Before the Sun

Chapter Three- Like a Doll

Most of my night was spent at the window. Towel cocooning my body and damp hair tickling the length of my back. It was spent in silence, mascara trailing down my cheeks and eyes glossing over. Cars continued to roll around the streets, horns continued to blare, puddles continued to be created and the rain never stopped.

Those things don't stop for anything. They won't halt until you've picked yourself back up, and they won't wait to begin until you have a smile on your face. The world won't wait for you, not at all. Maybe for some that's a tough pill to swallow, but for myself, it's rather comforting. I like the idea that the lack of my presence won't affect the way it all functions, the way the world turns. I like the fact that the sun will still rise in the east and set in the west, even if I'm not here, even if I'm sad, even if I'm happy. Whatever is wrong with me, is just that- me. I'm just one singular person in the swarm of billions of other people, each with a life as complex, miserable and delightful as my own.

As I watched the cars crawl along the drowning streets below, I would pin point just one. I would create a story about them. I would imagine they have a family full of many children and elderly grandparents, or maybe they lived alone with their misbehaved dog. I would imagine they lived in a large, open apartment with high arched ceilings and vases always full of fresh lilies, or maybe they lived out of that very car they were driving in.

Maybe there was a girl driving below, with dark hair and tanned skin. With only one best friend out of the two she once had; with a bodyguard who promised to stay forever and parents who fought the bad guys just like she read in books when she was only a little girl. Maybe she's lost. Lost within the grief, the pain, the maze of life. Because that's what it is after all- life. It's no different to what her neighbour, her friend, her teacher experiences. Maybe she cries at night, or studies the city below her. Maybe she knows she's slipping away, maybe she's not afraid of losing herself. Maybe she thinks if she loses herself, she'll be able to find what she lost.

Maybe, I think too much.

Today, I wake late.

After the sun has risen, after my alarm and after the multiple shouts of my name. After the knocks at my door and cup of orange juice on my bedside table.

"Sofia, this isn't my job."

The voice comes from my doorway, flat and unamused. My eyes remain closed, head turning into the pillow below me as a groan, heavy and drained, travels into the cushion. I hear a softened chuckle, nearing footsteps too. A hand is on my back, my shoulder, pulling me to face the ceiling. Kenny over looks me, a look of light warning and humour on his face.

"Up."

Is all he says, crossing his arms above his chest. I do. Not completely, but I sit up- which is progress. Kenny hands me the glass of juice, vibrant and cold. I take it with a faint smile, smooth liquid slinking into my stomach.

"You're such a princess, you know that?"

He speaks again, teeth popping out from below his lips.

"With the amount my dad pays you, I think I'm allowed to act like a princess every now and then. Don't you agree?"

I question, my words sickly sweet with a hint of sarcasm lacing them. Kenny blows out a puff of air, shaking his head.

"Give me your hand."

He mumbles, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. I let my hand fall into his own, eyes lazily glossing over as the familiar prick to my fingertip arrives.

"Did you like being in the military?"

I ask, my voice raspier and quieter in the early hour. Kenny looks at me through his eye lashes, silent for a moment.