, trying to grab a hold on the reality, on anything at all, putting the pieces together. Trying to make some plan that would match my... How should I put it, my current life situation?
His eyebrows seem so furrow deeper.
Geesh Charlie, relax a bit or you might pass out from all the tension one day.
He returns to his papers, squeezing the pen tighter than it was necessary. It takes all my will power not to roll my eyes at him. Instead, I focus on other things. I finish my food, and in the next 10 minutes manage to get into the show. Hope that wench with blonde hair from TV gets it good. After all, that isn’t her son and that Carlos guy was definitely bad news.
Eventually, the show ends, and I notice that the room is empty. Even Charlie is gone. I look at the big round clock hanging on the wall. When did it get so late? I furrow my eyebrows and finally hear the commotion outside. I walk up to the door and lean out to see the hallway. Nurses are running around like bees in a beehive. I see paramedics helping with new patients and doctors taking care of the most critical injuries, people being transported to the ER. And it starts to get loud, really loud. But not outside the door, the commotion comes from inside of my skull. I grab my head with both hands and start to moan, my eyes closed shut. Why is this so intense? Like it’s getting back at me with double force. I try to think as the all too familiar jackhammer seems to be wracking my bone matter starting at the brain core. Too many people. Too much pain. Just make it stop.
You won’t run away from this.
I stiffen as the words stick to my cells and repeat themselves like an echo, that beats to the same rhythm as my heartbeats. I know that voice. It’s him, again. It could be no one else. But why did I hear him, and why now?
An image of two men fills my thoughts. One standing above my head with a curious look on his face as I rave in pain - and the other one sitting in a beaten-up chair in the corner of the big room. The day when I came back to ‘that’ place. Days after I killed him, the one that was stalking me and that was responsible for... my body twists in anguish and I land on the floor, knees scratching against the old rug in the same nurses’ room that was so peaceful just a few moments ago. I couldn’t even finish my last thought, the words seeming to somehow damage me physically, and not just mentally.
I try to stand and move a bit forward so I can reach the couch. I fall on it and give my best attempt at calming down both my breathing and the rushing thoughts. I make them slow their pace, unit a name resurfaces in my head. Alister. The man standing above me. Looking at me as if I was the vilest thing on this world and not worth any bother. I flinch at the next image of him. He was amused at my pain, fully enjoying the spectacle. The elegant and pristine clothes that he wore not matching the dirty expression on his face. I can almost feel my neurons burn into ash at the remembrance of his empty dark eyes.
You won’t run away from this.
The words once again bounce around in my mind, but this time it’s his actual voice, a memory. A memory integrated deep in my thoughts. The other man still sitting comfortably on his falling apart throne. Because that’s of who he reminded me - of a king with all the power. A potential strength to demolish everything in his way, especially the little sinners like me.
Another pain wave shoots me with force, and I hear the voices in my head getting agitated, calling for my sole attention. But I build a wall against them, focusing all of my conscious perceptions on that single day from my memories. Building back the entire scene. Starting from the beginning and tuning everything else out. I hear the screams and shouts in the halfway, but they soon fade out as I concentrate on the past.
It helps for a moment, but the pain is too strong for me, I can’t harness it anymore; my body shutting down. And just before I faint, I see someone running towards me, feet thumping against the carpet. My vision gets blurry and everything that I notice is from the wrong angle as I slip to the ground.
_________
If anyone is curious to know more about the story.
https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses (chapter 1 )
18. https://theprose.com/post/281116/a-grounded-feeling
19. https://theprose.com/post/288893/loosening-the-knots
20. https://theprose.com/post/292279/list-of-amends (last 3 chapters)
next chapter :