Pt. 13 – Previous parts in the serie can be found here.
A weekly blog serie based on the character Mia – the rebellious one, who struggles to leave the past behind and face her fears. It’s been clear, long before, that the choices she makes tend to her in trouble. But what happens when the present forces her to let out a long kept secret?
I tend to want the things I can’t have while I reject greatly the things that I can. Nicholas fits in both categories. I felt alive chasing craziness but vulnerable when it got too close and maybe too complicated. Attempting to move forward will be difficult, I imagine. The ‘break-up’ will follow me for days to come. He’ll remind me of the things I can and can’t have. Onwards, every time I see him at work I’ll be once again reminded that I’m incapable of staying out of trouble. Like the time I got too drunk celebrating my 18th birthday. Mother with the look of despair on her face and body language that did not show any signs of excitement to see me, nonetheless at the police station. I didn’t win ‘daughter-of-the-year’ award that year. No other year for the matter.
The irony though, if someone is to ask me what I want my answer wouldn’t be so clear. My face would automatically shape itself into a questionmark. In addition I would feel even more incapable of answering such b.s. of a question and work my way to change the conversation. The typical ‘what do you want’ remarks, or ‘what are you looking for’ as if I hold the answers. Well, I don’t. ‘If I knew such facts of life, you wouldn’t need to ask.’ I can’t help my sarcastic ways. For I usually don’t have an elicit information to feed their curiosity and perhaps ego. But I’m glad to give them the satisfaction that my life is a mess.
Silence starts to kick in. The boys have finally gone to their rooms where I hope they’ll stay the rest of my night shift. On Sunday nights they seem to respect the rules and stride off without any buts or whys. I’ve guessed that it’s when they don’t possess the energy to be rebellious adolescent, bending the rules until it is broken.
I’m left to myself in the living-room as I contemplate what to do the remaining hours – nine hours to be exact. I scroll through the paper pretending I care, I check the TV guide and build the urge to binge watch sappy movies, where life always has a happy ending. All for a reason to cry. They say it’s healthy but no one teaches you how to stop once it’s turned on.
It’s looking pretty gloomy outside. The darkened windows in the house image fallen daylight; Sunday now turning to Monday. There is a sense of serenity working nights. Still I don’t do much but read and if that becomes too hard there is the internet world to browse through. But mostly I only exist and watch time pass by whilst the rest of the city sleeps. I contemplate more on my next move which I know nothing about. I ask myself the burning question that seem to be on everyone’s mind – what am I doing with my life? Essentially it comes to the nothingness of my actions whilst I test my patience carefully as I wait for life to offer me clarity. I’ve pretty much given up on therapy, so my sanity isn’t making a comeback anytime soon.
I gave up a well-payed job where I had my own office and responsibilities. According to Maddie and mother, I gave it all up to sit alone lurking in the dark. Out of respect they don’t say it with words but I hear them; silent judgements hidden behind their worrisome glare and interrogations. To the outside world my life was perfect and living my best years. But that wasn’t until the wall became to high for me to climb. No one realizes that it all made me weak as I forced myself to show strength or laugh when I felt like burst out cry. Working long hours at the office meant juggling everyone’s emotional needs and desires. And with every ‘yes’ I mouthed to clients and coworkers I managed to bury myself deeper. Yet in my defense I felt fear of feeling what I had compressed within. It’s true of what they say, ‘the past eventually comes back to haunt you and if not dealt with, it will destroy you.’
After two movies, reading about the rest of the world at war with each other and watching people doing stupid things, I’ve completed my last house chores before the day shift begins. And before Nicholas comes to the office. I manage to wake up three out of four boys for school after five attempts – a new personal record. I sit down and join Luchia, the only (teenage) girl in the house, for breakfast. She’s usually up before the boys, before birds start their morning tweets. She doesn’t say much. I don’t bother her either. I tell myself it’s better to sit in silence than force a conversation. I’ve never been one to force anything.
“Whatdoesitsay?” she asks, pointing with her spoon towards my right arm. My tiny tattoo of words [Lux in Tenebris] caught her attention. I don’t mind the curiosity, a well deserving break from silence.
“Light in darkness. Latin.”
The time strikes half past seven. I move around finding things to do to fight off my drowsiness. My eyes are finding it difficult to stay open. I pour cold water on my face in the bathroom in hopes it will keep me awake (my body shivers to wake), even if briefly. I decide not to get into things when he comes. Neither show signs that might be misleading. I remind myself that we’ll have to remain professionals. I decide to go back to Kristin, perhaps she has more questions to that will keep my mind of things.
“He’s brought you coffee,” she says as I return.
“Who brought me coffee?” I say as if she’s telling a joke.
In my head I thought she had started a different version of a ‘knock, knock’ joke. But to my surprise she points at an actual coffee cup sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Oh.” I want to add the fact that I don’t drink coffee but I don’t want to say too much. I’m surprised but I try not to show any hint of excitement. Nor gratitude in the risk of revealing anything. Somehow, I can’t help but feel cheerful. I notice my heart suddenly beating a bit faster. And for some weird reason (that I dare not to explore) I feel awake. My eyes don’t struggle to stay open. All is good for a split second and I find myself dreading to face him again. I pick up the paper cup and the immediate fuming smell suggests is not coffee. He seem to have remembered; my usual order, my comfort when the world is cold or when I want a treat – chai latte. And the taste of it confirms it. I hold the cup in my hand letting the heat transport itself and submerge my body. I notice there is a note attached at the bottom. But I wait until Kristin disappears behind the walls before reading it…
“I hope you have a nice day. I miss you. – N.”