When We Met

Twenty Six

|Leanne|

At the worst instances possible, time comes full circle and stops right where it had started from in the first place. And so do your actions, the ones you had performed in the so called past. This full circle forces you on a pedestal that is also called your present, and on which the whole of your future stands. Sounds complicated, doesn't it?

But this complication is nothing compared to the situation that arises when Time and your actions haunt your present and future like a poltergeist, never leaving you alone. All your decisions get influenced by that one thing you did when you weren't wise or intelligent enough.

In a nutshell, life is an amalgamation of past, present and future. Even after conducting a massive treasure hunt, you wouldn't be able to find an escape from this reality.

I learnt it the hard way, but at least I did learn it. And now? Even if I want to, I can't unlearn it. Because science has the audacity to tell us that the phenomenon of unlearning the learnt resides in the utopian world.

And guess what? Even after believing in the existence of a utopian world, I'm finding it almost impossible to do research on unlearning the learnt.

It's all very basic, if you ask me. In the heat of the moment, every individual out there is prone to perform an action with hazardous repercussions. When sane, he or she would know the difference between the right and the wrong. However, once the level of your insanity blows over the top, you tend to do the unexpected and the unacceptable.

For example, I always like to believe that I face all situations head on and don't run from them. That's the sane me. But when things go haywire, I do the easiest thing one could possibly do. I look for an escape. Fast forward into the future, I regret.

This is my mantra, or has become one. For all I care.

I look in the mirror and gape at my freshly dyed hair. Blood red. The nose ring and the pixie cut add on to this brand new appearance I've given to myself. I should be proud, but somehow, it's a totally different story. I wonder why. Or why not.

I look like a depressed and redheaded version of Tinker Bell.

The four walls of this hotel room are making me claustrophobic, and maybe that's why I considered getting some fresh air. Or maybe the idea of being in the vicinity of the town I left behind months ago is playing tricks on my emotions, and well, my sanity. And I tend to do really fucked up things when I get on the verge of losing my sanity.

The company I work for set me up on a commercial project, for which I have to attend this conference that'll be organised at an office building thirty minutes away from where I used to live.

Thirty minutes away from my past.

Thirty minutes away from Cheryl Donovan.

I trip over my shoes and almost hit my head on the door. Maybe I should stop over-thinking. It's not like my ex roommate will appear out of nowhere and demand answers for all the wrong things that I've done. There's a possibility that she doesn't even know anything and seriously believed the words I used in that departure letter. I love her, but Cheryl is naive for sure. I mean, she fell in love with someone like Jake Brunner.

I shudder at the thought of his name.

One final look in the mirror and I step out of the bland room, immediately feeling at ease.

I hop my way to the nearest cafe in the vicinity and look around with bewilderment written allover my face. Why is this place so dead?

I shake my head and simply jog my way to the jammed door. The barista sniggers at my failed attempts to open the door and helps me by pushing it in my direction.

It opens without a creak and I blush with embarrassment. This is what happens when you let anxiety define your consciousness. You push the door when you need to pull it towards to you.

I place an order for a mug of cold coffee and ask the barista to bring it to my booth itself. He obliges with a nod and I thank him.

This is a soul-less place and simply perfect for someone who seeks solitude. That's me, to be honest. I take a seat far away from the entrance to this cafe and relax inside the booth.
As if carrying a bloody curse, my phone chimes with a message from one of my colleagues. I roll my eyes in complete annoyance and pinch the bridge of my nose. Just when I was in a mood of reading the e-book I recently downloaded. Big luck.

I give out a sigh and unlock the phone by swiping the password on the screen. It vibrates inside the cave of my hand and I wait for the message box to open.

Martha Roberts needs to get a fucking life.

The barista places my cold coffee on the table and smiles sweetly at me. I force a lip-sealed smile in return and focus my attention on the seemingly drastic felony performed by Miss Roberts.

I start typing an angry reply and almost don't notice the sudden block against the sunlight that was pretty much slapping me in the face.

And that's when an eerily familiar voice bursts through my ear drums, silencing all the other useless sounds in the background.

"Leanne?" The voice announces it's question and I freeze on the spot. I'm not called Leanne anymore. I changed my name long ago. So, if someone is using this name, it has to be...

I lift my head up to match gazes with none other than Jake fucking Brunner.

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