Prelude Lila

The begining of an end

Prelude

Lila

4 : 32 a.m. I stared at the ceiling, wide awake, the shadows of the night dancing on my bedroom’s walls. Everything was so quiet, almost lewd. 

Sleep didn’t come last night. I just couldn’t. I knew from the moment I went to bed that I wouldn’t be able to sleep, or even rest. Not tonight. Not that night. I turned on my side to look thought my window.  The fire escape squeaked lightly sending shivers done my spine. Metal creaks always made me uncomfortable, uneasy. My room was gloomy, the furniture tinted in a ghostly blur. The city that never sleeps seemed dead outside,  no sound, no lights, no hope. Each year, it was getting worse, a new low, a new depth. The slow ticking of my alarm clock matched my breathing - inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, with every second passing. I was too tense, too wired. Time had come.

My bedroom wasn’t big but cosy - light yellow walls, white floating see-through curtains hanging on one side of the window, a purple orchid standing on one of the night-stand, an old white rattan rocking chair, a dresser, candles and a white and black picture of my mom and dad on a shelf. When looking for a place to rent, my only request had been a bedroom where a king sized bed could fit. The bed was the place I curled into desperation, I needed space. 

Like every mornings for the past four years, I pulled out my running gear, black shorts, a black tank top and a matching sport bra. I lived for habits. Habits were what kept me going. No surprises, a life of knowing what was next, a clear and distinct path through the empty woods that were my life.

Even if it was really early, I knew it would already be warm out. Mid-Julys in New York City are intense, rarely going down seventy degree even at night. The air would be saturated by the exhaust fumes of yesterday. I slid off my cotton night-gown and let it fall to the floor unceremoniously. 

Once dressed, I move to the adjoint bathroom to tie my long wild curly blond hair into a ponytail. It’s the only time of the day I let it in its natural state and not straight, like I normally wore it. It was a sign of the past, a past that needed to be tamed. But early in the morning, while running, trying to achieve the pseudo peace I was looking for, even only for a split second, this moment of utter emptiness and blank, I needed to be in the past. Avoiding my gaze in the mirror, I brushed my teeth consciously, sat back on the bed to put on my running shoes and grabbed my watch on the night-stand. Next stop was the fridge. It’s all a ritual, calming and comforting. Each stop already planed and mastered. Today, I was going to relive the event, like I had every years on this date for four years now. Everything was settled to go a certain way. Those little rituals were getting me there, holding me together until the right moment. I snatched a bottle of water from the fridge, took long slow sips. It’s cold and crispy, perfect. I was ready. My Ipod laid on the countertop like it always was. The last item on my list. It’s my most precious valuable, not for the objet in itself but for what it contained. Memories of former times, a fine line between the living and the dead, a reminder. Putting the earphones in my ears, I switched it on, went to the door and left my apartment. 

As predicted, the air was already warm and suffocating. I choose to live in the Murray Hill area for the prices of the rent and for the architecture. It’s a nice quiet neighbourhood, slightly boring and predictable, just like I liked it. 

Settling into my usual stride, I began running in slow movements until my muscles were warm enough to accommodate a faster speed. Music blasting through my ears, I cut through parks and mostly empty streets without a specific goal. I was just running. I started when I was about eight years old, when my parents first signed me up for athleticism. I liked the diversity of activities it proposed but I fast went for running. It was exiting, challenging but most of all, it allowed me to take my mind off of things. I enjoyed the freedom it gave me. But for the past four years, I took the habit of running to an other level. Every day I woke up at five a.m, got ready and went on a run before work. I ran until every worries blurred into a mass of colours and shapes and disappeared, until my brain was numb and silent. It gave me peace of mind to start the day, even if it didn’t last for long. It kept me going, a day at a time. On bad days, I went back after work, to get it all out, to forget.

About an hour had passed when I felt the change in me. I knew the time was close. 5 : 45 a.m, only two more minutes. I changed my playlist, going from The Cinematic Orchestra to a pre-recorded voice «You have five new messages? First new messages, Friday July 18th 2008». I pushed myself to go faster, taking long and powerful steps, lifting myself up the sidewalk, harder and harder. It was only me and them now. Me. Them. My mom’s voice raised slowly «Honey darling, where are you ? Please come home, it’s late, come home honey ». Then, an other voicemail. Her voice was full of concern. «Lila please, don’t do that. You don’t have to. Don’t. It doesn’t have to be like that. Just come home to us. We are here for you. Come home. Come back ». Finally my dad’s voice took over «Munchkin, it’s time, time for you to understand. You can’t keep on doing that to yourself, ruin and punish yourself like that. You have a family that’s here for you and will always be. Just turn away from everything. Come back to us. Come back to where you belong, with people who care and love you. Just get home please. We love...»

It all went so fast, I didn’t see it coming, lost as I was in the past. Reaching the corner of the street, I came face to face with a cyclist. I jumped aside just in time to avoid the collision, stepping on the street. The cyclist didn’t stop, not even acknowledging me. I looked at him disappear behind a building and turned to go back to my parents. That’s when the cab came into sight. I didn’t do anything, didn’t try to move or get out of the way. I stood there, in the middle of the street, smiling and I closed my eyes awaiting for the lights to run me over, my dad whispering in my ear.

Instead, a strong hand grabbed a handful of my ponytail, yanking me out off the way. I came crushing onto the building wall, my right shoulder taking the hit. The air left my lungs, my vision blurred. My voice’s dad was cut off. The cab honked in the background, and a deep masculine voice cursed in return.

Slowly, I started to recover and got myself together. My right hand massaged my hurting shoulder, trying to calm the pain down. It would bruise for sure. Confusion spread through me. What had just happened ? 

A man was facing me, his body inched, only a couple of feet away. He was tall, 6 feet 2 at least, strongly build, lean and powerful muscles stretched under his simple white tee-shirt. He was wearing well worn faded blue jeans and black boots. He was beautiful and something else, something I couldn’t put my finger on. One of his hand went through his chestnut hair pushing away a lose lock out of his sight, the other scratching smoothly his two days old beard. His dark green eyes were on me, examining me, questioning, waiting for answers that wouldn’t not come, but he didn’t talk. He never said a word, just stared for what seemed like hours, trying to put the pieces together, analysing me. He was disturbing, he was hypnotizing and gorgeous. I couldn’t look away even if my mind screamed at me to. Those eyes. Those eyes were doing things to me I never thought possible. They brought me hope. Something deep inside me clenched. And I got mad, mad at him for what he just did, for his look, for his silence, for what he stirred inside of me. I had felt numb for so long, only wallowing in pain that it took me by surprise. I was so use to have all this anger directed at myself that being mad at someone felt uncanny. But it was all too much and fury scolded through my veins, a burning fire, fuelled with incomprehension, apprehension and surprise.  I hated him with a passion. I needed to go away, as far as possible from this man, from his gaze - so I ran off. 

I turned around the corner and ran as fast as my leg allowed me, never glancing back. I got back to my building in record time, rushed up the stairs, opened the door, closed it  and burst into tears. Sliding down the frame, I put myself into a foetal position on the floor and let go. I hadn’t cry since the Day.

Author's Note

I hope you enjoy. I'd love for you all to tell me what you think with honesty. English isn't my native language, I'd gladly take any comment about bad editing.

Reviews

[Forest Green]

Intriguing, well written, very much a worthy storyline. Will read more.

[Morgane Soustre]

Thanks I appreciate it

[A. Amos]

I like your writing style and mere I like Your story telling...simply great

However I agree with Chris review. Some attentions are required...you have a nice tale to share with the world

[Chris]

Spell check doesn't alert you to wrong words... nor to singular or plural usages. There are such issues within this piece. "...to look thought my window." - you did mean through? "...on one of the night-stand," - stands? There are others.

Being a second language makes it harder but not impossible to edit. You have a great grasp...but still need to work more. Idioms and tense, plurals and placements, dialogue and moments of just given understandings... the normal assumptions your reader can make - are some of the things needing more observance and practice. The way we speak is not always the way we write - and yet, some "real" wording isn't always grammatically right - so when and where to use what ...is an issue of experience.

Chris