Gray Skies

The hiding

Chapter 3 The hiding

A new day starts and the sky lights up in a peculiar orange mixed with baby blue. As the sun kills the moon, the clouds hide the crime, scattered everywhere as if creating a diversion. I wake up to the sounds of an annoying alarm ring, the kind with excess chirpiness, bells and “Good morning it’s a beautiful day” to it. I never realised that before and I’ve been waking up to that for months. From habit, knowing the time (because that’s what I set the alarm to) I look at my mobile phone, reassuring myself of the quality of Japanese mobile phones and credibility of their Chinese parts. As every other day, I wake up, lug myself to the toilet making a trail on my worn out move carpet from the drag of my feet. Surprising myself each morning how quickly my facial hair grows, I rub my face with both hands as if I was washing it, only there is no water to soak my bumpy skin.

Carefully massaging and pressing my eyes with the ball of my palm near the thumb I take a good stretch, almost looking behind me with the top of my head facing down, my back bending inwards and chest inflated as I involuntarily take a deep breath of the pungent stench of manure left by the council farmers the day before on the field which overlooks my toilet window. It wakes me up and I proceed with the daily grooming procedure. I decide not to shave this morning, it suits the mood I’m in, annoyed and worn out like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.

Why can’t they just pay me for sitting at home, I’d probably do more sat here! Why couldn’t I sleep properly again? I need to get a cooler for my room.

It takes a moment for me to admit, as I stare into the red vessels that have colonized my eyeball overnight, that the temperature is not what’s keeping me up and I don’t check the time on my mobile to stamp it with a mental Q.A. passed sticker.

She still hasn’t texted or called, it’s been well over a month now. I breathe a sigh of disappointment with a hint of annoyance and anger, I grab my gym bag and make my way to the bus stop, locking the door behind me, making sure this time, because last time it took me a while to count my lucky stars. Good things Neil didn’t find out. He would have killed me.

Neil is my housemate. Caucasian, with an Italian characteristic, 6ft, messy light brown hair and occasionally wears glasses. The gaps between his teeth don’t seem to affect his speech and he spares me the occasional whistle through them during our conversations. Neil, one of my closest friends, we’ve shared a lot, he knows a few secrets about me which make me vulnerable to him,but I have my share of peccadilloes on him too. He’s good with advice, but you have to be sure you want to hear what he has to say. He’s never seen me depressed, annoyed or angry, worried yes, but never depressed. As a matter of fact as good a friend as he is, he’s never asked me how I really am. Come to think of it, neither have I. I guess that’s just the way our relationship is.

The confident borderline arrogant 24 year old owns the house I share with him and at “mate’s rates” shall I add. The council only just found out I live there and he’s put the rent up for that reason. He’s an IT guy, not single, I look up to him, not only because of his height, but because there is a lot of hard work behind his flashy car and modest 2 bedroom house. I mean, its not that easy to become and IT manager from a coffee boy in a mere 5 years with no previous experience. Something I get asked about with every application I hand in, every recruiter I talk to.

“So what do you do at the moment, have you got any experience in this type of role before?”

I tell him, trying to hide the fact that I realise he’s not going too try to hard to find me a Job once his mind breaks down the information I give and prove a mismatch to almost every company criteria.

“Right, that’s good. I think I have the perfect job for you and I will put you forward for it”

I mime the exact same words under my breath simultaneously rolling my eyes to the back of my head because its just “recruiter” talk. It’s almost like a script they have infront of them and they read it carefully with no emotion, honesty or intent, following each word with their finger as a blind man would whilst reading his brail book.

 “Thanks for your help. I look forward to hearing from you” I read from mybrail book.

The day goes, I support the lazy, inept staff members who don’t have many brain cells to spare to help them remember their password. It’s 5.30 pm I catch the No.12 and come back home, still tired, the weight of the world on my shoulders starting to bother me and I just want to relax and smoke. I sink into the red couch infront of the TV, the feathers from the cushions tickle me and I rearrange my posture lying on my side, an awkward position for your neck as it hangs in mid air.

“You’ve been avoiding people like a plague today haven’t you”? Say’s Fomi with grave concern.

Fomi’s my best friend, we hooked up again after ages he needed a place to crash so I let him stay at mine for a while. Neil won’t mind, he’s hardly ever here. I’ve known Fomi since school, he’s always been there for me, always knows when something’s up with me, it’s like he can read my mind. We don’t meet that often though, one of those relationships where you don’t haveto keep in touch to be close. He’s like me, but a lot more pessimistic. I remember the first time we met, my first friend at school. I was bullied, no one use to talk to me and after a prank pulled on me I was sitting alone outside the old boarding house I use to live in, its when I started smoking as well. He was in the same situation as me, he came and joined me and we cursed the wrong doers and just hit it off, exchanging stories and ideas of how to get them back. We’ve kept in touch since then, although I have to say, he’s there more for me then I am for him. He hates me smoking, always telling me to give up. He says its bad for my health and I always reply, I hear these things kill you slowly, and I’m in no rush to die. Something he should say really, gloomy b4stard, but I love him to bits.

“I know man, I didn’t even say Good morning to my line manager Sharon today. I’ve been so moody and just don’t want to talk to anyone. If anyone decides to even give me the wrong look, off with their head. Why can’t they see that I’m annoyed, sad and broken inside? I really just want to sit in a room, confined to myself. I need to put the lid on. Maybe it will go away if I don’t face it”

“Ironic job you have for the mood you’re in bro. do what you feels right.” He says

“I don’t know what’s right, I’m just confused. You know what the deal is with me and…”

“Yeah I know”...He cuts me off, probably tired of hearing the broken record.

Maybe I’ll call Fiz. She always makes me laugh, plus I feel weird not saying the magic word to her today