Charade

Benji

Sleep came slowly, in small doses, letting me rest for a few minutes before dragging me back into consciousness. I tossed and turned, letting different ribs take the pain of one wayward spring, digging into my back. I watched the snapshots of dreams and nightmares roll over in my mind. In one I was in the courtroom, facing the judge in my boxes. In another I was in a cage while my father stood outside, pointing and laughing at me. But the first proper dream I had surprised me the most because it was a memory, almost identical to what had really happened that night.

It was midnight. Full moon, cloudless, and a radiant night sky. I was on a rooftop, admiring my home city's skyline, alive with colours and lights and the strong smell of diesel. I breathed in my cigarette, the taste of it so vivid and real, and watched the grey mist twirl and disappear into the night.

It was so quiet, so peaceful. Just me and my cigarette listening to the cars roll by on the streets below, watching the tiny ant-people wander by dressed in bright colours and suits and fur, all the while forgetting what waited for me at home. This was my place, the one place where I wasn't judged or ridiculed or even the slightest bit drunk. A place where I could just be myself.

Then I heard her voice.

"Who the fuck are you?"

I jumped, startled, and my cigarette slipped out of my hand and over the side of the building. She was older than me, maybe fifteen, holding half a bottle of Russian vodka in one hand and a fist in the other. Her mousy brown hair tumbled down to her elbows in curling iron locks and her green eyes sliced into me like a knife through butter.

"Well who the fuck are you?" I retorted.

"Nobody is supposed to be up here," she said angrily.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I'm allowed to be."

"Oh yeah?" I laughed, sensing the lie automatically. "Says who?"

"Doesn't matter who said it. Fact is I'm allowed to be up here. You're not. So fuck off or I'm calling the cops."

"Call em," I dared her, pulling out a fresh cigarette. "You owe me one of these, by the way."

"Did you not hear me? Get out!"

"Oh, I heard you just fine, sweetheart. But you're full of shit, and we both know it. My bet is that you are running away from something. Not quite sure what it is, but it's important, whatever it may be."

The girl stood there, stunned, unable to believe I'd guessed her secret when in fact, I never guessed anything. I knew.

"So, sorry love," I said, "but this is my rooftop tonight. You're just going to have to find somewhere else to hide."

I took in a long drag of my cigarette and turned my back on her, drowning once again in this sweet, dangerous city. I waited for her footsteps to begin and then to fade, but instead I heard nothing and when I glanced to my left, she was there, offering me her bottle.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Takes one to know one. And if that's the case then you need this as much as I do."

I'd never had Russian vodka before but I heard it was like fire in your throat. Not the most appetising drink, but it'd get the job done. I took the ice cold glass in my hand and threw my head back, drinking down a mouthful of fire, and wincing. When I handed it back, the girl did the same.

"So what are you running away from?" She asked.

I took a long drag of my cigarette, feeling the vodka settle inside me.