METANOIA

London night

The grey harshness cut into my eyes as I tiredly scratched my forehead with my short fingernails, reading through the emails that had flooded my inbox since this morning. The insurance company I had contacted late into the evening had informed me that the agents were aware of the fire at The Empire restaurant, they expressed their deepest regret and understanding that the current situation was taking a toll on my life, but they had no jurisdiction to assist me in dealing with the aftermath as the arson version was unproven and therefore not suitable as an insurance case. I clenched my jaw, rolled my eyes and felt a stabbing pain in my eyeballs. I honestly didn't understand why my father had decided to work with an insurance company — there hadn't been any such incidents in the restaurant during his lifetime, but in the case of arson, I would have to pay the insurance agents to make the claims. Opening another letter, I quickly scanned the lines informing me that if the cause of the fire was not covered by insurance, the company could refuse to pay compensation. I pressed my fingers into a triangle and rested my forehead against them, closing my eyes and breathing out tiredly — although I had slept longer than usual today, I felt disgusted, and the gloomy sky, where the clouds stretched like grey cotton wool and merged into the horizon, plunged me into a bleak hopelessness and a sense of despair at the flood of endless problems. The damp morning air was uncomfortably cold on my shoulders and back, hidden behind my black turtleneck, causing an unpleasant stabbing sensation in my shoulder blades, forcing me to constantly distract myself and knead my muscles. I jerked sharply and pulled my cold fingers away from my face as a large black silhouette appeared to my left, which turned out to be Thomas in a charcoal suit.

"Are you all right?" Thomas asked simply, raising an eyebrow in surprise as I looked at the folder in his hands, to which I nodded slowly, still dazed. With trembling fingers I reached for the shiny cigarette case, "As you said," he mentioned as I raised my eyes to his blond head, "information on De Rosso," the beige cardboard folder landed on the wooden table next to my grey laptop.

A small orange tongue of flame bounces off the mirrored backdrop of the gold filter and after a moment the smoke begins to billow into my lungs. I feel it slowly pass down my trembling throat and fill my chest with warmth. I began to feel the pleasant dizziness and relaxation that comes with smoke, which my deputy watched with covert interest. Waving my free hand, I repeated that I was fine and thanked him for the file on De Rosso.

"I can go to the office of the insurer who's been writing you letters," he stubbed his fingers on the desk, leaned down to read the text on the screen, then straightened and stared at me with his stubborn grey eyes. I took another drag, squeezing the cigarette tighter between my index and middle fingers, and rested my chin on my palm, looking down the stone path beneath my bare feet, next to the heels that lay off to the side. The insurance agent's health would depend on my word. I tapped the knob of the chair with the fingernails of my free hand, considering this decision carefully but quickly — I wanted to resolve this conflict peacefully, without resorting to violence, but the brazen extortion of a bribe, amidst other incidents, was increasing my irritability. The old methods are quick and effective, but not long lasting; by threatening once, I could ruin the relationship with the insurance agency forever, although whether it made sense, given that I wanted to end our cooperation, was a matter of course. It was difficult to explain my real reasons for wanting to keep the insurance — perhaps it had something to do with the fact that my father had made that decision, and although he was a complex character, he had more experience in business than I did; perhaps a luxury restaurant in an expensive area of London without insurance would have aroused suspicion. I took another drag. The smoke I exhaled created a cloud of white vapour that slowly wafted through the air, leaving behind a faint scent of tobacco. I watched it rise in thin swirls and slowly disappear. The smoke seemed alive, moving and changing with the movement of the air, creating magical and beautiful images. I slowly nodded to Thomas.