He sits on the cold pavement, feet anchored to the gutter, face turned down as if no-one in the world cares. "Dan!" I call. Twice I say his name, he pretends not to hear me. "Don't ignore me!" I yell. His head slowly lifts, his eyes narrow then blink as though I'm bright sunlight in a dark road.
"Thank God I found you!"
"I wasn't lost." he snaps back. "When did you start believing in God?" His mocking is sharp as ice.
"You know what I mean. I was sick with worry."
He laughs. He doesn't believe a word. I feel a liar, a fraud, someone he doesn't need. The crestfallen look tells me he's not found what he was searching for.
Bolton Street has three bars, and characters no sane person would want to meet. He will have called in every one, looking for mates. Mates... friends? Dan doesn't know what friends are.
They make an appearance to sell him what he's craving. He pays, they'll high five, slap him on the back, all smiles, best buddies, then swiftly turn to the next buyer. He'll think they've done him a favour, because... they're friends.
What kind of friend sells you a gift that could kill?
My questions as to why he needs that shit are never answered. He just says "Sometimes you gotta have something... keep you sane, you know?" He talks of 'something' as if it were food.
I don't know... I really don't know the feeling. I hope I never do. But does that say I'm strong, or just naive to things I'm petrified to try?
"Lets go home. It's cold. We need a hot chocolate moment again?" He smiles a little as he recalls our memorable day. He says, "I need a fucking miracle."
"To save you from what?" I ask irritated. I've heard it all before, but he never explains. "You have everything you need. A warm home... you have me, our beautiful daughter. You said they were the best, the only things worth having. Now you want more? More what?"
"Yes...more!" He shouts. "Freedom!! All the money in the world, can't buy me freedom."
"From what?!!"
His eyes return to the ground. "Can't you see the cage? Can't you see how I'm held?" He reaches out, affectionately strokes my hair, my face, as if trying to calm my storm, but the storm is raging in him.
"Do you ever see with those pretty eyes beyond the obvious Darcy?" He recoils again, refuses to look at me. Don't ask. I'll be dead if I reveal that, and so will you.
YOU ARE READING
Awakening
Fiction générale"Do you ever get the feeling the crazy from another person has somehow become yours? As if in the moment they stormed away in anger, they left behind their screwball ghost, and you... have become it's home." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~...
