Simple
Noir fanfiction by LeeT911
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Simple. It's better to keep things simple. Complexity invites chaos.
The simple thing to do, would be to open her mouth and ask, but no one ever said simple was easy. So instead, she curls up on her side of the bed and wraps herself tightly around the pillow. She's avoiding the issue, she knows, but hiding is easier. Hiding is simple enough.
Her eyes are closed when the light goes off, but she sees it through her eyelids anyway. A breath is released. She feels safer in the dark. The darkness is a barrier, almost tangible to her. She remembers holding it in her hands and in her heart. The darkness is her constant companion. On one hand, she hates it, because it's the only thing standing between her and everything she thinks she wants. On the other hand, she loves it, because the darkness covers her like a second blanket and keeps the world at bay. Cowardice is simple.
The mattress shifts beneath her as another climbs into the bed. The sheets are drawn from her, then readjusted under her chin. She feels warmth nearby, but it's too far away. The voice that calls out to her is gentle. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," she answers, but everything else she wishes she could say remains unspoken.
There's fidgeting for a few seconds before the mattress settles, and then there's only the quiet sound of breathing beside her. Slowly, warmth seeps across the expanse of the bed until it's tickling her bare legs. She shudders at the sensation.
"Are you cold?" The voice again, soft and caring. "I'll close the window."
"No," she says, but there is already movement, the sound of feet landing on the carpeted floor. Her eyes are open now, facing the wall, looking the wrong way. The window is on the other side.
Moonlight dances across the room as the drapes are pushed aside, and the window slides shut with a sharp click. Footsteps pad back towards the bed. The sheets rustle, and the warmth returns, closer this time. She tries very hard not to shiver. Hot and cold are supposed to be simple.
"Better?"
It's not. "Thank you."
Silence again, dragging on for more than an hour. The breathing beside her is slow and rhythmic now, broken only by the occasional twitch. Sleep is simple, but sleep eludes her. The warmth however, is still nearby, and she's become keenly aware of the presence sharing the bed. She thinks she feels something else too, deeper than the skin, something unusual and not so superficial, but feelings are new and alien. Emotions are complex. She doesn't want complexity.
A minute passes, then another. Eventually, she finds the courage to roll over, towards her bunkmate, careful not to disturb the light snores. Blonde hair is splashed over the pillow, trailing outwards in all directions. She marvels at the smooth curve of chin and the well-defined nose. There are no details in the dark, only shapes and shadows.
A hand reaches out, but is withdrawn just as quickly. She knows she wants something; she just can't figure out what it is. Her fingers dance across the sheets once more, flirting with the ends of blonde hairs. She's heard of desire, even if she's never felt it. Desire would be understandable, expected. Desire would be simple. This isn't.
With a whispered sigh, she slides out of the bed, dropping to the ground silently. The chill night air raises goose bumps on her skin. She stalks over to the window, her body moving with perfect fluid grace. Not a sound ensues from her trek across the room.
The view is barren. This is simplicity, this motionless snapshot of a dead city at night. On the street below, all is still. No people, no cars, no stray animals, no newspapers blowing across the road. Every window is lifeless and dark. Only the immobile lampposts line the street, drowning the stillness with their artificial illumination. Above, the sky is clear, pinpricks of light through an indigo curtain. The moon is almost gone, already receding behind a nearby building. The world is frozen.
Empty.
Simple.
This isn't what she wants. Yet she doesn't leave the window. She cups her chin in her hands and places her elbows against the frame. For a moment, her resolve slips, and she turns back towards the bed, but the desolate scene outside beckons her. It compels her in a way she doesn't understand, drawing her pensive stare back towards the window.
There's nothing to see, but her eyes don't really need something to focus on. They roam, of their own accord, unseeing and unfeeling. Even the cold seeping through the metal and glass barely penetrates her consciousness.
Faintly, she's aware of the minutes fading into hours, of the imperceptible lightening of the sky, of life returning to the world. Across the street, a window is lit, indistinguishable figures flitting before it. A car rumbles by, disturbing the nighttime peace with its urban din. When the streetlights click off, the synthetic glow surrenders to the chaotic complexity of nature. Simplicity is breaking down. Every motion, every event, is one step closer to anarchy.
And as the sun begins to rise on a new day, she glances back at her half-empty bed and she sees what she wants.
It's not simple.
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END