Wide awake

Chapter Forty Eight . Chunky Chips-Ahoy Part 2

E.P.O.V

Sometime during the afternoon, I had lowered my body and curled up against the door. I didn't get much sleep before I was awoken with a violent recollection of flames licking at my chest. I jerked upright, frantically rubbing at my eyes and trembling against the yellow wood. At first I had forgotten where I was, and it took me a moment of panic to become lucid and coherent enough to remember everything. My breaths escaped in pants, and my dampened face felt cold and heavy. 

I allowed myself a good while to recover from the dream mixed with the panic of waking from it in an unfamiliar location. I desperately craved a cigarette and cursed myself for leaving them in the car. I strained my ears to listen for any movement inside of the dark building, too apprehensive to begin looking for myself. After many minutes of hearing nothing, I rose from my position and stood awkwardly while stretching my stiff muscles. 

Deciding I could exit unnoticed and overwhelmed with the craving that gripped me, I delicately twisted the knob of the door and eased it open. It creaked slightly, forcing me to pause and scowl at the antiquated hinges disdainfully. Eventually, I had worked it open just far enough to slip out and close it softly. It had already begun to grow dark, and I could feel the air cooling with the setting sun. The evening air was staggeringly fresh compared to the smell to which I had nearly grown acclimated. 

I made a bee-line for the Volvo and had a cigarette out and in my hand within moments. And then I was left with this… opportunity. I could have left then as I leaned over my seat and retrieved my cigarette lighter from the console. I could have escaped this whole fucked up situation and gone on with my life. 

But I couldn't, and if I were being truthful with myself, it didn't really have anything to do with her plea for me to stay. I was curious about the shit she'd said, and I wanted to know what it meant. I wanted to know why, if she truly didn't blame me, she would send me away. It was always easier for me to just believe she hated me for what happened. It made sense to me. It made everything fit and fall into place the more I dwelled on it over the years. Now I was left with questions, and they consumed my every thought. 

I sat on the front stoop of her building and smoked my cigarette, watching the cars and people and leaving my mind blank for the moment-until the door behind me opened. I turned my head and squinted against the ray of setting sun that fell on my face.

Her stare was blank and hollow, yet questioning. It was interesting how her every emotion was simply lacing the "nothing whatsoever" that was already present in her eyes. 

"I was afraid you'd left," she admitted quietly, hand still lingering on the knob. I wordlessly lifted my hand in explanation before shifting my gaze back to the street. 

After a moment I heard the door close, and before I could wonder if she'd gone back inside, she was lowering herself to a position at my side. "You shouldn't smoke. And you shouldn't swear either," she chided disapprovingly.

I chuckled humorlessly. "Seriously?" I arched an eyebrow at her daringly. She had no right, and I could tell as her eyes fell to her lap dejectedly that she knew it too. I took the brief moment of her dejection to really look at her, and I wished I could have found a better word than 'starved corpse' to describe how she looked, but I couldn't. She was nothing like the woman who once hummed me to sleep and made me meals. I couldn't imagine her in a kitchen or doing anything domestic if I tried. It was a little fucking appalling that she had managed to get so… dead.

Belatedly, I smelled a very distinct scent emanating from around her, and I grimaced in disgust as I saw her sway slightly. "You're drunk," I accused sourly, incredulous that she had attempted to chide me for smoking when she was drinking.