With All My Senses

house call

havoc /noun/

1. widespread destruction

sometime later

The bell rings. A piercing sound so high that it seems to make my ears bleed. I moan, throw a small carpet off my body, and drag myself from the wooden floor. My feet stumble under me as I head for the door.

The bell keeps ringing. I hold back the tears. The pain is excruciating.

I look through the peek hole and clench my teeth, trying not to scream and ignore the pneumatic hammer destroying my brain. I swallow, not sure what to do. It's him. Paying me a house call. Just like he said he would. I watch his worried and frustrated face and stand there for a couple more seconds, frozen to the spot. He starts to pound on the door. I jump back startled, yet still grateful that he didn't ring the doorbell this time.

I know you're there...

He starts and then cuts abruptly, probably realizing he never asked for my name. I hear him curse under his nose and then he pounds again on the door.

Just open up. I can see your shadow under the door.

I almost jump back, like a child being caught on doing something bad. I move without coordination, fall to the ground and hit my elbow on the hard wooden floor. I growl while the pain in my head mixes with the one coming from my arm.

Son of a bitch.

Please let me in. I have medical training, remember? I can help.

I lift myself to my knees and get up. Oh, what the hell, he couldn't possibly make this worse than it already was.

I unhook the multiple chains and locks and step out the door so he doesn't see the catastrophe, that was once my flat. I couldn't control what was going around in my head and I lashed out on almost everything I could find. Things flying in the air, the place a mess. Pieces of broken glass everywhere. This time the place really resembled a junkyard.

I cover myself tightly with my over-sized, grey hooded blouse, crossing my arms, feeling weak but already going in my defensive mode. The one that I have used, as long as I can remember. Whatever the situation I was in, this has never changed. I stand there in my black, ripped jeans, messy hair tied in a falling apart knot, and stare at him. I bit my lip, not sure what to say or do.

Will you let me in? Or are we just going to stand here like this in awkward silence?

I turn back, open the door wide and step in, not even looking if he is following behind me. I pass the pieces of glass on the floor and sit on a sofa and then close my eyes. My hands tremble.

I hear him come in but keep my eyes closed. Too tired and embarrassed to even look at him. I know I was being childish, and that I desperately needed help.

This is the time you can muck my junkyard.

I say in a low voice and feel him get closer. I don't have to see him, to guess what's he's doing. He crouches in front of me and grabs my hand. I know that normally he would start with examining my body and the possible injuries... but in this case we both know the obvious procedure wouldn't have worked. I feel his fingers slide against my cold skin and a certain warmth starts to spread. It fills my veins and slowly moves through my cells, and when it finally reaches my head, I start to relax.