When I was 11, a schoolmate accidentally moved his school desk on my toe, making it shimmer in tones of black and purple, but I didn't utter a word. If it was out of fear of being laughed at, or simply because of my screaming introversion I am not quite sure.
But as I am staring at my once again black and purple toe stepping on the dirty tile in my bathroom, it dawns upon me: I am not 11 anymore. I haven't seen either desk-moving Alex in over 5 year nor my school in over 5 years, so why have I timetraveled so fast in the past? It's not new to me at all, déjà vus and feelings of dream-like reality crush upon me all the time, but maybe this time it was too much. Too specific.
I drank too much again.
I fumble for my jeans and my shoes, struggle to get the key to lock the door as I leave the apartment. The coffee with squeezed lemon juice was still almost full on the counter but the one sip I took was enough to give me the illusion of clarity. Maybe it was at the party from last night that I stumbled my toe in something. That's the only explanation. Blurred images enter my head. A numb feeling of my sneakers being too tight on my feet. It would definitely not be the first time that I don't remember how bruises got on my skin. It is fine, I tell myself. It is just a toe. It is fine.
"Opium Cuisine. Lunch menu: 12-3 pm" I enter the restaurant and instantly regret it. A sudden burst of nausea hits me, and I am sure it is not because of the boiled butter shrimp, or creeping lobsters around me. I just want to find my table and the familiar faces I am looking for. I just want this morning to be over.
"Look who has decided to show up."
I smile, but a part of me wants to hit him. There is no way to stop the John Murphy Show once it begins. I just learnt to enjoy it.
"Why am I the only one here?"
"Don't fret, princess. Raven and Finn are in the bathroom. Ah, don't make that face, please. They're not fucking in there or anything."
I don't even know what to say. Just as I think that I am quite good at hiding my thoughts, Murphy reads them again. Sometimes he is a mirror that reflects all deep-seated emotions around him, his hawk-like eyes never missing anything.
"Ah, here they are. Guys, look who decided to show up." His smirk never misses a beat.
"Clarke, we have to talk." Raven doesn't waste a moment.
There are some peculiar parts in my life I don't necessarily cherish. Cooking, having to introduce myself to strangers, admitting I am wrong. But probably the one part I enjoy the least is having to pretend everything is fine, having to hide my feelings that I have never even expressed, looking into my friend's eyes and pretending to be happy for them.
We have all been friends since college, Murphy, Raven, Finn and I. Always got each other's back. But for me, dark rotten roots have been growing beneath this friendship, and their blossoms taste bitter, like black treacle. I feel a thick tension pressing across my chest and throat, crushing my insides.
"We have started this conversation before your arrival, I hope you don't mind, Clarke. So to sum up quickly, we were thinking about postponing the trip at least a week. Our budget will still be the same, I'll just email you the new dates. I talked to Abby as well, and everything is arranged. With the dates changed, she even managed to get us bigger hotel rooms. She is an angel, your mom."
"What about Octavia?" I suddenly ask.
Silence surrounds us like a fog. I was sure this was going to happen, but I had to ask. The silence continues to spread like a disease. They can't be that ignorant. They can't just pretend everything is normal.
"Clarke…I thought you knew the situation." Raven hits me with her doe-like eyes, for one second making me feel guilty for even asking that. But no, she is not in the right this time.
"I know the "situation", but that doesn't mean I have to like it." I turn towards Finn. "Say something."
"Clarke, she quit. She left us. What do you want me to say?"
His words make my throat dry even more. My insides become a drought. "I just want you to say you care. It feels as if the only thing on your mind right now is money."
"You know that is not true, why are you so harsh all of a sudden? Look, if you want to postpone this trip even more, it's fine. But don't act as if it's our fault that-"
"Oh, calm down, Raven. I am not going to tell mom you had anything to do with Octavia quitting, if that's what you're worried about. In fact, on my way here I felt so sick to my stomach and thought it was just because of last night, but being here with you now after all this time makes me realize that I felt sick due to entire different reasons. This whole think makes me nauseous. All of it. Octavia quitting maybe finally gave me the courage to finally recognize what I didn't want to admit to myself for a long time". I take a long deep breath that scratches and hurts my lungs. "I quit too."
"C'mon, be serious. Let's talk about this." Raven begins and I see the anger hovering down on her face, while Finn remains there speechless in shock, and Murphy just sits there with a blank expression. However, I can see his left mouth corner raising a little and that's all it takes for me to finally stand up and take my coat.
As I begin to slowly head towards the exit, I hear the shouts and empty pleas behind me. "Come back." "Think this through." "What are you going to tell your mom?"
That's actually a solid question. My guess is, I am going to do what I do best, and that is, choose to ignore the problem until it goes away.
I finish up the last few lines on the sketch, then look in the distance as the sun fades away. I watch as it sinks deeper in the lake, melting in the cold water and taking the day with it. My drawing is as black and miserable as this sunset is. I immediately crumble the piece of paper in my fist and throw it in the closest bin. Landscapes were the one thing I always used to get right, even during the days when the pencil felt like a stranger in my hand, and the paper like an old enemy. But now every drawing I make seems to laugh at me from across the white of the page, screaming it's not good enough.
It's been three weeks since that day I quit my mother's business. Three weeks since I've really talked to anyone. Three weeks since I've begun closing myself off. And at times it feels alleviating, and there are other times when I feel like I am entering a hole with no way of going back up.
I have worked for my mother ever since I was fourteen, in other words ever since I was old enough to learn to draw blood, to administer shots and other basic medicine procedures. At first I was just glad to help. My mother worked 24/7, she had two jobs at two different hospitals, she was one of the best surgeons in the country and I looked up to her so much, it was impossible for me to imagine doing anything else in the future besides trying to make her proud. She taught me first aid, she showed me real organs and giant brains after she brought them home in jars, she taught me to read every little cell, bone and muscle in a human's body like the palm of my hand. The people she brought home sometimes after midnight and the shouts I heard in our cellar were just poor people who couldn't afford going to the hospital, and whom she treated for free, she told me. So during my teenage years I did everything I could to ease her efforts and pain, especially since she always told me how much she needed me.
But as I grew older, I knew. The late hours, the secret phone calls, it wasn't all because she was a saint giving a helping hand to the less fortunate. She was on the verge of a cliff, on the border of such a dangerous fall there was not enough strength in myself to help her get up.
Our cellar was an experiment chamber. My mother was more than a doctor, she was a scientist. The day I discovered the truth, I could barely hold my breath in awe.
I head towards the bar across the street, the sad sun still melting behind me. The last rays of frail light cast upon the sidewalk, while I begin to feel my toe twitch in pain again. I find a seat at a random booth after getting my drink, pulling my phone with dread of checking my messages.
Murphy (7 calls). Raven (4 calls). Finn (2 calls). Mom (12 calls.)
This sums up the last three weeks. I check my messages and I also see I have a text from Octavia: "Call me. Now." I sigh as I conclude she probably finally find out about me leaving the business as well. As I get ready to press the Call button, I notice a soft movement in the seat across me, so I raise my head.
"Fancy a drinking partner?"
The man sitting across me gazes at me intensely with his dark brown eyes, a sketch of an arrogant smile forming on his lips, glass of bourbon in his hand. I search for any sign I might know him from somewhere, but holding his eyelock only makes me fumble uncomfortably in my seat.
"A girl downing her whiskey neat is one that I am incredibly eager to know better, trust me." he says as if we were old acquaintances, not as though he was just a stranger staring at me too closely.
"Excuse me, am I missing something? Do I know you?"
His smile only grew bigger, full mischievousness painted on his lips. "Why in such a hurry, princess? Don't you like a slow burn?"
I instantly stop dead in my track of thoughts and turn red. I rethink my position and try to calm down as I assess this strange man in front of me. Terror creeps upon me, but there is no time for it.
"Who are you?" My face is now pale, my tone emotionless.
"Look, I didn't mean to scare you off, princess. I hope we didn't start off on the wrong foot. Bad first impressions are very hard to repair."
"Stop calling me that. Tell me who you are and how you know that nickname."
"What is exactly the origin story for that nickname , anyway? Not that it doesn't suit you with your blonde hair and all, but that friend of yours is surely no prince."
"How long have you been following me?"
It looks like his face is now too small for his smile, but I shiver as I notice the coldness in it as well. "Clarke, I am simply a pawn in a game bigger than you and me. I trust you will make the right move. I only have one request for you."
"Who the fuck are you? Just tell me!"
"Listen to me. You have been mixed up in some dangerous business that had an effect on many people. All I ask of you is to bring me the genetic plans for the creation of the Flame."
I begin to get up as my first instinct is to run away from him and just leave everything behind. Far, far away. From all of this sick, twisted affair. Quitting was a messed up joke on my part. I can never escape from this.
He quickly grabs me by my hand and drags me down. "Shocked I know your secret? Listen, princess, I asked nicely, but I am not supposed to be nice. You'll want to bring me the plans."
"You're threatening me now, right?" I feel a numbness coming over me. I just now what he is going to come next out of his mouth.
"I don't want to harm anyone. I really do not need any collateral damage either." He raises his glass and drinks his bourbon in one gulp. "But your mother has been playing God for too long. I work for some people who will be happy to end her services."
"End her services…Don't you mean – steal her work? If you are so keen on ending her doings, there are other ways of doing that other than making me steal her notebooks."
He watches me with a trace of irritation, but there is a hint of appreciation in his voice. "Again, I hope you will do the right thing. You know your mother is not the good guy, right?"
I hear laughter and joy from the booths around me. The bartender dropping a bottle full of something. Glass shattering on the floor. A symphony of swearing and sighs. The TV broadcasting some glum news concerning a motorbike accident. But louder than all of this is my heart pounding so hard in my chest I wonder if he can hear it too.
"I don't want to hurt your family, Clarke. I've been watching you and from what I've seen, I think you'll want to be on our side." He suddenly gets up.
"See you tomorrow, then. 6 pm. Right here.". Before he turns to leave, he stops. "Oh, how rude of me. My name is Bellamy, by the way." He shots me one last vicious smile and leaves.
I have to be the good guy.