Strength and Sensuality [Completed]

32 - Purple rain

I spend three days in a haze.

Day and night. Immersed in my story.

It's a very comfortable haze. Something I still remember, but I wasn't allowed to enter into for a long time. Too long, as it turns out. Survival mode and creative haze are not compatible. Now it swallows me whole.

This time I have nothing to worry about. My colleagues take care of all my duties. Liam of my cases. Ollie of my child. Mr. Warren of my feeding, though I hardly notice it.

I'm aware of a very limited range of circumstances. The change of day and night. Ben hugging me when Ollie brings him to the office after school. Mr. Warren driving us home later, when I'm ready to take a pause. Not much else.

When the book is finished, it feels like waking up from a dream. I'm at work, and it's 11 AM. I come to my senses very slowly. Desk. Monitor. Phones. Colleagues. A normal day in the office. With a slight twist.

I stare at the last sentence written, and I know the text is ready to be abandoned for a while. It fills me with the usual unadulterated euphoria.

I allow myself a few minutes to celebrate inside my head. Then, as usual, I feel the urge to share my excitement. To let the whole world know that a new story was born.

"It's finished," I utter, not very loudly, and to no one in particular.

"Is it finished?" Ollie shrieks, on my left, raising her hands to the air.

"Finished?" Liam repeats, with an unmistakable amount of relief in his voice.

"Thank God!" Bill grunts, sounding seriously grateful.

"It was time," Thelma sighs. "You were kinda funny, though."

"I've never laughed so much at work," Christy agrees.

"Congrats, I guess," Andy says, chewing on the end of a pen. "I want a special mention in the dedications, though. Those questions about my drug addiction were fucking harsh."

I stare at him suspiciously.

"Did I ask you questions about your... what?"

"Exactly." He pouts. "I've been clean for eight years now. Yet you somehow seemed to guess it."

"I'm sorry," I apologize, feeling a sudden surge of panic.

"Oh, don't worry." He shrugs. "Most of the time you weren't rude like that. You had the funniest conversations with us. Without remembering a word two minutes later."

"Ouch." I grimace. "Is it supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yeah." Ollie pats my shoulder. "When you were stuck, or too tired to write on, you spent your time wandering around, from desk to desk, interviewing us. It was hilarious."

"Why didn't you snap me out of it?" I ask her, making it sound more like a demand than a question.

"We had no reason for it. You were cute. And, you know, it's not that easy to wake you up when you're too deep in your thoughts. Not very pleasant either. I tried it once, and you looked at me as if I attempted to murder you. You know, with an ice-cold "who are you and what are you doing in my house" kind of stare."

"Besides," Bill says grinning, "it wasn't our problem. You were frequenting Mark the most. You spent hours talking to him."

I hear myself groan. Not in a very ladylike way, sounding more like a wounded animal.

"So I behaved like the lunatic I am. Great."

"Hey, there was no harm made." Bill laughs. "You didn't disturb him. When he had something urgent to do, and told you so, you left without attacking."