There are moments in life that define who we are. For some, it's getting their first car, others it's their first tragedy. In even more remote cases, it requires someone's first heartbreak for them to realize what the true meaning of life is, and where they stand in it. For me on the other hand, I've experienced all of these things, and have figured out that trying to find out why I exist, is a lost cause.
The sun is always blistering during the early summer months. School is almost out, and everyone is melting like popsicles on a stovetop. Jogging is probably the worst decision right now, along with intentionally succumbing to the hellish heat that coats my skin like a bucket of glue. Of course, I do both of these things. I prefer night running to during the day, so I guess I'm not completely insane, but still not the smartest person ever.
The lamplit road proudly shines the way around the city's central lake. It seems like everyone has decided to get out of the house this evening. Mother's push strollers, which I have learned, the painful way, are basically death traps if you trip on the edge of one. Girls my age walk with their friends, giggling and chatting about who knows what. Whereas I run and push myself as hard as I can, till I'm panting like a dog and dripping sweat. My tracker marks off my three mile goal.
"You must be training for a mathathon there girl." An old man jokes casually before continuing on his walk.
I smile at his receding figure. Not many understand the desperate need to exhaust your body. People like me, haunted by the faces of those they loved, are in a constant battle. Exhausting your mind is necessary in order to finally get some sleep at night. Otherwise, the late hours become a constant companion. My shoes carry me over the loose gravel towards the small area where people park their cars. Home is calling my name almost as loudly as the shower is.
My car still has the new smell that is always associated with a cross between a doctors office and fresh plastic. I've been meaning to get an air freshener to shake things up a bit, but I haven't gotten around to it. Besides, clinical is better. Being attached to things, or people, is a big mistake because those relationships never last long.
My apartment is in the heart of downtown. Within walking distance to anything I might need, and things I will never need. My parents put it in their will that I would get this place and, ever since their accident, I've been living here. It's been over a year since everything happened. My little brothers have been living with our grandparents. I would have been as well, except the fact that my grandparents want nothing to do with a girl, and that they live in England. Washington D.C. is a different world compared to there, and one I'm not willing to leave.
Let's just say that my parents were loaded before they decided to give up fighting to live, but I can't touch any of that money till I turn 21. Of course, I get a monthly salary which covers enough for gas, bills, and the essentials. Even still, I'll be limited on how much I can get till I'm closer to 30. My grandparent's can't touch the money either, despite the hours in court they spent trying to get their greedy hands on it. Sometimes, I think that the only reason they have my brothers is a silent threat to me. That if I don't repay them for their sacrifices later in life, something will happen to my last true relatives.
I shove away my racing mind as I turn on the water and wash away all the sweat and stress of today. I finally turn my attention to my mental list of activities I have to complete by the time I shuffle out of the bathroom wrapped snugly in a towel. My fingers unconsciously click the buttons on my coffee machine before I make my way to my bedroom while it brews. My room is simplistic, which is how I like it. Pale gray walls, and white furniture. The only personal touch it has, would be the christmas lights strung about randomly and my succulent plants. I guess my clothes make it mine as well, but I don't really count that. I slip into some leggings, an oversized t-shirt and some socks, but no shoes. I don't really like shoes, they are too constricting.
The smell of brewed coffee welcomes me as I pour myself a thermos full of the delicious bitter liquid. I grab my backpack and a bag of twizzlers. My sock covered feet carry me outside onto the small patio that connects me to the outer wall of the building. There is a small ladder that only is visible if you are facing the sliding glass doors. I pull my way up until I am surrounded by the roof's garden. Since D.C is a city, people will do anything to try and make themselves feel more connected to nature, including paying extra to be able to tend to a garden on the roof. My mother and I used to come up here during the summer months when we would all visit the city instead of being in the country. She would always make sure to bring me up here after the boys went to bed. Then she would pour us two cups of coffee, just sit, and listen to me tell her all of my thoughts. Of course, my "coffee" was mostly cream but I didn't mind. Losing those nights were probably one of the hardest parts of losing my parents. That was usually the only time when my mother put away her work and left her phone downstairs in order to simply give me her undeniable affection. The small trees and vegetables were the only other ones who knew all my secrets and, like my mother, they would take them to the grave.
The moon is already high in the sky The stars fuzzy tiny dots, too difficult to make out through the city's bright lights. I automatically check each of the rows of green plants to make sure they're still alive. Only one of them has withered, but despite the heat, the rest of them are powering through. I gently pat the dirt around them to smooth it out, and feel if there's any moisture in them. Sometimes, people forget or take their plant's survival for granted and neglect to water them. Most of them seem to be freshly watered, others not so much, but they'll live. The air smells of street cars and fresh dirt. I pat the dirt around some of the smaller plants to check them as well, when I pat something soft.
"What the?" My hands find their way back to the soft spot and pull out a… hoodie?
Why is there a hoodie here? One, based on the size and style of it, it's for someone around my age. Two, no one around my age comes up here. Three, why was it hidden in the flowers?
I shake out the dirt on it and march my way over to the edge of the roof. The pale lights reflect off the forest green hoodie, but refuse to tell my anything about the owner. No marks on it or characteristics that would tell me anything about the mysterious wearrer. Why hide a hoodie? There isn't any other way it could have gotten under the flower bed unless it was intentional. Maybe it was just some dumb kids goofing off. I have half the mind to go back to my apartment and hide under my covers, but I'm not a child anymore. I can't justify acting like one. I'm determined to get my assignments done and then try to sleep. I stretch out on my stomach on one of the old sunbathing chairs, and pull out my textbooks along with my battery powered lantern. I have math, astronomy, english, and history work. English is only reading a couple chapters of Oliver Twist, so I decide to finish that first.
I keep reflexingly looking at the hoodie. Why is it here? Assignment after assignment, and yet I can't stop thinking about who it belongs to and why it's here. Finally, I finish the last math problem. My watch reads 11:35pm. I guess I'll do some more reading to get a head.
I'm lost to the story in no time. Oliver had it rough, and that's an understatement. Ten pages fades into 20 then 50 then 100 then 200. I check my watch again, 2:14am. I sip away at my themous, yet exhaustion clouds my vision after a time.
I snap awake when there's a shuffling behind me followed by soft cursing. I'm frozen to my spot. No one can see me, even if they tried. Only those who know the layout of the roof knows how to get to this spot, and can't see it without weaving through all the foliage. I slip off the chair and crawl into the shed's shadows. More shuffling, footsteps. My heart crashes against my ribcage. Who the hell is here? My breathing comes in short soft hufs. That's when a tall form comes into view. They tilt their head in almost an expression of curiosity as they spot my scattered school heart gives a painful clench at the idea of them stealing my stuff. I grip the strange hoodie in my fist tighter. Wait. Why do I have the hoodie? I don't remember grabbing it. I almost laugh at the fact that my instinct was to grab some random guys hoodie instead of any of my valuables. I really am dumb. As the strange figure bends over my English book, I picture Oliver Twist screaming at being violated by some stranger. A strangled wimper escapes my throat. I cover my mouth to prevent from screaming as the figure straightens immediately. He knows I'm here. He knows I'm here. Run! Run! My mind is screaming at me to move, but my legs remain jelly. Well here are Evalyn and you all can do is cower like an idiot. Anger flares in my gut. I won't go down easily. I will fight. The figure turns slowly in a circle until their shadowed form faces me. They take a small step in my direction when I launch myself out of the shadows. A strangled battlecry rips free from my throat as I fling my body towards the mysterious figure. He wasn't expecting me to attack him, so his stance was off. We both crash to the ground. He manages to grab the edge of the chair and softens the fall.
Rain. Thunder. Lightning illuminating his gold teeth and knife. "Give it to me little girl." My mother's tear stained face. My father's body laying in a pool of blood.
The memories hit me like a sucker punch. I can't breathe. My body goes fiery hot and cold all at once. I stiffen as we both hit the ground. I should knock him out, move, anything, but I can't. I can't breathe. I had shoved away all memories of that night. I thought I was safe from them. Months of medication, therapy, more medicine. I was supposed to be safe. The stranger rolls out from underneath me in one swift motion. They seem like they're about to attack me, then they hesitate. I gasp in a breath of air wishing I couldn't. I wished it was me on the white marble bleeding out instead of them. I don't know when I started crying but now hot tears stream down the side of my face. I curl up in a ball on my side and shake violently.
"I-I th-thought they wo-wouldn't co-come back." I gasp out in a pained whisper.
I could feel the stranger's concern as though it were a tangible thing.
"I'm sorry if I scared you. Are you alright miss?" His voice is soft and gentle, yet rich and deep, all at once.
I can't stop crying, shaking, gasping for breath. Arms circle around me and I'm lifted off of the hard ground. My hair has fallen out of my hair tie and now flutters about in the wind in long waves. The stranger cradles me against him and then gently lowers me onto the pool chair.
"I- please- don't hu-hurt me." I manage to whimper out. Another vision of blood splattered clothes. Bright lights. Screaming. "Make it stop! Make it stop!" I cry out and grab at the sides of my head.
"If you don't give it to me, I'm going to cut your mother apart. Piece by piece." He smiled and ripped off her ear. My mother's scream filled the house. My brother's were away at my grandparents. "I-I don't know what you want." My small voice came out like a strangled animal. "Then I'll take her fingers."
I hear screaming from somewhere far away. Cold realization hits me. I'm the one screaming. Just like that night. I feel that someone's holding me. Whispering soothing words in my ear. I let my eyes slip close and slowly the memories begin to fade. My hands still clutch the hoodie, which my brain automatically says belongs to the stranger. Finally, after what feels like an eternity my body begins to relax. My hands relax, my legs, my arms, until I sag like a ragdoll in the stranger's arms. Run. My mind still whispers to me, but I ignore it. If the stranger wanted to hurt me, he would have done it by now. I just need to get out of his arms and go home without embarrassing myself more.
"Th-thank you." I feel ice cold and shiver involuntarily. "You can put me down now." I say with more confidence.
He sets me back down on the chair without saying a word.
"Ah." He smiles softly. "I see you've found my hoodie."
I look down at my hands where I still hold it. I look back up in his face. Sharp jawline, bright green eyes, wavy disheveled brown hair. He's beautiful. I feel my cheeks grow hot as I quickly look away.
"I-I found it in the flowers." I look back up slowly to meet his eyes.
"Well thank you." He reaches out his hands and gently takes it from mine.
"Of course." I reply automatically. He kneels down in front of me as though I'm a scared animal.
"I'm sorry for scaring you so much." He says gently.
I almost snort in laughter. He thinks he's the one who scared me so much.
"Oh no. Um. It wasn't you. It was um. I-I have to go." I force my body to scoot away from him and stand. I grab my books methodically and shove them back into my backpack.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Concern coats every word like a sweet poison. I don't need people to be concerned over me. I don't want them to be because then it makes them weak.
"Yes." I snap. Why are you being so unnecessarily cruel? He just brought you out of a panic attack. I pause and scold myself silently.
"So, you're a fan of Dickens' work?" He asks gently. Each word feels like sweet heaven to my ears. What are you doing? Falling for some random stranger who could potentially be your murderer?
"Uh yeah I guess so. I just wish they weren't so tragic, you know? Like why couldn't he have given the people an escape of the reality of their miserable lives, instead of being a constant reminder of it?" I answer. Good, at least you're being polite now.
"I guess he didn't want people to forget. He didn't want them to have an excuse to go on with life the way it was, he wanted them to change it for the better."
"Poetic." I murmur softly so he can't hear, but he does anyway.
"Poetry is food to the soul."
"It is a poison to reality." I answer back. "Look I really appreciate your help, is there anything I can do to repay you. Anything you want?" I really need to get out of being indebted to this guy.
He seems to consider my question for a moment while pulling on his hoodie. I didn't realize how cold it was till he slips it over his head and runs his hands through his hair. My cheeks grow warm. This boy is very, very dangerous.
"How about a dare." He says finally as I finish up packing up my stuff.
"A what?" What does he mean by "dare". My options lay out before me. I'll either be indebted to him for a while, or get it over with quickly.
"A dare." He grins at me. Oh god he's beautiful.
"Stop it stop it stop it." I whisper to myself. I can't think things like that about complete strangers
"Mm?" His brow pinches together in confusion.
"Nothing. Umm, sure yeah I'll take a dare." I swear my cheeks must be the color of a stoplight. You're so stupid you can't even have a normal conversation.
I stand up with my bag and turn my attention back to him, only to find him observing me. Maybe it's the color of the flickering signs below, but are his cheeks red? No you're just imagining things. There's one thing I know would be impossible to not be real, the dark chuckle that follows me as I climb down the ladder to my apartment.