I had opted to take the stairs instead of the elevator on my descent down into the ground floor of the hotel. I figured that the extra time lapse between each junction of stairs would allow me to figure just what the hell I was planning to say to him. The stairwell itself did not help ease my nerves; a constant frigidness permeated the air and the walls surrounding me were stark and the color of eggshells. The only comfort I could gain from the walk was the rhythmic tap tap tap of the soles of my shoes making contact with each smooth step. Tap tap tap.
I reached the bottom sooner than I’d anticipated. The heavy door before me beckoned me to push it - taunted me and said he’s waiting he’s out there.
Inhale. Exhale. Push.
The lobby was welcoming enough. I’d barely noticed it when I had arrived hours prior. I was focused primarily on learning how to breathe for the time being. But it was actually quite pretty, this hotel. The warm golds and reds draped over the windows and casted abstract shadows over the glossy marble floors, offering me a nice brief relief of the anxiety that had been overwhelming me. As my shoes made the same steady thudding noise, just lighter and softer this time around, I knew I shouldn’t pity myself for what was to come. It was my decision, after all, to skip across country without alerting either Tom or Bill. I was selfish, and I knew this. But he’d been hardly angelic to me.
As I walked past a large door leading to what I presumed to be a conference room of some sort, I’d caught sight of my reflection - very soft and hazy in the dimness splayed over the light oak paneling. Limp strands fell in dull waves over thin shoulder blades. My top and skirt appeared presentable enough, but I had become so emaciated in my appearance that I looked sickly and swallowed by the already small clothing. I was disappointed in myself, and as my eyes caught sight of my face - gaunt, pale and drawn - I was taken aback at how sad I looked. Dark crescents cradled my eyes, curling about them and drawing attention to my obvious exhausted state of being. I was so sad. I was so sad.
I broke myself out of the trance-like state holding me to the pathetic fragmented image of the shell of a girl barely recognizable anymore. I needed to push forward, walk outside, have integrity. I needed to apologize.
The automatic doors swished open and closed as others strolled between the warmth of the decorative lobby and of the sidewalks outside. As I approached them, my steps became noticeably shorter and more sluggish in their movements. I reached them, stepping in front of them and waiting for oh, maybe a minute - before they opened. The gap before me was illuminated with natural light, and it grinned at me. Smirked at me. Come through, it said. It’s time.
I took a total of three steps until the worn rubber-like bottoms of my shoes made soft contact with the ground. The pavement glittered under the soft glow of the gradually setting sun. The air was significantly cooler and balmy - an air that you’d only feel as night approached. I looked beside me - left, then right. No sign of him anywhere within eyesight. My shoulders slumped a bit as I took a few strides over to lean my back against the rough scratchiness of the tanned brick building. As the subtle sweetness of the air carried with a soft breeze, stroking against my face in a way that a lover might, I was suddenly very much aware of how alone I was. My eyelids fluttered closed softly, my arms twining around themselves to curl protectively against my chest. I rocked very slightly from one heel to the other, imagining that other passing people might mistake my skeletor form for that of a homeless woman. It wasn’t until the distinctly rancid odor of smoke tickled my nostrils that I snapped out of my homeless-woman-pity-party.
The scent of smoke was much heavier now, and when I looked to my side, I saw him. He stood a good four feet from me, leaning against the building in the same manner as me, but his long arms were at his sides instead of latched across his middle. One arm came up only to bring the cigarette to his lips. The end burned a bright orange for one, two, three seconds. His arm fell gently, a steady stream floating out from his parted mouth. He looked up then, turning his gaze from the street ahead of us to me, and the black of his pupils were noticeable even under the darkening skies.
