Inside a Roman Mind

Uno

Uno

As the light reflected itself in a shimmering, blinding wave off the shaft of the puncture instrument, his eyes suddenly dilated and he felt a strike of adrenaline push its way down his own spine and into his arms and legs. Slowly, a manic smile encapsulated his face as he stared down the other side of the barrel as he aimed his immaculately precise self-inflicted friendly fire. Into his arm it rushed, and the pinch, whilst not painful in any classical sense of the word, sent a unique cocktail of emotions back to his head where they pitted, like hungry but obedient animals, waiting to be acknowledged.
He pulled the trigger and within moments he could no longer feel the ground underneath. This was real life, he smiled and laughed alone. He lay back on the bed behind him and the apparatus slithered itself out of his otherwise pristine arm. This was real life.
'Are you there, man?'
He laughed as the voice distorted. It could have sounded like anything but it was pure perfection to hear. The bed was suddenly a cloud and he was eight miles above.
'I told you you'd like it man.'
His grin only widened, like his teeth were somehow too big for his mouth, but they couldn't be more perfect. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he places them widely on the bed, outstretched, and became an angel.
The voice had positioned itself carefully next to him with a dirty record player as he found the first thing he could think to play. 'You'll dig this man.' The record spun, starting on the second side.
Mad sounds in your ears, they make you feel alright.
'She was no good for you man,' the voice continued. 'She used you.' Very smoothly, like some nihilistic shaman, he proceeded with some off-beat monologue to his unconscious friend with the flair and reverence of a cult of personality, speaking the only words that needed to be said, striking what felt like the perfect balance between statement and implication. 'But Sam you're your own person, man. You don't need to forget that, but I understand it's easy to do man, like when you get into these places you don't really think about yourself anymore, you just want what's right for the herd, and she's the herd man. She becomes you and suddenly you don't need to eat because she isn't hungry man and that's okay because these things come and go man. We've all been there man but one day you're going to wake up and she's not going to be the first thing on your mind and that's going to be when you know you've woken up man because when that happens you won't even be conscious enough to realise it, it'll feel like a dream man. But I think you've got to admit one thing man, you've been through a damn fucking good yard with her when it comes to just not being you man, I mean you look at your life man and you're in control of everything that's how you've always liked it but for this one man, you just wanted to give that up and she fucking used that man I know how it is but these things happen and you've just gotta remember that this too shall pass said the wisest philosopher to the most arrogant of kings as he sat smugly in his throne satisfied that he had outwitted the philosopher. This too shall pass man.' The voice was now manoeuvring itself in a nonspecific direction and location but all too soon Sam realised that the voice was pacing in circles, trapping him in the same thought. 'You're limitless man that's your limit,' it repeated, seemingly ad infinitum, like a confusing sort of roller coaster with no clear start or end.
Sam rolled himself delicately onto his side and suddenly the voice paused its poetic waves of dollar store philosophy for long enough for the music to carry him into a deep and satisfying sleep. When he awoke it would be business as usual, bookending the best type of controlled bender he could possibly think of.

The day had started with a drawing of the curtains as a more or less random girl stepped out of the blinding light and into the shadow where her features were once again obscured through the contrast. His head throbbed and his stomach ached but this girl didn't seem to mind the less than flattering side of the morning that displayed itself dominantly as he groaned to lift his torso off the bed. He smiled but she quickly saw through the fake grin and crawled back into the bed above the sheets and lay on her stomach, her arms elevating her shoulders into a half plank. 'Good morning,' he said with a strangely vulnerable complexity to his deep, croaking voice. As his eyes blinked closer and closer into life he began to remember his evening, his life, this girl. She had a very toothy grin, something that on most heads would be off-putting but on her seemed to just add to the depth of her quirky appearance. He wouldn't hesitate to say that she wasn't a stunning looker but she had a unique vibe going for her and a nice body, a combination that had made her more interesting than any other traditionally attractive girl he had met last night. When she said her name was... something, within five minutes of dragging her to the dance floor, he was in bliss, and it wasn't because of the thirteen drinks he had consumed prior to that exact moment. This girl he could feel was just something else and he had no idea who she was.
Zara, that was it. And with an accent to die for. When they had stepped outside, abandoning both of their social groups, for a quick cigarette and some legally questionable public displays of affection, he had recognised it. It came as such a shock that for the first time in his life, his emotional interest was being stimulated more than his penis. She had the perfect raspy yet smooth, feminine yet thick voice, and the exact balance between the exotic Italian accent that was expected of a girl from here and the strength and command of English to speak without any impediment or obfuscation of meaning or clarity. Her voice would probably be the first thing he would fall in love with if it ever came to that but lying in this bed at this time localised entirely within this location, with all considerations accounted for, he was keeping his fingers crossed that the L-word didn't eventuate. It was too strange a concept for him to really consider; it had been so long since the last time it had been used against him and even longer since he had used it in any meaningful way.
'Good morning,' she breathed sweetly into the space between the two.
He laughed and collapsed his arms, allowing his body to fall limply back into the bed.
There was somewhat of an awkward pause. Obviously, she was unsure of how intimate she could be with him.
'Do you have the time?' He filled the silence with a legitimate question that didn't really matter.
'Eleven.'
It took a visibly long time for this fact to be absorbed by his brain. 'Shit,' he finally mouthed with the urgency of a sloth. He then rolled onto his back and lifted himself up into a push-up, jumping out of the hotel bed with as much enthusiasm and strength as he could possibly endure. His stomach was a mess and his head felt like it was about to throw up. Or was it the other way around? It didn't matter as he stumbled his way into the bathroom and sat firmly on the ground, his head resting against the seat. The thud of the front door closing grounded him slightly, and then to why he was before the toilet bowl, like a near stranger he's known for months but can't bring himself to commit to, he pulls his face away from the seat and awkwardly, lethargically stands, hoping that he hasn't firmly burned any bridges in the process of rejecting his toilet's accommodation. He had to live with the unsettling stomach for a while longer yet. So he brought himself to his feet and found the first pair of clean underwear in the room, then stepped out onto his balcony, near naked, and found the cigarette packet he had bought at nine last night. There were three cigarettes left. Jesus there are two cigarettes, he screams in his head as he with a perfectly plain face pulls one out and raises it into his mouth, lighting it and drawing a breath. It kind of dawns on him at this point that he's overlooking all of Rome at midday on a Sunday and it's actually, in this brief minute of introspection, an exceptionally beautiful place. Admittedly, it hadn't really been a high priority on his travel list when he'd been younger, but something about it had always drawn him in about the city. It was exotic enough as a location that there was an air of mystery to it, but not so much so that it was strange. And it wasn't like the people were speaking in that weird clicking language you hear in the jungle; no, their language was beautiful. He knew a little bit of Italian but it really wasn't his strong suit; English rightfully deserved that. It was the most learned second language in the world so why the fuck should he bother learning a language spoken by sixty million pizzas and a few million extra nobodies in the middle of the desert?
Just now his stomach began to remind him very abruptly that it exists as the cigarette smoke starts to make him gag. It's happening he thinks as he drops the cigarette over the balcony and rushes himself in a confused delirious frenzy back to the bathroom, slumping over uncomfortably on the toilet seat and heaving a completely liquid slush. Right, he remembers now. He had decided to munch on cigarettes instead of having a legitimate meal last night. It wasn't really a compromise; he knew he could have had both if he'd bothered. When he was pre-drinking at the hotel, he decided that he would wait until he got to the first bar before eating, because he would eat something reasonable there. When he did eventually arrive at the first bar, his appetite was mysteriously nowhere to be seen and it had instead been replaced with an insatiable thirst for literal poison. When he returned to the balcony he looked back at the packet of cigarettes and slumped into the seat. 'Fuck it,' he determinately muttered before returning to his own inner dialogue, and pulled out the second of his holy trinity. He can buy a new packet later when he's out getting drunk enough to explore the city. Drunk on a Sunday sounds like a plan when there's nothing to do but spend time with yourself or, in the worst case scenario, your best friend.