Lace

Complacency is something you can't run from.

            The rain fell as it always fell, pattering outside the window, making the leaves in the trees move slightly, dipping and then releasing upward, free of their burden of precipitation. The sidewalk below was slick between the patches of grass that looked too green on an otherwise dull day.

            She hadn’t bothered to turn the light on as the day got darker, and so it was only the grey rain-light from outside that illuminated the journal in her lap, closed, but with a finger saving her page, and titled, “Cassandra, Not Cassie.” She had let her pen slip onto the windowsill when she had given up for the day and slumped back into her armchair. There was nothing worth writing in that journal, nothing new. There never was.

            We had sex last night, she could write. Aaron had wanted to, and they had. Like machines, pretending at love, at lust, even though they did the same thing every night, talked over the same things.

            “How was work?” “Good �" you?” “Good.” “Oh.”

            They discussed the state of the world, concluded that it was fucked, most nights. Lamented the fact, and left it, to be returned to the next night.

            Sometimes, though she never said so, she wished that the world would go to hell just a little bit quicker so that something would happen, anything. If an atom bomb went off in New York at least she’s have something to run from. Or to, because maybe she’d be a hero.

            Complacency, on the other hand, was so slow, so creeping a thing that you couldn’t run from it. You never knew it was there to run from until it was inside you, a grey tide that drained energy and drive  - and how do you run from something that’s inside you?

            She leaned her head against the window, trapping the lace curtains between the two so they pulled up a bit, rubbing against her leg below her shorts. Her seeking fingers felt the lace lightly, catching in the little holes, feeling the roughness, the slight resistance to touch, so unlike the smooth feel of her t-shirt.

            She’d had enough of this sitting around. Enough of this waiting around for something exciting to happen. Aaron expected her to be there when he got home from work. For a start, she wouldn’t be there. She’d be out. Let him wonder about that. See if that got the response her sudden silences and sighs had not.

            The journal dropped to the floor as she stood, grabbed her purse and jacket, and left the room, left the apartment, almost dancing down the stairs and out into the rain. She felt as light as a bird.

            On the sidewalk outside she paused momentarily. She didn’t know where she was going, had no destination in mind. Something in her mind fought against that, begging her to at least choose a spot to walk to, or decide when she would come back, set down some sort of guidelines, please!

            She ignored that part of her mind, and turned left. Jaywalked across the street because it was illegal, and continued west because that was the way the wind was blowing, and that was the way the rain was fleeing.

            An hour or two later she was still enjoying the rain trickling down her spine as the light began to really fade, and the streetlights came on. She smiled, knowing by the lateness of the hour that Aaron would be home, would be wondering where she was. She wondered if he would call the police. She relished the thought, imagined his relief when she finally walked through the door. Would he think she was crazy for going out on her own with no warning like this? Maybe.

            But the feeling of rebellion was fading, dampened by aching feet. So she had gotten out and walked around for a couple hours. What of it? It proved nothing about her complacency. This was something anyone could do. Aaron could even choose to think that she was trying to get into shape. Walking was different, but not enough. But still she walked, thinking, building up courage. Can I do this? Do what?

            This! She finally thought, turning to face the alleyway that she had been about to walk right past. She had long since doubled back, headed south and east until she was entering the city, not the suburbs. Brick buildings rose on either side of the alley, dirty and wet. Dumpsters stood against their back walls. The only light was slanting and orange, from a streetlight behind her, and still everything it touched shone with moisture, glittering, like a cave filled with strange diamonds.

            Never go down a dark alley, echoed through her mind, a warning. The warning, the advice that everyone gave. Never go down a dark alley, a host of voices seemed to yell at her.

            Against them she whispered, Yes. Took a step into the alley, and another, rain sheeting down her hair, down her spine. Her eyes were adjusting; there was nothing to be afraid of back here. Just dumpsters. God, I was stupid. Nothing to be afraid of at all. She had to keep blinking rain out of her eyes, and it was getting heavier, beating on the dumpsters, blowing against her back, urging her on. She smiled, stepped forward and strode confidently.

            “Stop it right there,” a voice said behind her and she whirled. She first noticed that he had a gun in his hand; second, that he had black holes for eyes. The gun was pointed right at her, and her heart was beating faster, stronger, than it ever had before in her life.

            “Give me your money.”

            “I �" I,”

            “Just give me the money.” He sounded bored, looked it, despite the rain, despite what he was doing. Lightning flashed behind him; and she blinked.

            As the thunder rumbled, she said, quietly, remembering complacency, grey complacency, “No.” But the thunder drowned her out.

            “What?” He blinked his eyes, the drops on his lashes flashing in the stray light from a car driving by. She tightened her hands on her purse, cried, “No!” She smacked him across the face with her purse, glad of the library book that had been in the bottom of it.

            He crumpled, his head landing in a puddle, and she leaned back against a brick wall, staring down at him, shaking, whimpering. He wasn’t bad looking, she noticed. He had good cheekbones. And she had hit him, had knocked him out. Had knocked the complacency from her system; she could feel it fleeing. She briefly wondered what Aaron was doing, and then went down on her knees in front of the man who had tried to rob her. Her shivering, dripping hand smoothed the hair from his face, though she knew that she wasn’t making sense. She ought to have been running away as fast as she could, but she had already decided that nothing tonight was going to make sense. She was not going to play it safe.

            “Thank you,” she told him, finally getting her lips under control. Water was dripping off of her onto him, onto his face, illuminated in orange, each separate drop breaking in a flurry of light on him. She started to speak and couldn’t stop. Told him about Aaron, about making love like machines, about a world that wouldn’t f**k itself quickly enough. She talked about her work, her fantasies. She told him what he had done for her, and thanked him again. On the last word, his eyes snapped open.

            Her hand jerked away from his hair where it had been resting, but she stayed next to him, looking down at him, smiling. Neither one moved until he spoke.

            “There’s something you need to see,” he said, and meant it. “Help me up.”

            They walked through the night, deeper and deeper into a city that grew brighter and brighter as the number of streetlights increased. She followed a couple of steps behind him, thinking of Aaron and smiling to herself. He kept looking back at her, as if he wasn’t sure she would still be there.

            I’m not even sure of it myself. She was vibrating on some level below her muscles between running and staying, tense as a violin string. But each time, she was still there. Aaron would just know I was following. This is uncertainty. It tastes good. She laughed at that last, and he looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was. What would it matter now?

            In the center of the city he opened a back door to a skyscraper, and led her in and up more flights of stairs than she had ever walked up in her life. It seemed to go on forever, but when they emerged at the top, the rain was gone, as was the dark.

            The sun was rising over the city, glancing off buildings, truly rising, not just emerging. She could see that now as he closed the door quietly behind them. She had never really watched it rise, she realized, just noticed it come out from behind a building. Here, on top of the city, on top of the world, it rose, moved beyond the buildings, something bright and strong and volatile. It was all around her.

            He stood next to her, his feet crunching on the cement, shifting pebbles as he shifted his weight.

            “Go look,” he said, his grimy hand gesturing to the edge of the roof. The morning sun highlighted the patches of dirt on it, making it clear that beneath them, the man’s skin was pale and clear.

            “I don’t even know your name,” she said, as she had thought to herself in the alley as she talked to him, and on the stairs. Their eyes met, hers pale grey, his black, even now.

            “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Go look.”

            And she did. The wind at the edge of the building seemed stronger, more violent. It tore at her jacket, tossed her short curls, made her eyes water. Vertigo set in almost instantly, and she took a half step back. It’s such a long way down. All the way down to the cars, to the people who walk around never glancing up, never seeing the blue sky. They should look up now and see me, free. Tears ran down her face from the wind as she drew a deep breath of its violence into her. Yes, this… this is what I was looking for. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the wind, the sun.

            A click from behind her caught her attention. She turned to meet his black eyes and the black hole of the gun pointed at her. His finger was already on the trigger.

            She smiled, feeling as though the sun had turned her eyes to silver and her hair to gold. He nodded toward the view. She swept her arms around, feeling the wind twist through her fingers like rope. She looked down again, and then looked up, feeling free and clear. Her arms were outstretched, about to fly, and her jacket flapped against her thin body. For several long moments she stood there, waiting. Waiting, but the shot didn’t come. She wondered if he was staring at her, could almost feel his black gaze on the small of her back. And the shot didn’t come.

            “Do it!” she finally yelled, and he did.

            It exploded between her shoulder blades, red in her mind, and she tossed forward off the edge of the building. Her hands twitched, clutching at handfuls of wind, trying to call it to her, and it seemed to work. She never felt her body hit the cement that was still untouched by today’s sun; instead she tore through the lace that held her, rough as it was, and flew off into somewhere where brightness was the last thing she saw and there was absolutely nothing to weigh her down.

Author's Note

First draft; all constructive criticism is welcome!

Reviews

[A.Lee]

Wow.... You had me hooked the entire way through. That's half the battle right there. I'm not drawn into long stories very easily (on here anyway). I really like the way she's constantly contemplating what she should do while remembering her relationship with Aaron and what she really wants. Seeking danger to get rid of that feeling. Very very good job. I love the way it ended--- that she didn't turn around and go home and that she wasn't afraid of what was happening. Also I loved the way you described the view she saw right and what she felt just before he pulled the trigger. GREAT write. Definitely one of my faves.

[L.I. Black]

I couldn't even think of any critiques as I was reading it - which means you did an extremely good job of keeping a readers attention. Haha.
Very nicely done, it keeps up consistency and draws the reader in.