Insomnia

LENA OLD

Things are quiet. Not that she minds all that much. Gives her time to think. Recite.

My name is Lena Archer. I live in apartment 423 on 1084 Magnolia Street in Briar Creek, Louisiana. My parents died in a car crash when I was nineteen. I was in that crash, fracturing my orbital bone, femur, ribs and ulna. I suffered a collapsed lung.

It's been 4 years, yet she still feels the need to recite this every day.

The crash caused nerve damage to my spine, I find it difficult to walk without limping. It's an improvement from not even being able to move my toes. A miracle case.

Some fucking miracle.

"Lena Archer." She hums. "Lena Rosanna Archer." She got to choose her name. It's pretty different from Evangeline Marie Lacoste. — Lena was the name of her best friend who committed suicide in middle school. Rosanna was the only thing that he didn't lie about. Archer was the man she should've fallen in love with.

He had come into the hospital about a month into her recovery, trying desperately to win her back, but the damage was done.

It had turned out the video he got turned out to be Rosanna being gang-raped by another sector of the Italian mafia. It didn't matter. Cade got his revenge on a grander scale.

The head of that sector had a daughter go missing, Cade's punching bag nowadays. He also ambushed every shipment of theirs for an entire year, whether it be drugs or women, and killed off half of their manpower.

Evie stirs her tea sluggishly, shifting her sticky bare thighs on the wooden seat.

Lena Rosanna Archer. Evangeline Marie Lacoste.

A different name for a different woman. A woman who's not naïve enough to fall for the bad boy. A woman who can order a slice of lemon pound cake and a chamomile tea at her local coffee shop without tripping over every word like an idiot. A woman who switched her gushy romance books for sci-fi series and mystery novels. A woman who works at a small, homey bookstore, not some cold laboratory or the CDC.

A small girl with small aspirations in a small city with a small life.

Lena sighs, leaning back in her chair. Lena, Lena, Lena. Evie, Evie, Evie.

Lena.

It's not much. Three rickety seats and a creaky table. A sink. Oven, microwave. A crappy couch and a tube TV. Squeaky hardwood floors. Bedroom. Uncomfortable full sized bed, dresser. Small closet. Bathroom. Shower. Sink. A turquoise toilet. Although, she likes her turquoise toilet. It's funny.

She looks at the oven clock, it's glowing numbers daring her to sleep at such an ungodly hour. 3:27 AM.

But to sleep means to dream. To dream means to stagger around her apartment building with her brain sleeping, but everything else seemingly awake.

And... Sleepwalking means the chance she could run into another Caden Jack Harmon.

Unfortunately, as she pulls her cardigan closer around her body, and sets her tea on the table, everything goes to shit.

•

"Hey, sugar, would you wake the fuck up?"

Lena blinks rapidly at the redhead stalled on the stairs in front of her. She always thought there was some bad stuff going on upstairs, but this confirms it. He reeks of cigarette smoke, although the characteristic leather jacket of a bad boy seems to be lost. It makes sense, though. Who would want to wear a jacket in the middle of a Louisianan summer night in a building with broken AC? Tattoos swirl over taut muscles, peeking out of the collar of his short-sleeved black shirt.

"Sorry." Lena mumbles at the brooding man, "what floor is this?"

"Fifth." He cocks his head. "Are you one of my buddy's girls or sumthin'?" He drawls.

"What?" Lena snaps at him, aggravated. She hates men. She hates tattooed men. She hates charismatic men. She hates tall men. Anything that reminds her of Cade. She hates them all. This jerk is the epitome of everything she hates.

"You've got a fairly nasty bruise, and you're bleeding." He points to her face.

Lena touches her lip, catching a drop of blood on her finger. "Oh." She scrunches her nose, wincing at the torrent begins.

"Fuck." She mutters, holding her face.

"Here, it's a little covered in grease, sorry 'bout that." He passes her a black streaked towel. He shows her a dirty hand when Lena looks at him curiously, shrugging. "Mechanic. The name's Maddox, or Rotty, but that's a story for when I've gotten the girl a drink."

Lena scoffs lightly. "I don't go for men like you."

"I don't usually go for blondes, but I think you're pretty cute." Maddox grins. "I'm just a mechanic, darlin."

She sighs. "Well, Maddox the regular old mechanic, I'm Lena." She pulls the towel away from her nose, only for it to continue bleeding. "I would shake your hand, but..." She flashes her bloody palm.

"Mine's just as dirty as yours." He drawls, leaning against the wall.

"Why would I be one of your buddy's girls?" She queries.

Maddox shrugs, leaning against the wall. "They're always drunk and getting into fights and shit. — the girls, I mean. I'd never lay a hand to any woman. Unlike most, I actually learned from the mistakes of my elders and all." He brushes his shaggy red hair from his blue eyes, showing her a small, curved scar. "Bottle."

Chuckling softly, she points to the 2 scars on her cheek. "The first one's a bottle, next one's a car crash. Broke my orbital."

Maddox laughs, pointing to his own scar in nearly the same place. "I got thrown into a counter by one of my friends last year. We were plastered all the way to high heaven and I was pulling some stupid crap — don't remember what exactly what I was doing. He elbowed me in the back of the head and crack! I wake up in the morning, lookin' like the devil himself with my ugly ass!" He pauses. "Oh, and my eye was bloodshot and bruised." He tacks on nonchalantly. 

He manages to pry a true smile from her lips. She pulls away the towel, revealing that the bleed has clotted.

"Um..." She looks down at the ratty cloth.

"Eh, throw it away. I got plenty." Maddox grins. "See ya 'round, sugar."

He walks up the stairs and she goes down.

Don't you fall for the bad boy.

But... She bites her lip, taking one last look at the redhead as he jumps up the stairs. He's just a mechanic.

She shakes her head at herself, going down the rest of the stairs.

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Have I pleased the masses?