An insatiable black hole.
Today started as routinely as any other. Shower. Meds. Jog. Work.
Work was when things got a little off. Having picked up the mark's routines, I was rather lax about the whole thing. The job wasn't dangerous in any form, so I took my time and decided to pick up some coffee at one at the closest bistro, where I could watch the building while enjoying a desperately needed caffiene-booster.
I knew when I got up this morning something was off. Like I'd just walked through a spiderweb and it was stretched all over my face. That kind of sticky, clinging feeling that always seems to creep me out just a little. But since I couldn't place it, I just ignored it and carried on buisness as usual. That was working out for me just fine, until about noon.
I was still sitting at the bistro, nursing my fourth or fifth cup of coffee and watching the movement of the street when I saw her. Everything else in the world seemed to vanish in that instant. There was me, and across some immeasurable space, her.
My sister.
I'd searched for her since our separation; dug through countless files: birth certificates, adoption papers, case files, even our own database. Every time I came up empty-handed. For years, I sheltered a little candle of hope inside of me, that I would find Amie and that we'd be together again--family. But as the months ticked by, all flames were smothered. I stopped looking for her face in the crowd. And there she was, standing there at the bus stop, smiling and laughing as she chattered away on her cellphone, oblivious to me. How long ago had she stopped looking for me? Or, had she ever?
I was standing, and didn't realize I had until a searing heat ate through my jeans. The thrall broke, and I cursed, trying to sop up my spilt coffee with a handful of flimsy paper napkins. By the time I had gotten myself sufficiently cleaned up, she was gone. And I just stood there, with a handful of soggy tissues and a fine tremble running through me. Had she seen me? Did I want her to see me?
Terror and frustration rose up in me at once, and I knew work today was impossible. Dropping the napkins onto the table, I fled the terrace and fished into my pocket for my phone, smacking my thumb down on the speed dial. Jones' voice came up groggily on the other end. Later, I would feel guilty about using him, but for now, I needed him.
It's weird. I don't care about Jones. We aren't lovers. We aren't anything. I could probably shoot him in the face and then eat lunch with his corpse in the room. But, there's something about him that makes me feel safe. He's big, and quiet, and easy-going. And he loves me. Maybe that's the difference. That because he loves me, he won't go out of his way to break that tenative trust. Stupid reasoning, I know, but somehow it makes sense to that deeper parts of me.
He heard the panic in my tone, and promised to meet me at my apartment, but his was closer, and I have a key. It started to rain on the drive, and I was soaked before I even hit the stairs. Not that it mattered. The door just seemed to open on it's own, I don't remember opening it, and I stood wet and dazed in the hall, blinking into Jones' bright living room, the man himself doing the same at me from his couch.
Without words, I flung myself onto him entirely, face pressing into his chest, and just sobbed. He never questioned once.. Just moved his hand over my back in soothing circles and senseless patterns until I finally exhausted myself and calmed. Everything after that was a in a haze, disjointed and dreamlike. He fixed me dinner, ran me a bath, and put me into his bed.
I slept, and never said a word in gratitude.
He was gone when I woke up, so I just changed back into my damp, java-scented jeans and drove home. Now, I'm sitting here writing with the dog's head resting on my thigh, feeling empty and still shaking.
Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.
Work was when things got a little off. Having picked up the mark's routines, I was rather lax about the whole thing. The job wasn't dangerous in any form, so I took my time and decided to pick up some coffee at one at the closest bistro, where I could watch the building while enjoying a desperately needed caffiene-booster.
I knew when I got up this morning something was off. Like I'd just walked through a spiderweb and it was stretched all over my face. That kind of sticky, clinging feeling that always seems to creep me out just a little. But since I couldn't place it, I just ignored it and carried on buisness as usual. That was working out for me just fine, until about noon.
I was still sitting at the bistro, nursing my fourth or fifth cup of coffee and watching the movement of the street when I saw her. Everything else in the world seemed to vanish in that instant. There was me, and across some immeasurable space, her.
My sister.
I'd searched for her since our separation; dug through countless files: birth certificates, adoption papers, case files, even our own database. Every time I came up empty-handed. For years, I sheltered a little candle of hope inside of me, that I would find Amie and that we'd be together again--family. But as the months ticked by, all flames were smothered. I stopped looking for her face in the crowd. And there she was, standing there at the bus stop, smiling and laughing as she chattered away on her cellphone, oblivious to me. How long ago had she stopped looking for me? Or, had she ever?
I was standing, and didn't realize I had until a searing heat ate through my jeans. The thrall broke, and I cursed, trying to sop up my spilt coffee with a handful of flimsy paper napkins. By the time I had gotten myself sufficiently cleaned up, she was gone. And I just stood there, with a handful of soggy tissues and a fine tremble running through me. Had she seen me? Did I want her to see me?
Terror and frustration rose up in me at once, and I knew work today was impossible. Dropping the napkins onto the table, I fled the terrace and fished into my pocket for my phone, smacking my thumb down on the speed dial. Jones' voice came up groggily on the other end. Later, I would feel guilty about using him, but for now, I needed him.
It's weird. I don't care about Jones. We aren't lovers. We aren't anything. I could probably shoot him in the face and then eat lunch with his corpse in the room. But, there's something about him that makes me feel safe. He's big, and quiet, and easy-going. And he loves me. Maybe that's the difference. That because he loves me, he won't go out of his way to break that tenative trust. Stupid reasoning, I know, but somehow it makes sense to that deeper parts of me.
He heard the panic in my tone, and promised to meet me at my apartment, but his was closer, and I have a key. It started to rain on the drive, and I was soaked before I even hit the stairs. Not that it mattered. The door just seemed to open on it's own, I don't remember opening it, and I stood wet and dazed in the hall, blinking into Jones' bright living room, the man himself doing the same at me from his couch.
Without words, I flung myself onto him entirely, face pressing into his chest, and just sobbed. He never questioned once.. Just moved his hand over my back in soothing circles and senseless patterns until I finally exhausted myself and calmed. Everything after that was a in a haze, disjointed and dreamlike. He fixed me dinner, ran me a bath, and put me into his bed.
I slept, and never said a word in gratitude.
He was gone when I woke up, so I just changed back into my damp, java-scented jeans and drove home. Now, I'm sitting here writing with the dog's head resting on my thigh, feeling empty and still shaking.
Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.