Short Cuts

How Frankenstein must have felt growing up.

One complete day had past since Chloe and I’s minuter social break down. Well, I say we, but what I really meant is it was me who messed up. I knew it, I can’t lie to myself, but what was I supposed to do in that circumstance? I’d never got that intimate with somebody without it ending badly or very swiftly. I can’t undo the way I handled, well, reacted but that was the past and this is the present. Time to move on, and unfortunately time to apologise.

I had been reading on the scruffy bloodshot couch; the paper was ever so boring now a days, tax this murder that, duel. Chloe drifted into the dilapidated living room. She looked awful. Her long blonde hair messy and noted, two dark rings circled her enflamed eyes and she was slackly dressed in a singlet and sweat pants which I had bought from an insignificant shop in a nearby village. What I said must have stuck to her. She plunged herself down on the opposite couch to me, with an abstracted face smeared across her; she was anywhere but here. Time to pick up the pieces.

“Chloe I …” A cold sharp answer cut me crudely off.

“No.”

Trying to recollect my shattered thoughts I tried again. “Chloe…”once again.

“No.”

She removed herself from her abstracted world to stare me in the eyes. I must have the look of a question mark on my face because she continued on to answer me.

“No. I do not want you to apologize.”

I blankly stared back at her; I was lost on how to respond. She dropped her eyes and held them at her hands that traced her knees, continued on further.

“Why would I want an apology from someone that cannot see past his own reflection?”

She raised her eyes to observe my reaction. Confusion was the only thing I could think of, I couldn’t physically comprehend what she had just said.

“What?” I questioned in disbelief.

She gave me a put-on smile and a painful snigger.

“Please do not tell me you’re that much of a self absorbed prick.”

Her blue eyes were dampening paired with a quivering frown.

Was this really happening?

“You sit there, in your high chair criticising everyone easels mistakes but you cannot except your own because you all ready hate you’re self so much that you do not think you disappoint yourself any further.”

She was tearful now, not because she was depressed but because she had so much packed up resentment she couldn’t hold it in any longer. I just sat there obsolete from her words.

“You don’t know me Chloe.”

She hurdled up from her comfortable position.

“No I really don’t do I. Please enlighten me on how your pathetic life can’t match my perfect one!” She paused for a brief second then held her unsteady hand to her lowering mouth.

Maybe she did see me break last night.

A couple of short controlled intakes of breath later, she carried on with her confrontation.

“You know your not the only one that has screwed their life up you know. I do not know what perception you have of me, but I am pretty sure that your 100% wrong about me. Hell that is why I am here, because you made the mistake of thinking people care about what happens to me!”

In the last week that I’ve spent with Chloe has been a completely different new side to her every single day, there’s been quirky habits that she has, like when she looks at something to long and she taps her index fingers six times together because that’s her lucky number. Other days she talks about what parts of society makes her mad, like when certain taxies are raised for struggling families due to the fact that they can’t afford to pay them in the first place. I didn’t like this new side, even though I conveniently seemed to have avoided it so far.

“I care.”

She hesitated in her position for a while to face me; I wasn’t lying to her. She deliberated about what to [what I think was] quarrel with me next. She gently rotated around to lie on the scruffy bloodshot couch next to me; she rested her head on my knee.

“Then do not push me away then.”

A smile spread across my face.

“I won’t. I’m sorry.”

She gazed up at me with a playful disapproving look.

“I love you.”

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Roger never called me Ed; it was always Ethan to him.

“Ethan!” Roger was roaring from the stories basement for me.

I quickly waltzed over to him; my help was needed.

“Ethan! Oh, Ethan. Help me with this.” He dropped a large heavy box into my unprepared arms, almost causing me to drop it.

“Sir, what the hells in this.” I blurted out while giving it a good eyeing up.

‘Ethan, why do you start a sentence with Sir and still mange to throw hell into it?”

Oh right.

“Sorry Sir, what’s in the box?” I was still eyeing it up.

Roger hovelled over and led me to the back storeroom in the bookstore, he signalled with his hand to place the box down on the solid wooden table in front of us, so I did.

“I guess boys will be boys.” He ripped open the tape covering the box seal. “It’s my family’s malwares.”

He had everything: pictures, books, statues, jewellery, awards but what I really liked war memorabilia. I had always found the world wars fascinating, the millions of brave men all fighting for the same cause, even though they knew full well what could happen, they still fought together, they were great men.

“Did you fight sir?” I had pulled out a browned piece of paper, with frayed edges; in it were two strong but very young men dressed in two smart solider uniforms.

“Yes, that was me and my brother, his name was Dean.” He paused, and shakily sat down. “He was shot down in action.” Roger may be old but you could tell he could remember everything about that day very clearly just by the haunted look on his aged face.

“I’m sorry to hear that Sir.” I sat next to him. “My brothers dead too you know. Wasn’t an honourable death but, it was a death.”

Roger looked up at me with a stern look.

“Son any death isn’t an honourable thing, it’s a damn sin. Leaving family to greave for the rest of their god given life. Everyone should live a ripe old age, when one gets left behind.” He gazed down at the picture in my hand “But some take that away from them, and sometimes even they take it away from themselves. Promise me you won’t do that son. You won’t leave an old lonely man behind?”

I saw the expression, it was still a stern look but I could see the really desperate plea behind it, I was his family now and in turn he was my family too.

“Never sir.”

He gave a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth, a shy one but it still was there, it was nice to know that he cared even with the pokerfaced thingamajig he pulls.

He progressed up and headed off to the front of the bookstore, so I went to place the old photo back into the large heavy box when he turned and waved his hand.

“Son, don’t bother putting that in there.” I glanced at the photo then back at him in confusion. “I don’t want it. Too many bad memories for me.” He waddled back over to me then put his wrinkly hand over the photo and mine. “Keep it. As a reminder of your promise to me, are we clear?”

A smile spread across my face.

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Now that we’re done with our sissy moment can we get back to work please? This stores not going to run it’s self you know!”

Trust Roger to open up to only to slam the door back in your face. He’s my family all right.

“Yes sir.”

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