Cigarettes

Right now, I feel better than I have in weeks. This deeper breathing that my all-crazy yoga-sister has been nagging on me for, I think it finally got to me. My momma would be proud, if she was here. I feel so relaxed, like thoroughly. Gravity’s hugging me more comfortably than ever before. I twirl my toes, stretch my legs out under the sheets. Mmm. Turn to the side, hand on my shoulder, cheek resting on this all-too-soft pillow. My breath stinks old cigarette, but even that’s okay. Then I felt it, the itching little bastard-hole in my mind that came when I knew I had forgotten something, but couldn’t remember what. When did I go to bed? I frown. No, Jo, don’t open your eyes. I let myself ooze back into the much comforting, relaxing state of dreaming. I had forgotten what it felt like to be sleeping properly. Whatever. Frown softening out, I crack my neck, eyes still closed. But, Jo, when did you go to bed? Weren’t you at work, putting in files? No, you just got home. Oh right, fell asleep on the couch. You spilled wine, remember, did you clean up the mess? Better check. “Are you hungry?”. Male voice from afar, deep, rough, rusty, like it had been standing in the garage for too long, unfamiliar. Wait. I lift my eyelids. White. What? White shelfs, in a white drawer, next to a white cupboard. I never buy white furniture. White wall, white ceiling, grey, wooden floor. White pillow, white sheets. Who said that? My stomach roars. I sit up, now wide awake. This is not my flat. What the hell? I stand up fast. Dizzy. Aah. Hand to my head. Cold. Hungry. Naked. Fuck. Feeling of guilt and shame and panic runs through my body as I jump back under the sheets just in time. A man appears in the door, his face matching his voice. I mean, did he ever meet people at all? Another wave of condemnatory thoughts rush over my mind as I observe the figure standing a room-length away from my covered, but all-too-nude body. Brown jacket, stained trousers, smelling like coffee and wet car seat. “Hello”, I say, attempting a somewhat normal approach to this unavoidably awkward encounter. “Hi, I’m sorry, good evening. You were asleep when I left to get some groceries, I just came back. There’s plenty.” I can’t believe I’d sunken this low. Disgust. “Are you okay?” He says, stepping into the room. I raise my eyebrows, noticing my heart-rate increasing. “Hi, sorry, yes, I’m not hungry.” I stutter sharply, sitting up, covering my shoulders. Shit, if he comes any closer, I kick him in the balls. I glance at my panties in the corner, how did they get that far? My sister’s going to kill me for doing this again. Fuck. He walks closer, then hesitates and stops, his worried eyes hammering into mine. “Jo?”. What. “How do you know my name? Who the hell are you?” He steps back, an inch of hurt in his eyes. I hold his gaze hard, confusion piling up before my eyes. His shoulders lowered, he shakes his head, muttering something “back then… “, and walks out. “I’m sorry, put some clothes on, he’ll be here soon”, he says. I look down, relieved, for a moment frozen in my guarding dog-like position. I hear him walk into another room, closing the door softly. Oh god. I rush to my clothes, desperately grabbing my stuff. Who was he, who’s coming, doesn’t matter, get out, get home. Phone in my pocket, 8 unanswered calls from yoga-sister. She’s got to calm down. “Ella?” My phone’s cold. “Jo! Oh my god, where are you?” She’s breathing heavily, almost breaking point-crying on the other end. “I’ve been calling. My god, I’m sorry. I waited for a LONG time before calling them this time, I’m so glad you’re okay. Jo, where are you?”. I pull up my sipper and walk fast out of the crazy white-room. “Ella, I’m okay, hold on for a bit.” I say and hang up. I’m such a bad person. His hallway stinks of sweaty shoes and broccoli, several poster-covered doors leaning in against me. Out I need a cigarette. I sneak down the corridor. “Wait, Jo, where are you going?”. I hesitate, Coffee-breath walks towards me slowly. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not interested. Nice to meet you, have a good afternoon”. The phrase swims off my tongue on autopilot. “What?”. I open the front door, hard-hammering English rain hitting me in the face. Yeesh. “Jo, hold on. You’re wrong. We didn’t …”. I stop. Maybe he’s not lying. I sigh, almost vomiting the words. “Who are you? How much did I drink? Where are we?”. I feel the all-too familiar ball of panic settling in my chest. Breathe. “Jo …”, “and how the hell do you know my name?!”. I want a cigarette. “Calm down. I know you don’t remember …”, someone give me a cigarette. “But you’ve been here many times. You’re safe. My name is Rob”. Please. I frown hesitatingly. Letting it sink, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. Stop it, Ella. “We’ve known each other for a few months now”. His eyes do look familiar, now that I think of it. But how? “I knew your mother back in the days, she’d … do things, and forget things, too”. He knew momma. What the actual … “Months? I don’t believe that, you’re mad. Why …?” I hesitate, my phone starts vibrating again. Now she’s texting rapidly. “My son,” he says. “Dan”. My head makes a twirl, I stopped seeing Dan a few months ago, didn’t I? A rush of butterfly-fireworks leans into my chest, next to the itching fear and betrayal and guilt. I push them away. My thigh tickles. I grab my phone, ready to virtually stab my sister. I GOT SOME STUFF FROM THE FIREMAN’S OFFICE, the message says. What? IF YOU’RE AT DAN’S, I’M COMING. Fuck. I turn off my phone. “You’re Dan’s dad? He lives here now? And you knew momma? And now I woke up naked in your bed without remembering I ever met you? Dan’s coming?”. He smiles. Actually, smiles. Now I’m pissed off. He moves into the kitchen. It’s filled with yet another set of clean, white furniture. “I don’t live here, honey, I’m just making sure you’d have someone to talk to when you woke up. I'll explain and help you remember, talk you through everything that happened this time. I used to do this with your mother, back when we were together. You know, before everything, before she had to … leave and all. I guess that’s why Dan felt like he could ask me, fill me in on what he knew first, if not for my profession. It’s not nice, you know, telling people they’ve done crazy awful things and forgotten about it ... What’s the last thing you remember? You were at home?” My chest sinks. I stop breathing, sitting down. “Glass of water, please”. What if he’s right, am I crazy, I don’t remember. Well, I remember the feeling of knowing I had forgotten something. No, no way. But how did I get here then? I fold my hands, they’re sweaty and itchy. I know my hands, they can do things. “I spilled wine, and fell asleep on the couch”, I say. If no one gives me a cigarette soon, I'll ... He looks at me, leans back, thinks for a while. What did I do? His eyes are darker than they should be. “Well, no one died this time, but the whole family ended up in hospital, also having lost their home forever.” I swallow. " The door opens brutally. Her rapid footsteps rush closer, they grab me and take me away. Far, far away. It feels familiar. And I sink, again I think. Into myself and my itching bastard-holes, and my wanting cigarettes, and my leaving Dan, and my falling asleep holding red wine that burn in my throat, and my waking up in white rooms. Right now, I feel better than I have in weeks.