Drunken Illusion (Creds to Zoë Page)

I sat in my chair, inhaling the darkness around me as I scrolled through my phone. I glanced at the clock, passing away, to discover the day had already been refreshed onto the next. 

It wasn’t long until I heard a light pounding from the front door, who the hell would be at my door at this time - especially the timing. What kind of maniac goes to someone’s house out of nowhere at this time of day? I grabbed an old baseball bat from the cupboard just seconds away from the front door before cautiously approaching the individual behind my door. I gripped tightly onto the bat, leaving it hanging from my hand as I opened the door slowly with the other.

The figure of the person was a shadow. I could merely make out the person’s features until I recognized the voice. A soft, pleasant sound that can leave cracks in anyone’s patience. My bothersome neighbour. She appeared as if she could fall to her knees at any second without admonition. She had: a darkness swelling around her sage-green eyes; an olive-green dress–that matched her eyes perfectly–hugging her shape; her hair was disarranged yet so gorgeously wavy; make-up had worn off; and her eyes looked as if they were threatening to shut.

She muttered something under her breath quietly before her legs started to wobble and lose balance. I scarcely caught her in my embrace, making sure to be heedful. I carefully place her down onto the floor trying to prevent any discomfort and delicately cloak my hands around the back of her knees and back, steadily lifting her in my arms and shutting the door closed with the back of my foot.

I transferred her to the living room and gently laid her onto the couch, slowly letting my hands drift away from her skin. Her face looked delicate–so delicate that even the bluntest object could scratch the thinnest line across her skin. I glance at her and start questioning myself; why she’s even here. She hates my guts, and I hate hers. At least I think so. She’s just so annoying, she’s always teasing me, pulling pranks on me that I’ll never be able to avoid. But I can’t help but feel attached, like I can’t control this feeling. I can't help but feel something in her presence, a sort of sereneness. I snap out of my thoughts as I hear a slight movement to find her readjusting herself, still sound asleep. I quickly walk to my room, trying to make as little noise as possible, and grab the smoky-coloured blanket settled across my bed. I escorted myself out and headed back to the living room. I tossed the blanket over her still figure prudently as her nose twitched remotely. I discern the strand of hair hovering just under her nose and steadily stir it behind her ear.

As I sit by her side, kneeling on the floor, I peer at her face as there is a soft pink surface to it. My mind conveyed back to yesterday evening as I came back from work in fatigue. I wore a sharp black suit, collar was unbuttoned, tie loosened–trying to maintain its grasp around my collar. My shirt clutched to my torso – slightly unpleasant to wear – as my jacket was dangled on the base of my arm, my jet-black trousers just out of reach of my ankles. I was drenched in my own cold sweat, hence, I wanted to make my way to my apartment as swiftly as possible. I set foot into the elevator and hit the button that led to my floor, letting out a soft sigh. The doors were closing until a figure bung the closing doors with their foot and stepped in. My neighbour. The last person I’d want to see right now. She took a glimpse of my damp structure as the doors closed and a soft pink had made its way to the surface of her face, wheeling her head in the opposite side of my presence. I looked her up and down, tilting my head to the side. “Are you…okay…?” I asked, perplexed. She seemed slightly nervous which is usually quite the opposite.

“Of course I'm fine! Why wouldn’t I be?” She blurted out. 

“Well you seem… how can I put it… troubled-”

“You’re not one to talk. You are literally a talking swamp.” She snorted, glancing away from me so I couldn't see her face. "I also don't see why you would care: you hate me." 

"I can say the same for you," I replied bitterly. I don't know why I thought she'd actually open up to me. She never would, and never will; all our interactions are dry and hateful. 

I snapped out of my thoughts as I heard a mumbling babble to find her awoke, making me slightly jolt out of place. She still seemed tipsy from her movements. “Wait, don’t get up so suddenly.” I spoke lightly as I tenderly gripped her forearms, pulling her back down to sit. After a moment, I realised I had been gazing into her sage eyes and immediately let go, veering my head. I clear my throat as I begin to speak, “You seem a bit pink. Are you sick?” She doesn’t reply but instead stares blankly at me, as if she’s trying to observe me. A sigh escapes my mouth as I walk to the kitchen and grasp a paper towel, turning the cold water on. I situate the paper towel under the running water promptly, preventing the water from completely drowning it.

As I enter the living room, I find her sitting with her head laid back in exhaust. I approach her and subtly place the paper towel on the base of her forehead as a hiss broke from her, my fingers slipping away from the item. “Come here, I wanna tell you something.” She spoke in a wobbly utter. I bent down to her level as she signed for me to come closer. Before I could reach her even height, she grabbed the collar of my shirt, stroking my ear with her breath, “You’re so gullible.” Her faint chuckle echoed through my ear as I realised she was never drunk in the first place…