Throw Your Colors at the Dark {Vic Fuentes}

4 - Somebody That I Used to Know

    I finished getting ready for the day, eating a bowl of cereal rather than the omelet I had began.  I didn’t want to linger in the house for much longer and had scooped up the shattered remnants of the radio I destroyed.  When Jeremy asked what had happened, I would simply tell him I slipped and fell and it went with me.  The story seemed plausible since I tended to do awkward things when I was tired in the mornings and he didn’t need to know that I was obsessing over a long gone ex of mine.  I didn’t want him to find out and leave me, abandon my desolate form to the woes of heartbreak that had lasted over ten years.  I couldn’t bear it alone.

    My black curls were up in a pony tail, a black and white scarf wrapped around my slender neck and a black long sleeved shirt stretching over my pale white skin.  The black jeans and combat boots were typical and in the snow, I was grateful for my steel toes.  Jeremy didn’t think much of them but I loved the supple leather and the knowledge that if anyone dared mess with me, a swift kick to the head could do some serious damage.  At least the day would pass quickly and perhaps I would even go an entire afternoon without having to look at the developed film from yesterday.  Perhaps I could request another article to go take pictures for and get my mind off of the shit that was clogging up my system with memories from the past.  It seemed like a relatively decent idea and I would stick to my guns on this one.  My editor liked me anyway and sent me on most of the runs I liked to do.

    Hands were nimble as I trotted over the tiled floors, reaching to grasp the keys on the key rack and the lengthy ebony trench coat that I so loved.  It was snowing again today and therefore I would spend most of my day with frozen fingers and ghosting breath but I didn’t mind as long as I got out of the office.  After the ordeal with the radio a few hours ago I figured that I should just turn on a CD and ignore the world.  It had worked and calmed my mind. 

    I don’t know what I was thinking.  Maybe I was just getting cold feet because my wedding was only a few weeks away.  A month wasn’t that far off and Jeremy was making all the preparations along with his mother.  That may seem strange that the only part I wanted to lend a hand to were the dresses and the flower type but other than that I didn’t really care.  I just wanted to get married and be done with it.  I don’t know if I was thinking of that dark skinned boy because I was scared to be with Jeremy forever or what but I was going to make it seem that way.  I didn’t want to know what my subconscious thought of this scheme of things. 

    Just as I was heading out the door and walking to my Subaru, I smirked as I realized I thought of him without breaking down.  This was a step towards improvement, I was sure of it.  The fact that I was now getting in my car and smiling still was incredible but I dared not turn on the radio for fear that his voice would send me spiraling down back into my heroin addiction.  I swallowed and turned on the CD, blasting the music as I drove to town.

    The newspaper office wasn’t that far away, a few miles but nothing extreme.  I liked living close to my work even if I detested the suburbs.  It left less alone time at this point and that was precisely what I needed.  The last thing I needed was to pull into the news parking lot and be a complete mess from head to toe.  I looked entirely appropriate now and I wasn’t about to change that fact for anyone.  My camera bag sat in the passenger seat glaring at me though as I remembered what was on the film.  As soon as that left it though, it would return to the normal innocent creation that I loved with all my heart.  If anything truly held my love, it was that camera.

    It was a Nikon F6, an extremely expensive birthday present from my fiancé a few years ago.  The creature was perfection, capturing images that I conjured in my wildest dreams.  I don’t know how it did it, seeming to scrape the picture from my brain and place it on film as I looked through the lens.  The photographs were some of the best in the country according to my editor and she often voiced her wonder at my choice to work at a newspaper.  My reply was always a shrug and a ‘well Jeremy wanted to live in the suburbs’.