Meet Me at Three

•Eight•

May 5th, 2017

2:45
I waited forty-six minutes and twelve seconds.
   Just when my body reaches the point of almost sleep-almost woke-where I could still slightly hear the tick-tock of the clock, and feel the sweat drip down my scalp- that feeling of falling, falling, falling. I jerk upward, awakening just before my body slams to the ground.
   I gasp, my legs bending so my arms can sit on them. My hands run through my hair, pulling the nappy mess away from my sticky face. I need a cigarette, I hope. The squeak of shoe soles on tile reverberate down the hall.
Pausing my silent pleas of addiction, I look up to the door, and see a beam of light. Guards? I'm not quick enough at pulling my body down, before the light is shinning right on me. I am bent halfway-my body contorting left in the last stages of lying down.
   Hair tendrils fall into my face as I look up, blinded by the light. Instantly I mask my eyes from the light to try and see the person. My heart is extra anxious, until I see Max with a bright dimpled smile.
   He moves the beam to the floor, apologizing once he realizes I am awake. "I expected you to be asleep, sorry for the temporary blindness," He laughs lightly, to not wake anyone that needs to not be woken.
   I shake him off, not wanting to give away that I know what's happening. I pull my butt to the bed edge and place my bare feet to the ice cold floor. A shiver runs up my spine, one that moves my entire body rapidly for a second, until I adjust to the temperature.
   I look to Rachel's bed, using my extensive practice at lying, fake a questioning look of confusion. Max sits beside me-this being the closest we have been. Ever. His hoodie scratches my arm, and I look at him with an amused but curious look, my left eyebrow raising.
   He laughs again, scratching his neck. He pulls a black, ripped piece of t-shirt fabric from his back pocket.
   "Okay buddy- let's get one thing straight- I might be into this stuff, but I won't do whatever you are planning on doing to me," I stand from the bed and fold my arms his way. I didn't feel confident-I just know Max isn't one of those types of guys.
'But Chukkie is,' they sing. And they aren't wrong.
"Okay" I say, grabbing the cloth, tired of being sober- I want drugs. A lot of drugs. Tying the thing around my eyes, I am consumed in darkness. I am putting all of my trust into this guy- he might not do something to me, but someone could.
Max seems surprised at my sudden change in mind, but happy as he holds the small of my back and leads me out the room. No shoes, no socks, no bra- I look like a skank, wearing only my slip and messy hair.
I hold to the wall, sliding my hand as we walk by, on my right, and Max on my left. When we reach the stairs, I feel Max leave my side, but comes back with his hands under my arms. He lifts me up, starting me into a small yelp!
"Shush!" Max whispers, tossing me up a bit, to catch me into a different position- me cradled in his arms. Knowing they belong to Max makes this feel less intimate and more protective.
His body slams mine with every step- feeling weird and a bit funny. He grunts, holding my body and going down at least twenty steps. We were making more noise than wanted, so as he hit the last step and put me to my feet, he rips the blindfold and says quickly,"Forget about that shit, let's just both run there," he grabs my hands and looks back to me with a cheeky smile. "Are you ready?" He asks.
I nod, taking one deep breath before we both take off. We sprint like the Devil herself is at our asses. Through the right, passed the front desk, into the living space, through the hall that leads down. I hadn't been down this hall much- finding only older patients using it. There is a small room that we go into, finding nothing but a mattress standing up against the left wall. A few boxes scatter around, but empty.
Max pushes the mattress over, uncovering a hidden passage that blends into the wall seams. He knocks twice fast, once slow, and three more fast. He looks over his shoulder at me and smiles, finding my unknowing to be funny. I roll my eyes, but jump as the door-thing opens. The wall swings back, and Rachel stands with a sexy smile painted a bright rouge colour.
She stands like Karen Smith in Mean Girls, presenting her 'mouse' costume. Rachel holds her right arm up the wall frame, and juts her skinny hips out. She doesn't wait to invite us in-just grabs ahold of my arms, pulling me into the, actual, hole in the wall.
The place is definitely large enough to hold a hand full of bustling kids- but each wall holds a million buttons and lights, knobs and levers. In the middle is a giant ladder going up to a circular hole that leads all the way up. Max goes first, putting his flashlight in the old green backpack that hugs his fit arms.
   Before he heads up, he hands me a hoodie-black and old, smelling of wood and cigarettes,"I think you might want this- it isn't mine but who cares?" He laughs and turns, legging it up the ladder with swift, effortless motion. Drug addicts, I laugh to myself.
Rachel readies to go next, saying softly,"It isn't as bad as it looks. I remember Charles showing me this for the first time. Man, he looked proud of himself," she smiles at the memory, unconsciously toying her finger over the bars. Looking to me with a final nod before hauling herself up the rusted ladder.
   I watch as she goes, waiting to find courage. Touching the bar right at eye level, I feel the metals cold texture. Debt-free here I come, I breath in, taking the first step softly, to see how sturdy this thing is. Okay, up we go, I encourage. Step after step, I climb the ladder. After twenty, I get claustrophobic at the small tunnel. Light isn't a thing, and I begin to get sloppy. My foot slips, a small yelp echoing through the tunnel.
"Ana! Are you okay?" Rachel shouts, her voice bouncing off each level of building we climb up. I look up, expecting to see nothing, but find a small hole at the top, Rachel looking down at me.
'Slip again.'
My footing goes, and I slip again. I keep my arms wrapped around the prongs, snaking between bars, so I won't fall three stories down. "Yeah! I just slipped. I'm coming up now!" I shout, taking the last twenty steps like a pro- adrenaline pumping my irregular heartbeats.
I emerge to a cement top, Rachel is sitting by the hole, Max standing at her side. In a different time I'd like to think they would find love within each other. She crawls to my side, and helps me up, grabbing my arms and pulling up as I push out, like in a pool.
"Thanks. Remind me to never do this again," I laugh, dusting my hands off on the hoodie. She just pats my shoulder and stands, helping me to my feet.
   The concrete scraps me toes, feeling like rough glass. I hate it, but watch as Rachel and Max jump from the perch we stand at. They land four feet to the roof- the balcony. An actual balcony, that expands half a football field in length, and only fifteen feet in width.
Patients aged eighteen to twenty-five dance around to the music playing from the old radio. Plastic cups and cigarettes held tight as they sway to the rhythm of musical geniuses Foster the People. I spot Jane- the beauty with blue eyes laughing with a group of boys by a giant, standing gas lamp. They pass a one-hitter around, relishing in the skunky Heaven.
   Max holds his hand out, which I gracefully take, as I jump to the base. My feet smack more concrete, but it is smoother under my bare impressionable feet. This is way more anticlimactic than expected- and I realize now why it is 'invite only'- there are only roughly thirty people here; but I remind myself I have been to way bigger and way smaller parties before.
   'Parties. Nothing good happens. Let's find the edge and jump off!" The voices snigger. I imagine them to be like the three witches from Hamlet- but less cryptic and more cynical.
   I let the hand grasping mine pull me through the groups- to a giant fan that blows hard winds that whip my hair and frill the bottom half of my slip. A throne made of milk crates and cardboard boxes sits atop the industrial fan. 
I suddenly feel small and useless in the burning gaze of Chukkie. He sits on the throne, one sweatpant covered leg pulled over the made armrest-the other lax, but bent in a sitting position. He slouches like there is no worry in the world. A King of the dammed and dismissed, watching over his followers with prideful bright eyes.
A cup is clutched in his left hand, a cigarette in his right, that hangs by his leg. He takes a rushed hit, French inhaling for the hell of it. His attention is directed toward Rachel-who steps up as she listens to him speak.
"Another last minute joiner?" Chukkie spews. He moves to rest his elbows on his now sitting knees.
   I grow ballsy- thinking that I already am out of my deal, winning the passcode and location to this shit-hole-in-the-wall Balcony. So I do what no one expected-even the voices-and march up to the fan, pulling myself up with more grace than before. I slide on my butt, and turn to my knees, standing with a bend... and snap!
  My first task was to get Cassie in- check. My second is a last minute, but important nonetheless-win over Charles Elmslie.
   I walk slowly to him, pushing his hand that held his head-making his precious hair fall his face. He looks up at me, a smooth expression of a cross with excited and dumbfounded. Wrinkles crease his forehead and he stands, his body rubbing mine as he stretches up. Licking his lips he leans in, to whisper in my ear.
   "And what in the bloody hell are you doing here Anastasia?" His breath tickles the baby hairs by my ear, sending goose flesh to flood my pasty skin. I hear him lick his full lips, and says,"Maybe a round two?" He asks as the hand with the cigarette, comes in contact with my blushing cheeks.
  The smoke burns, but I ignore it, moving into his touch. My hands pull him closer, distracting him. I quickly nab the cancer stick from his forefinger and thumb, pulling it to my soft pink lips, inhaling the nicotine threw gritted teeth. Oh how I've missed you, I praise the cigarette that fits perfectly between my pointer and middle finger.
   I take another hit, passing it to the rightful owner. Chukkie, slouches more-never actually standing straight unless he's ready to fight- looking to me like Doctor Alan Grant in Jurassic Park III upon seeing a real dinosaur for the first time. Bewildered and amused. His cheeks tug into a full face smile- teeth and tongue. I love that smile.
He shakes his head, ruffling his brown, shaggy hair. "No. Have it, love," he says, jumping down from the fan- leaving me with just my thoughts of him saying,"love" on repeat, and half of a burning cigarette.
   He looks at me one last time, saying,"Oh, and keep the hoodie-looks better on you than me." And leaves.
•••
The worst part about regret- is regretting something you didn't do. Regretting letting Dad tell me I can't wear stripes and plaid-just to have it be a thing in twenty-sixteen. Regretting not telling Dad I'm actually Uncle Roman's. Regretting not kissing Chukkie last night. Regret with my bunny sized brain- forgetting the most important of things- like where my journal is.
My bedding, books, and clothes are strewn across the room-some lying on the floor, others finding their way to Rachel's bed. I groan slash scream as I ball my fits so hard they grow white. Pounding at my hip bones, I jump to the bare mattress and fling it to the floor. Still no journal. Falling to the floor, half of my body hangs from the mattress that lies at a forty-five degree angle on the metal bed frame and floor, my legs slap the tile.
Crying feels useless-but is the only thing I can do now. My eyes hurt from rubbing-and my throat hurts from sobbing so much. I haven't slept since yesterday-and find looking for a red notebook to be too much on a major lack of sleep.
   I stay that way-skipping activities and therapies-for hours. My body goes numb at the odd position I have lied in for what feels like days. The sun is at it's highest-blinding my eyes as the sunshine magnifies through the window. I've showered, washing my hair for the first time in just under a month.
   I roll my face into my clean hair, and breath in the smell of oranges and cinnamon. My sinuses clear, the snot being swallowed. My lungs ache for more nicotine-but I can't. What if Chukkie stole my notebook and read it? I begin to question everyone.
A throat clearing pulls me from my mind-and I raise just my head to see who it is- big mistake. Lucas stands with both hands holding the each side of the threshold. A smug look tugs one side of his mouth up, and I can't help but feel I've just invited a viper into my world.
   He steps into the room, whistling as he slowly rakes his eyes over my mess. Bending down to pick up a pair of my red underwear, he snickers, shaking his head. I grow angry-sitting up and crawling to him quickly-snatching the cloth from his grimy hands.
"Get your disgusting hands off my stuff!" I yell at him. Pulling the cloth behind my back. We stand simultaneously, both holding a dominant stance. He looks down to me-only being five inches shorter to him-and pushes his cheek out with his tongue. He looks amused. I scuff. "Like you would do anything I asked."
   "You didn't ask, you demanded. And I do recall me being the one in charge of you," he says walking to my stand and bending down to pick up the fallen books. His hands grab my borrowed copy of L'Ingénu by Voltaire, flipping it over and examining it,"Hmm. I expected Pride and Prejudice or The Notebook," he says collecting my things and placing them upright.
   I just stand and watch, playing with the sleeves of Chukkie's jacket I wear. His being here is bringing my headache back- and I can't seem to find my words. He walks around me, pulling my clothes from place to place and throwing them to the corner. My body follows his, and I watch as he lifts the mattress into place, slamming it to the metal frame with a bang!
Jumping, my hand clasps my chest, my face rushing hot. Is he fixing my mess? Dusting his hands clean, Lucas groans as he picks my bedding up- handing one bleach white edge to me. I don't take it at first, scared he'll bit my head off-but as he shakes the material at me to take, I find a hint of a genuine smile.
   'Gullible bitch.'
   Together, we make my bed, folding the white duvet over once, placing my throw blanket on the edge. Lucas seems much too normal right now, politely nodding his head if he get too close, or always looking to me when I look away from him. A battle of inquisition- who will break; speak first.
   Once all the clothes under the mattress are put by the pile I have to fold- Lucas begins to walk away. He wins.
   "Wait!" I shout out. I hold my left hand out, going to reach for him-but I can't let myself willingly touch him. Retracting my hand, I pull it to my jeans pockets, shrugging my shoulders as I jab the floor with my big-toe.
   "Wh-why did you help me?" I ask, quiet as a mouse. My hair hangs in my face, as I look to the flooring.
Gold flakes, marble stone, and lapis lazuli compile a beautiful mosaic scenery holding deformed faces, buildings, and eyes. I look for anything, to not look at Lucas. His black shoes walk into my view, and I see his body stand at mine. His cotton white work-suite burns my eyes, it's so bright.
"Look at me," he orders, putting his hands high on his hips-a cop move. I'm thankful he doesn't put his hands on me, but as I begin to look up, Lucas goes for something, swinging his right hand fast. I jerk back, recoiling in fear of being hit.
As I peak open my cerulean eyes, something catches me off guard-a bright red book held tightly between Lucas' hands. Just as I think I'm off the hook- destiny throws a sick curveball straight to the chest. Mortal Combat's 'Finish Her' plays through me as I look faded, feeling sick.
"Was this what you destroyed your room for?" He holds the book up, and shimmies it with a mischievous smirk creasing his light brows. "Found it this morning at about three in the morning in the right-wing living lounge- couldn't figure out what it was-so I waited until later. I'm a creep? Ouch." He fakes sadness, but the bitter tone gives him away that he's read every word I have written.
"What do you want?" I ask, looking at him now, tears brimming my eyes, I ball my fists on my hood, grabbing hair and yanking.
He looks me in the eyes, but casts his down to my lips. No! I push him away-going to Rachel's pillow to find a pencil to use as a weapon if need be. Lucas chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. The book is still held tightly, slightly bending at the cover.
He walks away, throwing my book to the bed from behind. His voice is deep, melodiously evil in every way.
'You.'
"You," he says, turning to leave as if nothing ever happened-out the door and into my life.
"Fuck."

Word Count: 3205

chapter eight
playlist:
Atticus Dean- Handwritten
(note: I actually talked to him, and he is like just a plain dick, don't EVER talk to your idols- you will be heartbroken like I was! But I will always be in love with him soo..)

Marshmallow and Anne-Marie- FRIENDS
'Don't go look at me with that look in your eye//You really ain't going away without a fight//You can't be reasoned with, I'm done being polite'

Gregory Alan Isakov- Words
'Words mean more at night// Light means more// Like your hair in you face and your smile// And your bed, and the dress that you wore'

extra cast
Billie Eilish as Jane

author note
UGH! That was a journey and back- I'm sorry it's so long?? 🧐🤔
Thank you all for the reads and votes!! Means the world to me! I wasn't even going to post this-but seeing that is getting something- means everything. ❤️❤️
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