Sorry for any mistakes in this y'all, my proof reader was extraordinarily busy this week dealing with stuff! Hope you enjoy it!
~J.
Crystal woke several times during the night, haunted by dreams of a strange man and a white owl like the one she had seen a few nights before. When she finally couldn't stay in bed anymore, she got out of the bed. She knew it was going to be one of the bad days, one of the days where she wished she, too, had died. A day filled with depression so deep that it was like she was sinking into a pool of the deepest, darkest water with no way out. She felt like the living dead; she had no energy though she'd slept for hours longer than she had in months. She looked at the clock and grimaced. It was only six in the morning. She had a full twenty-four hours to get through before she could go back to losing herself in dance. She truly hated Sundays.
Sundays were the days when she and Emma used to go to the park. They would spend hours during the summer laying on a blanket, drinking lemonade and reading books; in the winter they would skate on the lake until they were pink-cheeked and ready to drink some hot chocolate from one of the vendors before going back out and skating more.
Sundays were also the days where the dance studio was closed and she had to keep herself entertained for the day. Or at least keep herself from going slowly mad, hour by hour. She put on clean clothes, not bothering with a shower or brushing her hair. She sauntered into the living room and plopped down on the couch, turning on the television for background noise. She couldn't even begin to concentrate on the stories of wars, politics and celebrity romances.
She sighed and pulled a notepad from the coffee table in front of her and began to make a short grocery list. On the side of the paper she also wrote down what all she needed to do for the day. Laundry was at the top of the list. Most of her clothes were in need of a good wash, as was her bedding. She also needed to check the mail. She glanced up at the window, where sunlight was beginning to peek through and slant over a wooden easel. Covered with a tarp was the last painting she'd worked on months before, when Emma was first diagnosed. "I should get rid of it," she thought.
She looked down at the list and was horrified to see that she had begun sketching on the side of the paper. She ground out a hollow-sounding "No!" and ripped that piece off, shredding it into tiny pieces before slamming them into the trash can next to the sofa. She wouldn't allow herself the joy that painting and sketching had brought her. Sketching and painting were equated with Emma. Thinking of Emma was a very bad thing. She invaded Crystal's dreams every night…except last night.
Crystal began to wonder about the odd dreams. She was so used to dreaming of Emma; waking with sore, tired eyes and cheeks streaked from the tears and a soggy pillow. She knew she'd never seen the man before, she'd have remembered someone that striking. Taller than her by quite a bit, his clothing had been an odd mix of medieval and some kind of spandex. Weird. Really, really weird.
His eyes were what had gained her attention, though. They had seemed like deep pools of sadness. It had caught her, as if they mirrored the pain and grief she felt deep down to her soul. When she'd woken, it was sudden, and she would have sworn she could feel the stranger caressing her cheek as he'd been doing in the dream. She could almost smell his scent on the air, a mixture of smoke, sea water and caramel.
Crystal roused herself from her reverie and stood, stretching. She walked into the kitchen and searched for something that looked appetizing, knowing she still had to feed her body. She decided on scrambled eggs and toast with a glass of lemon water. She prepared the food quickly, adding no spices or seasonings. It was as plain as possible. Bare nourishment. Why should she enjoy food anymore when the rest of her felt dead?
She washed her dishes and put them away before walking to the bathroom where she yanked a hairbrush through her hair, barely even wincing as it caught snarls and tangles in the teeth. She put her hair into a quick ponytail and slathered on SPF 50 sunscreen all over her face, arms and hands. She brushed her teeth and decided against even trying to use makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes and the sadness in them. She looked at herself just to make sure she looked decent to go out in public and flicked off the light as she left the bathroom.
She slid her feet into simple ballet flat-style shoes and grabbed her purse and the list from her notebook on the coffee table. She tore the page out and tossed the notebook back onto the couch. As she left the apartment, she locked the door behind her and made her way downstairs. She waved politely at several of the neighbors. Mr. Helgeson stopped her for a moment.
"Oh, Crystal, there you are, dear. Here, I made this for you especially," He said, smiling and holding out a necklace to her. She smiled, the old man often gave her jewelry out of the blue. This one was a bit different from the regular simple beaded necklaces he gifted her with. This one was made of tiny blue glass beads twisted with a strand of beautiful amethyst beads. Strung in the middle was a beautiful pendant and Crystal brought it nearer to her face to see it more closely. It was a beautifully carved owl in clear-white crystal. "Mr. Helgeson, this is beautiful! But I can't take this! This must be worth a lot of money. You could sell it and make a lot of money for this."
Crystal tried to hand it back to the old man who took it and grinned. "Nonsense!" he half-shouted and came up behind her, clasping it around her neck and leaving it to fall on her breasts. "There, perfect. Run along now, dear. Oh, and if you find any more of those chocolate-dipped cherries you know I love, would you mind picking me up a box?"
Crystal laughed and nodded, as she walked out of the apartment building. She stopped in the lobby to check her mail slot in case there was anything Mr. Helgeson had missed. She was glad it was empty. Still no letter from her mother, that was a relief. She continued on her way, walking to the grocery store where she stocked up on the basics of bread, milk, eggs, and microwave meals. She also grabbed tea bags and sugar, iced tea being the only caffeine she allowed herself. She did the self-checkout line and dutifully carried her cloth tote bags filled with her purchases home and put them away in their appropriate places. She prepared a kettle of boiling water for making the iced tea; when it whistled, she poured the water over the tea bags.
While the tea steeped, Crystal stripped her bed of the quilt, sheets, pillowcases and pillows. She carried them to the small utility room which held her washer and dryer. She stuffed everything into the washer, added the detergent and color-safe bleach and started the wash. She returned to the kitchen where she strained the tea, added the sugar and poured it all into a lidded pitcher and put it into the fridge to cool.
While the washer was going and the tea was prepared for later, Crystal took out her cleaning supplies. She swept and mopped the floors, though they were already spotless. Though she had just dusted the week before, she wiped down every available surface. She flipped her mattress. She emptied out every drawer and organized everything in them. She took out the garbage.
When the timer on the wash went off, she put it into the dryer and placed her clothes in the washer. Almost all of her clothes were gray, black or dark blue, she didn't really need to sort them into categories. She did separate the underwear, however, as they were so delicate and she didn't want to ruin them. While her clothes washed, Crystal went into her bedroom and began taking anything brightly colored out of her closet and drawers. She folded them and placed them into a box to donate to a local thrift shop.
She looked at the clock beside her bed and realized it was finally 6pm. Sunday was almost over, thank whatever deity was listening. Though at this point, Crystal wasn't even sure if anyone was listening at all. If they had, they would have let her die alongside Emma. Dusty and grimy, Crystal walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower as hot as she could possibly stand it. She slipped under the spray and moaned as the heat hit her. She briskly washed herself clean of the lingering dust and sweat before sliding her head under the water and washing her hair.
She turned off the water and just stood there for a moment, enveloped in the steam, wrapped in it like a cloak. She closed her eyes and let herself breathe in the humid air, scented with the freshness of her shower gel and shampoo. She wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the shower onto the bath mat. She dried herself quickly, wrapping the towel around her hair. She dressed quickly in pajama pants and a tank top. She stared at herself in the mirror, looking into her own eyes, trying to find their secrets. She didn't know how long she stood there before she blinked and came back to herself.
Crystal wandered out into the kitchen, the towel still wrapped around her hair. She made a quick, filling supper of unseasoned chicken breast, mashed potatoes without butter or salt, and green beans. She ate without tasting anything (not that there was much to taste, anyways), and only ate until her stomach stopped growling, with 2/3's of her food still left on her plate. She put the rest of the food in the refrigerator wrapped in saran wrap.
She sat down on the couch, grabbing her list from her purse on the table, where she'd tossed it when she'd come back with the groceries. She mentally checked off that she'd done everything on the list and then tore the list into small pieces, tossing them into the garbage can. She flipped on the television and lost herself in thoughts for a while before it was time to go to bed and begin another week of as little reminiscing as possible.
As she climbed into bed, she wondered if she'd dream of the strange man again, or the owl. She slid the owl necklace Mr. Helgeson had given her and hung it on the frame of her bed over her head. She flicked off the light and laid there, staring at the plain white ceiling, tears slipping from her eyes in silent grief, until all became blackness and sleep took her far away. Away where there was no pain, no hurt, only music and dancing. And in the shadows Jareth watched her.