Rumination

Disclaimer - this will have content surrounding substance abuse, depression and hints at suicide. Please feel free to skip if this offends you in anyway. Everyone is happy to read what they are comfortable with and avoid what they don't like.

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Driving down the 401 N.C highway is a nightly ritual at this point. Racing thoughts usually plagued my mind, leaving me with restless sleep. But over the past year I've become a borderline insomniac, waiting for a contender to cross the finish line to end the race. Without the finish, I am left with dread, tossing and turning in bed like a fish struggling for life. Every night I hope for it to be different, yet rarely has it ever been.

The Moon's surrounded by ashened clouds, entailing a night heavy with rain. I knew that if I wanted to get some fresh air, I should make my stop now, before the torrents forced me back into shelter. Slowing my car to a stop, I leave it in park, with the keys left in the ignition. After the echo of the door shutting reigns out, all I am left with is the sound of the wind carrying sand being slightly overpowered by the hum of the engine, which soon will be devoured by the ambient.

I take the joint out of my pocket and put it in between my fingers, breathing in the cool night air sullied with moisture. Pressing my lips together, I bring it to my mouth, and take a drag after hearing the spark of my lighter. I open my eyes and the dancing flame blinds me, relieving life’s tight grip on me, with smoke enveloping my alveoli, starving them. My nightly ritual to get to sleep - a "natural" remedy they say. "We evolved with it, man," they say. I wonder what came first some time - the addiction or the restlessness?

As I smoke, life's static is muted. Without the noise, I find myself calming down slightly, evident from my shoulders going slack. While the desert's dunes were quiet and still, Night City conspicuously stands out. Her chromatic neon lights drown out the night sky, overshadowing the subtle beauty of the moon and stars. Amalgamations of complexes and businesses make up the heart of the city, each distinctly compartmentalized from one another. Humans now wander the street with cyberware augments, breaking through our natural limits. Brawlers replace their arms with "Gorilla Arms", hackers install routers to their brains to connect to networks through the mind, and much more.

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“You look sad. Lonely.” Unnerved, I quickly turn my head to the source of compassion. Standing slightly shorter than me, she was pretty. Shoulder-length hair hides half her face, covered with brunette-blonde hair. Hooded eyes gave her sharpness that beautifully went well with her soft features. Her round eyes suspended teal sapphires in the center, holding two tiny blackholes with an umbra of a green-blue hue flowing aimlessly.

"That's one way to introduce yourself," I say. "What are you doing out here? Assumed no one would be here at this hour."

She looked capable. Her small stature may fool most, but her movements were too graceful. No wasted motion; precise movements reveal little, like a spy gaining your trust. Her athletic figure revealed few cyberware augments, meaning she fought with her wits, not her brawn. In other words, her mind was a one-of-a-kind in today's world.

“Why are you out here?” She says, with a sly smirk.

Strange to find somebody so calm in Night City. They City was prosperous, though dangerous for the same reason. Corpos flooded the city with Eddies, but ruled with an iron fist, fueling countless corporate wars. Street Kids are the soldiers, wasting their lives away chasing glory, fame and sex, but are nothing more than victims of a long broken system. Aimless souls can create the best expendable army. "Aren't you worried? For all you know I am trying to get away with something nefarious, and now you are a witness," I tease back.

"I am pretty sure you aren't."

"What makes you say that?"

"The ground around us is too hard and rocky to dig, so you aren't here to hide or get rid of something. No smuggler in their right mind would make a deal so close to the city and out in the open, so no way you're here for that. So aside from that, few nefarious reasons left." She smiled, triumphantly.

Smart. "Maybe I am a serial killer then, just looking for my next victim."

"Well, I may be slightly worried but I will be okay. Though it would be a shame - I was just having fun with this conversation," she teases.

“Touché, though I do have a reason. It's just not a good one.” I said, leaving a despondent cocky smile, admitting defeat. I felt her gaze but refused to meet here eyes. She must have realized how reserved I was going to be since she then went, “It’s a nice night. Most people in Night City hate the rain, but I always liked it. It reminds me of when I was a kid. I used to ride my bike to get away from my parents, to be alone in the rain with nobody to bother me. To do the same thing you're doing right now." As her words sink in, I wonder what she meant - did she point at me or the joint?

"I never learned how to ride a bike," I said solemnly. "What was it like to do that as a kid? To just ride a bike in the rain with no worries."

"You never learned?! Why?"

"My dad promised to teach me, but he was always so busy. I'd wait, but on-call junior doctors don't tend to have the best schedules." With a pause, I then say, "I don't blame him though."

I meet her eyes, and feign a forced smile. I felt like I owed her an explanation. "I come here for a break. In a lot of ways, my life is meant to be great. I have friends and family who love me, yet its hard to believe."

"Cryptic words," clearly emphasizing that I failed in my explanation.

"Think of it this way - we all have an inner voice. I believe that is who we really are. As kids, our inner voice is unrestrained, free, and in-fact implored, to experience the world. Its why we crucify those who hurt children - taking away their innocence is almost a crime against humanity. Though with age, we mold ourselves an identity, with no real understanding how and why we become who we are. Our elasticity goes stiff, until it's plastic. We don't pick who we become - we either like it or don't." My voice trails off, thinking whether I am making any sense with what I am saying.

I continue, "That's why I come out here. The character I have become is loved by many." My voice breaks, trying to think of a way to explain. "But I don't - I am tired of playing this character. I'm... exhausted." I finally finish with a sigh of relief.

Her expression contorted, deciding between melancholy and sympathy. She used to do that whenever I would shares things with her... and only shared with her.

"But maybe you can turn it into a good thing. People like you tend to live in despair, and yet will cheer up the same children who you were just talking about. Because of how you feel, you can help others who feel the same way - those that feign smiles through a rough time in their life. You can see through it. You might not want to be this person, but maybe you can be a person who is needed. Someone whose presence if gone, would be a great sadness to those everybody around them." An exaggerated smile stretched across her face, where even the ends of her lips curled to reach her rosy cheeks.

And there a time before where I would go on, constantly telling her she was wrong and continue to self-wallow. Spitting in her face would have been more of a kindness than the person I was back then. I guess I should end this charade before it gets too pathetic. "You always did know how to say the right things at the right time. If only I recognized it before everything." Confusion paints her face, not realizing what was about to happen. "What's your name?"

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Her smile disappears. Everything comes to a halt - the hum of the car, the vibrant lights of the city, even the rain falling. My stomach sinks, along with the ends of her mouth. Her eyes go from clear to glossy, doing her best to keep it together.

“You know who I am. Don't you remember? "A wave of sadness washes over her, and like a child about to drown, I got caught in her current, not realizing I was being whisked away. Goosebumps take over my body; blood radiates heat into my skin to rid of the excess coming from my fast-beating heart, and only the sound of her breath and voice are in my focus.

“``I... remember. I just…. It's always harder to just get started.”

“I’m K.”

“You’re K. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” I snicker, smile, and lock eyes back with the ground. I was never good at keeping eye contact. I am just uncomfortable making everyone else uncomfortable.

I stand there next to her, just glad to have somebody around. Her presence is comforting. It's funny, I come out to be alone, to get away from everybody and enjoy my peace and quiet, yet it's those moments when I crave for somebody the most. What an awful way to be alive. When we don't know what to do, we ostracize ourselves, justifiably fearful of the world around us. Though when we have peace, we become like shaken up coke cans. Peace generally doesn't contain itself - it forcefully attempts to share itself with the world.

“You left.” I said, sorrowfully.

“I left."

"I made you leave."

A wince of pain flashes across her face. "That's not what I said... You were just so sad... and I didn't know what to do..." Her voice continues to break whenever she tries. "You were your own worst enemy - your mind convincing you that everyone around you hated you or didn't love you. Towards the end, it even made you doubt me. It hurt too much." She acknowledges my nod of understanding, though doubting she made her point. "It hurt that loving you couldn't temper your anxieties enough."

Her anguish was palpable, and I know that I hurt her in a way that no one could. In a way, the wound she endured was as deep as the love she had for me, for she loved more intensely than she could ever hate. K. was kind-hearted, and empathetic to a Tee. A compassionate soul, donating her time helping at-risk kids with homework; constantly pushing others to be patient and understanding; and always attempting to be the best for herself and those around her. I could be damned when it came to her time with her students. I always loved that she saw me as her partner, but still had her own desires. Instead of adopting mine, she shared hers with me. A vulnerability I never thought anyone would willing share with me, and yet she did. I wonder what she saw in me back then?

I spent time reflecting on my behaviors and thought patterns, understanding that I had become neurotic, allowing it to bleed into my life. Without self-affirmation, neuroticism consumes the self, and ruins your relationships. Admitting a need for help has helped already, and I only hope to continue to improve.

"You... you could grow with me if you came back."

"But its too late."

"But its too late?" I say. "I have learned to recognize my bad habits, and ho-" I stop after I lay eyes on her, realizing what I am saying is futile. Her own demons come into the fray, and I am reminded that she was a person too. She has been through too much with me, and while I bring some joy to her, she mainly sees pain now. I remind her of how she wasn't enough as a person. I wish she realized that we are all growing as people, and that my failure to understand she was enough did not mean she was not enough. It's better to stop - I can't keep upsetting her like this.

Acceptance of her feelings turn my eyes into the overhang of a waterfall, with a Pan Am smile painted across my face. She sees my ability to smile through the rough times, and her arms attempt to wrap around me, only for her whole to pass right through me.

"I shouldn't be surprised I'd think K. would do that. Like me, she always did like being held when she was sad." She stares at her hands in disbelief, not understanding what she is. Her puppy eyes look up right at me, begging for an explanation. "My neural-link can express parts of my consciousness as mental constructs... Except with you... You are nothing more than what I think K. would be like. You were the first person to love me for the flawed human that I am, and so I can't let you go. I'll be all alone again, and I don't want to be alone anymore. I can't bring myself to defile your image in any way. You were rebelliously brave and independent, and I'd never take that away from you."

As she tries to begin to say something, the construct glitches and the expression that I so sorely missed turned into a cold, expressionless stare - the type a parent would give to a child before expressing how disappointed they are.

"This is pathetic, loser," she sneered. "How can you possibly think this was a good idea to get over me, idiot. You need to get the fuck up and go take care of yourself." Even with how ugly this is, I can't help but want to see her again.

Tears only continue to fall, as I realize the joint begins to wear off. "Narrators are never guaranteed to be reliable," I say to myself. The racing thoughts come back, and obfuscate effectivity for toxicity. The rain continues to hide my tears, but rapid, shallow breathing gives me away.

"I miss you, K."

"I don't."

I flick the roach of my joint away, hands pruned from the rain and coat soaked like a sponge. I look back up to the sky and take a deep breath. Rain washes me, cleanses me of the outburst I needed before I head back to my life - before I head back to containment.

As I open the car door, I look back to where K. was standing, and she is gone. Maybe I will see her again tomorrow, or maybe I will see somebody else.

I get into my car, close the door and turn the key. The hum of the engines overpowers the rhythm of the rain, replacing it with the drone of a bee. I take a deep breath, and drive off, back to Night City.