Eunoia | Logan Howlett

08

Evangeline moves through the night like a ghost, her body mechanically performing the motions of her work. She adds a touch of makeup, the lipstick a vibrant shade that contrasts with the dullness in her eyes.

As she exits her building, the familiar scent of urban decay greets her. The street is littered with refuse, and the occasional stray dog rummages through the trash. The neon signs of nearby bars and clubs flicker intermittently, casting eerie shadows that dance along the sidewalk. Evangeline moves swiftly, her heels clicking on the pavement, the sound like a metronome that measures the rhythm of her hollow life.

She reaches her destination, a high-end hotel with a polished marble lobby and an air of exclusivity. The doorman tips his hat as she walks past, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. Evangeline nods in acknowledgment, the gesture as rehearsed as the rest of her façade. She glides past the reception desk, her steps silent despite the clacking heels. The lobby's opulence is a stark contrast to the emptiness she feels inside, but she has long ago learned to ignore the dissonance.

In the elevator, she stares at her reflection in the mirrored walls. The fake accent and smile are firmly in place, but her eyes betray her. They are dark and distant, a well of sadness that no amount of superficial cheerfulness can mask. The elevator dings and she steps out, her heart pounding with a rhythm she can't quite place.

The door to the suite opens with a soft click, and she steps inside. The room is lavishly decorated, the furnishings elegant and expensive.

Her client is lounging on the couch. He greets her with a nod, his eyes already drinking in her appearance. She gives him a practiced smile, her movements fluid and graceful as she approaches him. The conversation that follows is a blur—polite, but hollow. Small talk that means nothing and everything all at once. The man's words are a distant hum, like the background noise of a life she's learned to drown out.

She looks at herself in the mirror, the fake smile gone. Her reflection is a stranger—a woman trapped in a life she never wanted. She takes a deep breath and turns away from the mirror, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the silent room.

Outside, the city continues its relentless pace. Evangeline walks through the neon haze, her figure barely visible against the backdrop of flashing lights and shadows. She returns to her apartment, the familiar ding of the elevator a cold reminder of the life she leads. The apartment is as she left it, the clutter a testament to the life she's built for herself—a life of superficial glamour and deep-seated loneliness.

She collapses onto her bed, the sheets cool against her skin. Her eyes drift to the ceiling, her thoughts a tangled mess of regret and longing.

The night stretches on, and Evangeline remains awake, her mind racing with thoughts she can't silence. She feels the weight of her choices, the burden of her regrets. She is alive, but she is not living. Each day is a repetition of the last, a never-ending cycle of pretending and pain.

The silence is broken by a sudden, insistent knocking on her door. It is late—far too late for anyone to be visiting. She freezes, her heart pounding as the sound reverberates through her empty apartment. The knocking continues, more urgent this time, and Evangeline reluctantly rises from her seat, her movements slow and heavy with the weight of her loneliness.

She approaches the door, her steps echoing softly. As she draws closer, she can hear the muffled thuds of the knocks, each one a jarring reminder of the world outside her sanctuary. She reaches the door, hesitating for a moment before peering through the peephole. The sight that greets her makes her breath catch.

Through the small, distorted lens, she sees a man—one she has never met before. He is rugged and battle-worn, his face etched with lines of pain and determination. His eyes, though filled with an intense, almost desperate longing, are unmistakably familiar. They are the same eyes that once looked at her with love and warmth.