Sillage [Joji Miller]

8

I shut and locked my bedroom door and slid to the hard floor. What had I just done. I put my head in my hands and sat quietly, waiting for some kind of solution to this complication, no, problem. I didn't want to call it a problem, a problem is something you didn't enjoy.

I pushed my hair out of my face and stood up from the floor, the room was quiet and dark. The lamp was still off and the sun had set. My feet pulled me towards the bathroom and I flicked on the light. I turned on the shower water, stripped from my clothes, and stepped in.

The water burned the skin on my back but I stood and felt every drop run off me. I rinsed my hair and washed my face as my mind reeled through every encounter I had with Joji.

I turned my head up into the stream of water and let the last touch if him trickle off of my skin and into the drain.

I sighed and turned the water off and dried myself. The room was steamed up so I wiped the mirror with my hand.

"What a pathetic sister you are." I mumbled to my reflection.

I walked out of the bathroom and slipped on a pair of sweatpants and hoodie. My hair left a trail of water on the floor as I walked to the window. The sun was no longer visible and the lights from opposing buildings filtered into my room.

The 7/11 corner was busy tonight as crowds of people formed a circle and watched as two men began throwing punches at each other. They both took drunken steps at each other and missed swings.

It's only 6:30 and people are already drunk. Typical.

There was a single nock at my door that made me jump, I hesitated but walked to the door.

"Who is it?" I asked with a shaky voice.

Please not Joji, please not Joji.

"It's dad obviously dinners ready." I sighed with relief and unlocked the door.

He had already retreated down the steps as I shut my door behind me. My steps were slow and light as I treaded down towards the smell of food. I kept my eyes down as I walked in.

"Hey punk." Ezra said while punching my shoulder lightly.

"Hey." I replied.

I walked to the stove, grabbed a plate, and dumped food on it. It looked like a failed attempt at lasagna but I wasn't gonna complain. Mom didn't say a word as I stood beside her. Things had been pretty tense between us.

Every chair was taken up at the island so I stood by the counter and ate my food. Joji was no where in sight and I was thankful for that. I finished and put my plate in the sink.

I felt that oh so familiar craving hit. The tips of my fingers itches and I knew they wouldn't stop till i smoked. My feet drug themselves up the stairs at this point, straight to the nightstand where aI kept them.

I waited for the doors to split open as I watched my distorted reflection in the chrome walls. I stepped out and waved to the door man.

The doors squeaked as i pushed past them and into the chilly air. I stepped down the stairs one at a time as my thick sweater jumped up and down allowing cold air under my shirt.

"Olympia."

My breath hitched in my throat, I didn't turn around to see who it was because i had already memorized the voice calling me.

I kept my back turned and my eyes to the cracked concrete stairs. I didn't want to look at him. I couldn't. He was silent until i made my way down the stairs.

"Are you running away again?" He asked while taking a drag. The bud illuminated his face with a dim red glow. 

"No I'm just going out." I fumbled with my words and stuttered. He was silent. Just watching.

"I'm sorry Lo." His words lit a fire in my chest.

I turned to face him. Eyes stinging. Craving the human contact that couldn't be filled by anyone other then him.  

"Don't.." I started but didn't finish as I could hear the cracking in my own voice.

I wanted more than anything to feel his hand on my face again, but i know that its not right.

All I could muster up was a shrug as I proceeded down the stairs. I didn't want him to be sorry, I wanted him to touch me again. I walked down the street with no destination in mind other than to be lost.

TIME SKIP

It had to have been two hours. I left my phone in my room and I'm sure my dad had called it 10 times by now. I know my dad constantly worried about me. Afraid that ill end up just like him.

Too late.

I pulled my feet one after the other towards the elevator, such a dull thing. My fingers were nipped by the cold and my nose burned. The door split and I was greeted with warmth and darkness. Everyone was asleep.

The light of the city shown threw the large wall windows of the living room, casting shadows in strange distorted shapes.

The stairs seemed steeper then usual, my mind playing tricks on me in hopes I'll stay down here and see him one last time.

He put my hair behind my ear.

My cheek began to burn like it did earlier. Burned in a different way. As if my stomach had just felt that first sip of alcohol, Comfortably burning my insides.

Unlike a slap.

The bedroom door made a soft click behind me as I shut it. My legs began hurting, exhausted from all the sauntering I'd put them through.

I tugged at my worn out shoes until they gave way. Finally letting my sore feet breath against the nippy concrete floor. I quickly stepped on my tippy toes allowing my joints to crack.

The sheets chilled me even through my hoodie and sweatpants. I tossed and turned until I comfortably hid my eyes from the light draining in through the window. I could easily shut the blinds. But I'm afraid if I get up I'll wonder farther then my window.

I laid in that position for what felt like hours, until my brain finally gave through, letting my thoughts rest enough to allow me to sleep.

Eventually my face grew cold, no longer feeling his touch anymore. I hoped it would come back. I wish I could say I hoped for this to be a dream, and that I'd wake up and be able to think,

"What an awful thing to dream about"

But I'd be lying if I said that.