I Hate seeing You like this

Currently I’m sitting outside the door. I can hear his heart monitor going still. Since I’ve gotten here its beeped a total of 35 times. I don’t know why I’m here, I just finished work. I haven’t eaten since lunch and the Chinese food is still leaving track marks along my stomach. Thinking back on myself I think this was a horrid idea. If I’m being honest I don’t even know the man’s name. Even as I tell you this I have no idea how hes doing or if he wants me here. Still… I sit on hardened hospital chairs, smelling the anxiety of the last people to sit here, and wait. Waiting hasn’t ever been my strong suit. I have patience for things I know the outcome for. This is…My watch reads 7: 34 p.m. and glaring.  I have work tomorrow and the hospital is still half an hour from my house.

I’ve been here about 33-32 minutes and not a single thing seems to have changed. At a time like this I’m  ashamed of my mind for not remembering how long his surgery was said to take. For not remembering his name.

The Broom closet, room 631b, never closes, seems to always have someone coming in and out. I’m staring at it still. trying to ignore the long beep humming from the room in front of me. I tried to count down. Thirty…..twenty nine…twenty eight…Tweny seven….all the way down to Ten…Nine….Eight

“We’re losing him” a man inside shouts.

Seven.

“Clear”

Six.

“Nothing”

Five.

“Clear”

Four.

“…”

Three.

“Come on”

Two.

The Universe has a funny way of doing things. I opened my phone to turn off an Alarm signalling 8 O’clock, and realized That I got a message last night a few minutes after I got home. It read

“Goodnight Acer. Hope the Chinese doesn’t still bother you in the morning. 🙂 -Steve H.”

I Hate You….

The meal didn’t settle with me long. It churned, wriggled and writhed, and pressed it self against my naval. Steve didn’t notice, luckily. He seems to be the kind of guy not to let the trouble of it off his shoulders until hes assured of safety. Instead, I bared with it even while we left, while we exchanged numbers, while I got home. While clutching my soon to be sore stomach, I stared into the blank whiteness of my “new message”. I had his number and still not his name. I turned the screen off swiftly and attempted to lie on my back. The next day I came to work sore as expected and not particularly in the chatting mood. So I kept a keen eye out for the chatty new “friend” of mine. When thirty minutes passed and I hadn’t seen him come in, it erked me since I had been giving much attention to avoiding him, but he still hadn’t shown and still I remained conscious. He was very quiet, so I assumed I had missed him.

From my memories of the back of his head these passed few months, he hadn’t ever really missed work. He may have been late from time to time, or at least I could assume, not really knowing him all that well I didn’t have a note of his entering and leaving the building. So I let my guard down, it still itching to return to my side, afraid of another sudden scare. Yet, hours passed unnoticed due to my rather involved line of work, and no Freckles. No Steve. My minute alarm sounded for lunch.

When I took my seat across from the coffee pot, I found Cynthia staring blackly at me, her “Slug Day” lagging the blinking of her left eye, hand stuffed stably under her cheek. Her sigh, however, was out of sheer sadness. Millie joined the silence to pour hot water onto her tea bag. From here I could smell the Chamomile. Not sure why she would have that type of tea as any stimulant when in my experience all it ever did was put me to sleep. My brows shrugged while my shoulders felt too bothered to.

On a similar note to my internal musings, Mill asked what the matter was. In return Cynthia mentioned that her friend was in the infirmary, He had gotten into an accident walking home from a friends house. I sat up abruptly. He couldn’t have. Though it was an entirely plausible scenario, my mind couldn’t wrap itself around the idea.

“Not the mousy one with the freckles?” Mill denied. Cynthia only nodded and resettled herself onto her palm stating he always got himself into accidents like this. Recalling an anecdote I keenly identified, she stated how her friend, whomever he was, had broken the same arm five times now and The ‘poor thing’ could never keep it fixed. He was apparently damaged pretty bad and going into surgery the next afternoon. Somewhere along their conversation I heard Cynthia state that if she -Millie, wanted to visit, he “was staying in room 636 on the ————Hospital’s west wing.”

“I hope he’s alright” I added unheard, standing with my mug and leaving to return to work.

I Hate you?

I’m not sure what exact words I gave him to calm himself from his up and coming disappointment with himself, but what ever it was seemed to have worked flawlessly. I used ‘seemed’ because it had seemed to have worked flawlessly. That is, until he invited me to eat with him. My eyes lazily trailed to my raising wrist. ‘6: 38’ it read. Without much else to be occupied with on this particular day, I accepted. It was then, at that mint smelling Chinese place, in those old wooden chairs, staring at the abstract and absently attractive painting, that I found out how I knew him. We had met once, but it being his first day at the job and my being the kindest person to him there at the start of it all, he recalled my name so as to be a later conversant. Due to Paul- our floor leader- and his recent divorce to Muriel -his high school sweetheart- I was the most impressionable.

So It was my Month Coordinated Post-it note coloring, that gave him that awful idea to have a mountain of 37th edition Navy Blue ones on his desk. I cursed myself inwardly, but was still pleased with my effect on another. Perhaps if the world were filled with more people inspired by me, I’d have  quieter work-area. I am making reference to Kyle, only person in my row to listen to heavy metal and indigestible synth and technological themed music so loud it could be heard -from his headphones mind you- by the water fountain on the opposite side of the office. Yes, he sits directly to my left. Yes, he is a horrible pain. Yes, I digress.

Similarly my mind wandered while I heard this boy talk about himself, too occupied otherwise to record anything other than those truly interesting bits he’d add. In all this I had yet to hear his name, and If I did, I hadn’t remembered it long enough to tell it to you now. The ear catching bit he added, in case you wondered, was that he had broken the same arm four times. I was sure that after two they would have taken further precautions to avoid it happening again. I relayed this opinion to him and he too shared the ideal.

” I wasn’t exactly the most careful either” he added giving enough proof of this accusation to leave his doctors acquitted.

I laughed at that, shortly, quickly, I hadn’t even minded it myself. However, Steve found it the new topic of interest and gave a laugh of his own in turn. His laugh matched his face. His laugh was very him. I very much remember his face.

I Hate You,

With our caffeinated expedition over and done with, I had returned to my creaking cracking desk seat with a fresh white button-down donned and straightened.  It was here I Identified where I had spotted him ere this event. Navy Blue post-its. The Freckle faced brunette that sat a row from my cubicle. Steve I think his name was. I was and am still unsure if that is correctly his title, yet I will refer to him as such from now on. I Hummed a acknowledgement in my chest and swiveled back to level with my monitor.

At some point during the day, my ear had latched on to the specific patterned of his typing. Ta tt-tt-ttae ta -tta-tt-tt-tt-tt-tta space -ta ttatata ta ta backspace backspace -ta. He probably stared at the keyboard while he typed. Questionable how he was considered qualified for this job with typing habits like his. Still I hadn’t looked back at him since his initial spotting, and knew nothing of his silent steps and low breathing. So My hearing his quiet voice coming from promptly behind me was enough to startle me and my not as decently coordinated fingers into a mild spasm. ‘kd;lsfjd[sopa3.9ikp/’ read my computer screen.

“Sorry”

I adjusted my spectacles in response and turned to face him. He shifted, scratched a bit, and looked around, settling on rubbing his arm and panting a quiet laugh before actually addressing me again.

“I’m really sorry about your shirt.” A few seconds passed. He looked away from me now, somewhere to the left  “Gosh, I sure was glad when you told me you had a spare, and You’re really organised so I guess I should have expected that. But anyway, if I could make it up to you that’d be…that would clear my conscious. I had piping hot coffee spilled on me before and…” He continued to mention how disturbing an incident it could be, but I was more applauding my accurate calculation than paying close enough attention to give word for word account for what he told me.

Somewhere in the midst of his condolences he used my name. My given name, not my surname. That peeked me. When had we ever been in an event for me to have given my name to him or for him to have heard it. Consciously I checked my surroundings for a name tag or a labeling with my name on it. He was still talking when I looked pack to him, perplexed. By this point his speech pattern was slowing with concern, to a halt.

“Something wrong?”  A flush tinted the tip of his cheek for a moment, he was probably searching for a manner in which his made a mistake or acted inappropriately. ” Sorry” I cursed him for saying that without reason, such a waste of the word. “I talk a bit too much.”

Oh, my eyebrows raised, He noticed.

I Hate you.

At times I caught myself staring at him, Counting the strands on the back of his neck, those that stood out of place. Forty, I think it was last Tuesday, the last day I saw him. Cynthia ticked seconds by per word, perhaps more than one if she was irritated, but usually one word a second. With her skin molding against her palm, her features were sagged and askew, but on good days, those where she sat upright and smirked slightly, she had a immaculate alignment to her features. I praise her parent on their fine handy-work.

That day, however, was a “slug day”, one where she sighed and blinked each eye a few seconds before the other. These days were more common. The Man she was talking to, whatever his name , was the man I’d pandered my attentions to that day. Never, in the Six months I’ve resided here for lunch break, also coincidentally the six months since Cynthia began her narrative cadence in this spot, have I ever taken the time to find out who her partner was. I could recall every detail of his visage from behind, but I couldn’t name a modicum of expository regarding his front. Yet on this Tuesday, I took a particular interest in him and who he was.

Perhaps the foreboding I never realized I had, was edging me towards the imminent and the unavoidable, Giving me way to the future in the universe’s own unique manner. So There I sat, and There I stared and there we met. Rearing a corner to return to his seat and desk and abundance of navy blue sticky notes, he jabbed his hip with the pointed edge of a table, in his spiraling recoil, he managed to dump the content of his notably heavy mug on my lap, belt, and thin button down. Cunt, my brain filled in. No no, disagreed my consciousness, this is surely an accident. The man, similarly assumed himself to have the disposition of that described by my brain, approached me and apologized profusely.

In an immediate thought I marveled at how little I recognized his facial feature. Then in a recollection themed towards the further behind regions of my mind, I assumed he must have had a painstakingly similar event happen to feel so empathetic to the situation. That or he had an amazingly affectionate face. The thought cocked my head to the side, slanting my sights on the man. I wouldn’t have assumed the freckles, but all else was, or should have been, up to part with my inner constructions toward him. He was very much like his face.

So New post

The stuff in this blog is gonna be totes unchecked and totes not editted

The Victim Part 5

Wow

ink

I swung the lamp across her face before I even got a look at her properly. I bashed her into the room and then closed the door behind her. She lay there on the ground, face red, but very much conscious. She struggled, and gasped, and moaned. I walked over and loomed over her back, as she tried to get up. She’d know. She’d know.

I grabbed a hand full of her hair and dragged her over to the glass table. She screamed and kicked, and that just made it even more exciting.

“Danielle. I want you to look at him.” I started, holding her head in front of my doctor, “I want you to look at him and think twice before you lie to me.” She sobbed loudly, “Tell me you understand, Danielle.” I shook her head violently

“You’re a monster…” She spat, her crying voice making her words…

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So I’m thinking about posting Chapters of a story here.

Yeah