Carmen - H.S

Chapter 13

Daniel scurried down the pavement, tripping over the occasional jagged crack and cursing under his breath, causing mothers with small children to shoot him venomous glares. He rolled his eyes at them, disregarding their indignation and hurried on until he reached the spacious apartment of his beloved.

He ran his long fingers through his hair and took a deep, shaky breath. It had been exactly seven days and fourteen hours since he'd last seen Carmen. Each minute had felt like he was slowly being pulled apart limb from limb, and he could no longer be subjected to this agonizing pain. He needed to touch her, to feel her soft skin underneath the pads of his fingers, to feel her pulse through every inch of her body. She was an addiction he couldn't let go of.

The door easily yielded under his hands, and he almost leapt into the elevator, thankful no one else was inside. He needed to calm himself. It wouldn't do to let Carmen see him in such a desperate state. Breathe in, breathe out. Relax your muscles, clear your mind. It was pathetic that he had to instruct himself to do these things, but he had no other choice. He wouldn't do anything to endanger their insufficient relationship.

A faint ping reached his ears as he arrived on her floor. He stepped off and strolled down the hallway until he came upon the room that contained his barely beating heart. His hand rapped the door firmly, displaying more confidence than he felt. He waited for what felt like hours before a click and a creak rang through the space, and the door slowly swung open.

Carmen stood before him wearing a faded, oversized Killers t-shirt and not much else. He stared at the smooth contours of her bare legs and the pale strip of shoulder she'd exposed, mesmerized, before blinking rapidly and clearing his throat. He'd seen her like this so many times, but each one was like the first with her.

"Hey, Daniel," she greeted sleepily. A strand of hair as black as ink hovered in her face, tickling her delicate nose. Without thinking, he reached over and tucked it behind her ear, savoring the silky texture.

But she was too tired to even notice the oddly affectionate gesture. She motioned for him to enter with a sluggish wave of her hand and shuffled inside, expecting him to follow.

The parlor was spotless as always. Lucy's hand was plainly seen in every sparkling corner and in the absence of every dust particle. Carmen slowly sat down in a glowing white armchair, as regal as a queen. Even in her lumbering, sleepy state she was too elegant for him to comprehend. He could feel his heart beating even faster, vibrating rapidly amidst a tangled jumble of bones and muscle.

"Why are you so sleepy?" he asked, leaning against the smooth, pale blue walls and shoving his hands into the pockets of his tattered jeans.

She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. "You woke me up."

"It's almost one o'clock."

"I was out late, and I had to wake up at six."

He shifted his weight and licked his lips warily. "Why were you out late?" He was almost frightened of what her answer would be.

"I was out with some guy and-"

"Who?" He sounded envious and accusing, his voice straining to poorly conceal his burning curiosity.

She languidly raised an eyebrow at his tone, and he glanced away, trying to hide his rosy cheeks. "I can't even remember his name," she sighed. "I was so drunk."

It all made sense now: her exhaustion, the t-shirt that definitely did not belong to her. He wanted to scream at her, to punch the walls, to sew back up his lacerated heart. But instead, he suppressed his wild emotions and made his face a blank mask.