With All My Senses

action - reaction kind of thing

close / adverb /

very near to someone or something; with very little space between.

Two days later.

Once again we sit in my small, beaten up living room. It's messy and cluttered since the space is very limited and the room actually qualifies as almost the whole apartment. Part of it, being the kitchen and my 'office'. That, plus a dark bathroom and something that passes as a regular size bedroom on my lease, but hardly fits a double bed, a couple of bookshelves, a small nightstand that I have, plus an old narrow and beautiful wooden chest of drawers that by some miracle I've managed to squeeze against the wall. It belonged to my aunt, and I've adored it since I was a little girl, spending endless hours there after school; a place that was now my own. She would never judge me, no matter how misbehaving I was as a child, or what trouble I caused when I began to be a teenager. She was truly an amazing person, honestly, she was one of a kind, and I miss her every single day. She was my father's sister, and in reality, a complete opposite to him.  Sometimes I even wondered if they were even actually related. Almost like the opposite sides of the spectrum - catching the same light, but creating such different colors. She was a rainbow of strong but pastel hues, and my father represented all shades of tinted grey glass. My head shakes as my thoughts return back to the tiny bedroom, not happy in what direction my brain was going. I think about the small room and let out a heavy sigh. Let's face it, it would make more sense as a shoe box. My glance shifts to a used-up camera and empty envelopes waiting to be filled up. They lay on an over-sized desk squeezed in a dark corner of the living room where I keep all of my paperwork, and work related stuff, not to mention all of other junk. The objects seem to stare almost accusingly at me. Being a freelancer photographer didn't exactly pay the bills but at least I liked doing it. One of the few passions I still had in life.

Now, the other job that I used to have was a bartender job, where I worked for Phil. I despised it for many reasons - such as the drunken customers that after they had a couple of drinks too many, usually decided that I was irresistible, and easy. I wasn't. Which often got me into trouble. But the owner was a good guy, even if a bit of a grump that manifested odd political beliefs. His mind filled with conspiracy theories about what the government tells us, and what's the actual state of things.

Still, he was tolerant of my moods and understood when the situation wasn't my fault. The other times he enjoyed giving me the whole speech about my bad temper when I was to blame, which was often. No, it wasn't a dream job, that was for sure. But the tips were good and occasionally I could take something home. I had a thing for bourbon when things got tough. Thankfully this 'hobby' didn't overtake my life. I preferred to be behind the bar and not under it.

I stare at the screen of my laptop, looking through the pictures I did some time ago before everything collapsed on me. Scrolling with one hand while the other rests on Charlie's wrist. He studies a medical journal with one eye while his eyes darts to the TV screen from time to time. It was the Discovery channel and Morgan Freeman was charming us with his appealing, one of a kind voice while talking about the universe and its endless mysteries - so often beyond our understanding, and always far from our grasp. I sneak a glance at Charlie and then get back to work. I couldn't be doing this if it wasn't for him.

Now, the bartender job was out of the question. I couldn't really keep him close to me at the bar, as my lucky key chain - besides he had to work too. Actually, he worked a lot. So a 'quality time' like this that was saving my mind from insanity, really helped. Though it didn't stop me from visiting him at the hospital whenever I could, and harass him during his lunch breaks (the harassment prove to be much harder when he was taking care of his patients). Let's just say I was kicked out a lot by the other nurses. Some were amused because they thought I was stalking my 'boyfriend', others just looked like I was their main pain in the ass, while their workday was hard enough as it was.