"Drifter"
Drifter
Through the dark, a sound comes that erupts the still silence of night into madness. I hear it through my half-dazed mind; my body has been long deprived of sleep, and I wish to shut out the bothersome sound. My eyes shut, but the pounding grows in volume, and I literally tumble out of bed to investigate its origin.
My eyes warning to glue shut, I slowly walk over to the front-door where I’ve located the sound. I make to look out the peephole, and then realize that there is none to be found. I pause, slightly troubled, until I remember that the old apartment had the peephole; this one just has one of those useless chains that supposedly keep robbers out. My hand pulls the chain, and then inches towards the doorknob. I hesitate for a moment when turning it, but then decide to open it, and let whatever trouble that lies on the other side in.
The door opens slightly thanks to the chain, and I see a tall figure; a woman. Through the darkness, I can tell that she is very pretty; the type that would never go for me. That thought somehow annoys me, and I discard it. For all I know, her pretty looks are hiding some ulterior motive; there have been plenty of female serial killers. Perhaps this is another one.
She speaks not a word; she does not explain her reason to be there, and I pull the chain out; she’s too delicate-looking to be a serial killer, I decide. I even pull the door further open; I am unsure what possesses me to do this. Without further invitation, she enters.
Her eyes are red and puffy; She’s been crying, I conclude, and that same instinct that caused me to allow her entrance possesses me to wrap my arms around her in a tight embrace, and from the heavy heaving of her shoulders, I can tell that she is crying again.
---
Night quickly becomes day, and the strange girl does not leave. She doesn’t talk much. I learn her name; Alex Smith. The name doesn’t suit her. It’s too plain; her looks call for a more fitting name. I feel like requesting she stop going by the nickname, but I decide that I am still too much of a stranger. Six hours of knowing someone doesn’t allow you to request name changes, but all the same, Alexandra suits her better.
---
She cries a lot. I don’t know why. She won’t tell me the few times I pause to ask. Her eyes become puffy and red; she’s been with me a week or so now. She seems to lead her own life, while I lead mine. For some strange odd reason, I’m glad she found my apartment… She completes me, in her own way.
She has money; a purse full of credit cards, I mean. I go with her to the store to buy her necessities. Clothes. She finds ones that seem to match her personality; something bright to match her beautiful features, and something dark to match that sad fragility that seems to follow her all throughout the day.
---
I’m not sure when or why I begin to love her; it begins almost as friendship, although I can tell she feels the same fondness towards me that I feel towards her. She opens up more; she laughs, and I decide that it is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard… I struggle with my feelings. I don’t want to rush into things although she’s been living here for almost a month now; I’ve concluded that someone broke that heart of hers terribly…
I don’t want to do the same.
---
Days pass, and my infatuation for her grows. I daydream about her-- her hair, mainly. It’s long, dark, and beautiful. I long to touch it, but resist.
Throwing all cautions to the four winds, I place a hand on hers, and for the first time feel her hands. They are freezing cold, despite the sun, yet seem somewhat comforting. She stares at me, and her eyes are not watery. I feel my mouth growing closer to hers, and I give her an unexpected kiss. She returns it.
---
We love each other. I know it. We spend days walking around the city; some days the streets are damp and slick with rain like the night I found her… Other times, they aren’t.
Her hands grow warmer with time, and though she never tells me why or how her heart was broken, I forget to remember to ask.
It is unimportant.
---
There comes a day when I find her space on the bed we shared empty again; her clothes are gone from the closet, and it as if she had never existed. I don’t cry; I’m too shocked to cry… Did I imagine her? No. She was too real. Was she a ghost? No. Apparitions had never been something I believed in-- even as a youth, but all the same, where is she?
I almost go with my first theory, but then discard it when I find a small diamond earring she’d worn every day; it’s almost as if she left it there to give me proof that she had been there.
I go through a period of time in which I think she is dead. Maybe an ex-boyfriend or someone killed her, but then again, no one had a key to our apartment-- not even Alexandra. Anytime I left, she was right there with me… Her disappearance is a mystery to me, and it nearly drives me mad, and then I realize: maybe she was a drifter. Maybe, just maybe, although I so needed her in my life, she only needed me to fill in the sadness, before moving on again.
Maybe she didn’t love me at all.
Through the dark, a sound comes that erupts the still silence of night into madness. I hear it through my half-dazed mind; my body has been long deprived of sleep, and I wish to shut out the bothersome sound. My eyes shut, but the pounding grows in volume, and I literally tumble out of bed to investigate its origin.
My eyes warning to glue shut, I slowly walk over to the front-door where I’ve located the sound. I make to look out the peephole, and then realize that there is none to be found. I pause, slightly troubled, until I remember that the old apartment had the peephole; this one just has one of those useless chains that supposedly keep robbers out. My hand pulls the chain, and then inches towards the doorknob. I hesitate for a moment when turning it, but then decide to open it, and let whatever trouble that lies on the other side in.
The door opens slightly thanks to the chain, and I see a tall figure; a woman. Through the darkness, I can tell that she is very pretty; the type that would never go for me. That thought somehow annoys me, and I discard it. For all I know, her pretty looks are hiding some ulterior motive; there have been plenty of female serial killers. Perhaps this is another one.
She speaks not a word; she does not explain her reason to be there, and I pull the chain out; she’s too delicate-looking to be a serial killer, I decide. I even pull the door further open; I am unsure what possesses me to do this. Without further invitation, she enters.
Her eyes are red and puffy; She’s been crying, I conclude, and that same instinct that caused me to allow her entrance possesses me to wrap my arms around her in a tight embrace, and from the heavy heaving of her shoulders, I can tell that she is crying again.
---
Night quickly becomes day, and the strange girl does not leave. She doesn’t talk much. I learn her name; Alex Smith. The name doesn’t suit her. It’s too plain; her looks call for a more fitting name. I feel like requesting she stop going by the nickname, but I decide that I am still too much of a stranger. Six hours of knowing someone doesn’t allow you to request name changes, but all the same, Alexandra suits her better.
---
She cries a lot. I don’t know why. She won’t tell me the few times I pause to ask. Her eyes become puffy and red; she’s been with me a week or so now. She seems to lead her own life, while I lead mine. For some strange odd reason, I’m glad she found my apartment… She completes me, in her own way.
She has money; a purse full of credit cards, I mean. I go with her to the store to buy her necessities. Clothes. She finds ones that seem to match her personality; something bright to match her beautiful features, and something dark to match that sad fragility that seems to follow her all throughout the day.
---
I’m not sure when or why I begin to love her; it begins almost as friendship, although I can tell she feels the same fondness towards me that I feel towards her. She opens up more; she laughs, and I decide that it is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard… I struggle with my feelings. I don’t want to rush into things although she’s been living here for almost a month now; I’ve concluded that someone broke that heart of hers terribly…
I don’t want to do the same.
---
Days pass, and my infatuation for her grows. I daydream about her-- her hair, mainly. It’s long, dark, and beautiful. I long to touch it, but resist.
Throwing all cautions to the four winds, I place a hand on hers, and for the first time feel her hands. They are freezing cold, despite the sun, yet seem somewhat comforting. She stares at me, and her eyes are not watery. I feel my mouth growing closer to hers, and I give her an unexpected kiss. She returns it.
---
We love each other. I know it. We spend days walking around the city; some days the streets are damp and slick with rain like the night I found her… Other times, they aren’t.
Her hands grow warmer with time, and though she never tells me why or how her heart was broken, I forget to remember to ask.
It is unimportant.
---
There comes a day when I find her space on the bed we shared empty again; her clothes are gone from the closet, and it as if she had never existed. I don’t cry; I’m too shocked to cry… Did I imagine her? No. She was too real. Was she a ghost? No. Apparitions had never been something I believed in-- even as a youth, but all the same, where is she?
I almost go with my first theory, but then discard it when I find a small diamond earring she’d worn every day; it’s almost as if she left it there to give me proof that she had been there.
I go through a period of time in which I think she is dead. Maybe an ex-boyfriend or someone killed her, but then again, no one had a key to our apartment-- not even Alexandra. Anytime I left, she was right there with me… Her disappearance is a mystery to me, and it nearly drives me mad, and then I realize: maybe she was a drifter. Maybe, just maybe, although I so needed her in my life, she only needed me to fill in the sadness, before moving on again.
Maybe she didn’t love me at all.