The Typical Insanity

just for tonight

I'm stumbling home in the dark of the city, intoxicated by an adrenaline rush I don't know why I feel. For once I can recall the recent events that have taken place in my wake but what upsets me are the large holes in my memory where certain things should have happened. For example, I remember watching a building burn in flames and fireworks explode around it but how did I get there and how did I get here? It's a sort of frustration that refuses to let go and constantly gnaws at you.

I'm entering the building I've lived in for nearly ten years, thinking about that makes me feel old. I'm not that old, am I? Inside the elevator, there's a flickering lightbulb that occasionally stops blinking if you press the close button and leaves you in a blanket of darkness unless you press the button again. Sometimes I like to press the button multiple times because it's the only reprieve from the boredom of the slow ride to the thirteenth floor. The bulb flickered on and flickered off while faint elevator music plays in the background, stopping abruptly when the little red numbers turn from 12 to 13. I step out and make my way to the sixth door on the right, or as I call it, home. No, no, hold on, it's not home, home is like a place you feel emotionally attached to and stuff like that. No, this is... my house. Yeah, my place of residence. Much more fitting.

I'm searching my pockets for the keys when I hear a loud noise from the direction of the elevator. I turn and see a lady on the floor, struggling to sit up but eventually she grudgingly gives up and lies back on the floor. I can't say I was amused by her but there was a certain comic quality to her antics. She looked up at me and I realized that she was my next door neighbor, the very attractive one who has spoken a total of eight words to me since she moved in, which was eight years ago.

"You mind giving me a hand here?" Oh, that makes a total of 15 words now, the day continues to grow odder. Strangely, despite having a clear French accent in her voice, she seems to have picked up the New York dialect perfectly.

"Oh sorry, sure." I walk over and help her stand on a pair of 12 inch needles that ladies call Stilettos. I've always admired her from afar, it feels like a schoolgirl crush at this point. I remember how there were some moments where she looked so beautiful, it hurt. Although, right now all she looked like was leftovers from Prom night in a small golden dress that looked like it was dipped in glitter. Personally, I prefer her in silver.

She murmurs her thanks as she leans into me and I feel split into two with one half blushing and grinning at how close in proximity we are right now and the other still reeling in from today's events. She reeks of alcohol which leaves me to assume that she doesn't usually have this much of a problem with standing on the 12 inch needles of death.

It's taking a while to get her to her apartment, what with her slow shuffling and occasionally trips, so I ask. "Uhm, you're okay, right?"

"You're the guy who lives here, yeah? You live like, really close by?" I'm not going to bother adding the 'Ze' and other stereotypical French pronunciations in her dialogue because that's excessive and obviously stereotypical.

"Next door." I correct her quietly.

"Ah, yeah? Didn't know. How come I have never seen you before?" Honestly I don't have an actual answer to that so I shrug instead. I let her lean against her door once we reach.

"Do you want me to unlock your door for you?" She nods slowly and starts nodding off to sleep.

"I'm going to need your keys if you want me to unlock the door." She nods again before slowly shaking her head with an angry frown.

"I don't have my keys, some jerk took my clutch, le salaud peut aller au enfer!"

I sigh. "Do you have anyone you can call?"

"Why are you up this late? You seem like those people who go to sleep early to wake up early so that they don't miss a minute of work or you know, some shi-"

"You shouldn't answer a question with a question, it's often frowned upon. If it concerns you so much, I'm here now because I had prior engagements now, do you have anyone you can call?"

She groans and raises her head from the peeling wallpaper. "I've got a friend but she lives all the way downtown, it'll take at least an hour for her to get here. I guess I should call her as soon as possible then."

Even in the dim light, her blonde hair glowed like a halo. I should be thinking over whether or not I can let her into my house but just looking at her was a distraction enough, she looked so beautiful even if she was drunk out of her mind and I didn't even know her name. It's like watching her prompted the words coming out of my mouth.

"Uh, w-why don't you spend the night at, um, my place? Just for tonight."

And somewhere in the jumble of unlocking my door and letting her in, I ended up on the living room sofa with a bedsheet for a blanket.

The night doesn't seem to transition to day as I lie on the hard couch. I wonder why I ever bought this couch, it's so lumpy and stiff even the pattern was boring, I think I got it at Ikea. The couch sounds like me except I didn't come from a Scandinavian chain selling ready-to-assemble furniture shop although it would be much simpler if I did. It would make sense too, just imagine it:

Nemo Carter, male. Comes with four limbs, joints not included, two blue eyes, one skinny nose, two lips, two ears and one brain. What if a heart wasn't included? I'm laughing to myself now because I sound like those pathetic people who like to think they're evil and coldhearted but in reality, they're just lonely and depressed. Aren't I lonely and depressed? No, I've made imaginary friends and I'm just jaded by life, by my life.

Something's changing. I just watched my office go down in flames and fireworks, I've lost my car which was for some reason the only constant in my life and now there's my longtime crush sleeping in my bed, not with me of course but this much contact is more than enough at the moment. Something's changing for sure and come daylight, I will definitely try to figure out what because I'm clueless right now.

I turn over in the narrow sofa and I'm suddenly thankful for my small stature otherwise I'd be on the floor by daylight. I glance at the reflection in the screen of the TV on the other side of a basic coffee table and look at myself watching myself. There is, in truth, nothing to look at yet still I look, hoping to see something that tells me I'm alive and the longer I look, the more I want to break the screen so I don't have to stare at my blank face until there's a flicker of something. With that flicker of a single bejewelled mask, I know I'm alive, I know I'm breathing and the worst thing is, I don't want to.