Chapter Three

When Bronne finally let himself out of the bathroom it was nearing 11:30pm. He eyed the clock halfheartedly and noted Eva had been gone for only twenty minutes but it seemed like hours since he'd locked himself up. He put his hand to his back pocket and felt the comforting small rectangular box beneath his finger tips. As he pulled it out and slid his pointer-finger beneath the lid he noticed Eva's phone peeking out from beneath the sheets. He stood staring at it for a few moments before deciding against searching through it, refusing to become a possessive-jealous boyfriend.

 

He once again let himself out onto the small balcony and reclined in the old beat up chair he'd brought from his place. It was the one thing he'd managed to salvage when Eva had gone through his stuff, granting only a few things permission to reside in her apartment. He'd sold most of his furniture for some extra cash and the few valuable's he owned were stashed in a small safe he stuffed under his side of the bed hidden by some extra pillows and blankets. He knew if Eva ever stumbled upon it she'd stick to him until he allowed to rummage through it, and he couldn't bear the thought.

 

 As he lit the cigarette he thought back to the countless nights he'd spent in this exact chair, coming up with ideas and plots to the many unfinished stories he'd written. He'd been close to finishing one but had been unable to pay his last months rent, so in the chaos of moving and becoming familiarized with living with his OCD girlfriend he'd been forced to push it aside. Eva didn't approve of his career choice and whenever she saw him writing she made a big deal of hovering around until he took notice of her. She wanted him to take up a regular nine-to-five job where he had to wear fancy suits and sit at a desk typing on a computer all day. He didn't even like writing on computers - he much preferred his leather bound journals so he could fill the pages with pictures and notes as he wrote.

 

Once he finished his cigarette he let himself back in the sliding glass door, once again drawn to the Blackberry. Conflicted he sat on the bed and picked up Eva's phone. He touched the keypad and lit up the screen, searching through the options for her call log. Drawing a deep breath hit enter and saw that the same number was listed three times, the last outgoing being called at 10:47. The number looked familiar and when he clicked on it a profile was brought up, revealing a small picture of the caller. He squinted as he looked at the tiny figure, a tall Latino man with dark hair and muscular arms. It took him a few seconds to realize it was Carlos, his best friend.

 

It had never been Bronne’s intention to fall so far down the rabbit hole. His entire life had been dedicated to setting himself for success, and at the age of nineteen he’d packed up and moved to the city to start his life as a writer. He got lucky and won a paid internship with the Chicago Tribune as an assistant to the editor and soon was promoted to a full-time position with his own weekly column. The money was good and for the first time in his life he had something stable to hold onto.

Day after day he entered the office and plastered a smile on his face to greet his colleagues, but on the inside he couldn’t bear the boredom and structure of his carefully planned life. He didn’t get any field work and all he could look forward to were the far and in between unruly questions that sometimes brightened his days.

 

When he first met Eva his life brightened for the first time in years. The everyday drudgery of work, sleep, work, sleep was interrupted with surprise phone calls and late night movies. She was unpredictable and he could never guess what her next move or motive would be. Bronne liked that about her, it provided him an escape from an otherwise straightforward life.

 

“Can't say I didn't bring it upon myself,” he mumbled and laid his head on the soft down-pillows Eva liked. He thought back to the chaotic life he once lived and had promised to never go back to. The drugs, the partying, the booze, waking up in someone's bed he had never seen before. “And for what?” He thought, “all it did was drag me down this damned rabbit hole.” Though he'd walked away from the party scene, he was unable to walk away from his addiction to drugs. He'd take whatever he could get his hands on, then go home and barricade himself in his room. He liked how they made him feel, the way they morphed his normal thoughts. That's how he started writing. He'd filled over fifteen notebooks with his drug-filled experiences and stories " they were never great, but they were always interesting. Once he stopped the drugs he'd made sure to hide the moleskin notebooks from everyone. He couldn't stand the idea of having his most vulnerable and creative thoughts scrutinized by anyone, especially Eva, so he'd hidden them in a pad-locked chest beneath their bed.

 

Bronne looked around the room, his eyes settling on Eva's jewelry box. He went to it and gently lifted the lid, not wanting to disturb anything. He stared transfixed at the contents, hardly able to conceive where all this had come from. He'd never seen any of it on her, and he certainly hadn't bought it for her. There was a pocket on the side, hardly visible between the rows of drawers that gold and silver spilled from. He reached for it but became annoyed when he couldn't fit his fingers in the space. Bronne sighed and rubbed his eyes, he was tired and wasn't sure what he was even looking for in this box. He closed it, but his thoughts lingered on the small pocket within it.

Reviews

[Steve]

You are really a story teller! I usually start reading a book and cant even make it a quarter or the way through, but this is good so far! You are skilled!