Creep

She was anxious to leave the flat the moment she woke up. Her deep repugnance for her current disposition is no secret even to those that surround and care for her.

Armed with a laptop in bed, Chloé checks up on all that is needed to be checked and maintained, fiddled with some of her materials and collection, and played some of her tunes for good measure. She picked up her guitar that hasn’t been touched in ages and calibrated it. She never pays attention to it more often than before, her interest now is mostly diverted into drums. One strum of it brought forth nostalgia from days gone by, a haunting leap from the throat that she had long forgotten, erased and failed to consider. And so she stayed on with it longer than she thought, composed herself for preparation in front of the glass window while the pale bright sky reflects back from her face.

She knew her moment to shine won’t arrive anytime soon, not even this day. There is no exception, she thought. There never is or was. The cycle of her day-to-day activity has always been very predictable for her. Nothing surprises her anymore. It’s always been pathetic and stale in comparison to that of her brother’s, she assumes.

A party for all the people, her colleagues and acquaintances, she knew in the workplace, such was an event that was to happen that fateful night. A moment to reconsider their relationships and hopefully blossom into something bigger, deeper and better. It wasn’t all that important to her, she has already concluded herself in her mind to be incompatible with them in so many ways even she cannot keep track of. As long as that boundary of fragile respect remains unscathed within the coterie, then she can forcefully live with it and them. Her intention for coming was only to deviate from that highly predictable nature of her direction in life. Sometimes she imagines an alternate reality where the balance is no longer there, that she dives into a freefall of despair and agony, and that her weak human character and lack of initiative was going to be her prolonged inevitable demise.

Her flamboyant and outlandish desire to impress can hardly be unseen in the manner of which she chooses the stitches to wear. Although inexpensive and bargains, she chooses only the smart variety which are almost deceivingly designer ones. One would have difficulty differentiating both on a distance. On the contrary, it doesn’t always go smoothly as planned. Despite having an attire that is seemingly glamorous, beneath all the fine threads and blazer is a struggling gait. She wasn’t unfortunately gifted with the perfect body that she hope for, although she tries, but her procrastination always begets the worse in her.

Her room is always in a complete chaotic mess afterwards. No matter how hard she tries to avoid that habit of just giving in to her petulant laziness, it’s always never in her jurisdiction to decide that course of action. Well, technically, she still does in a way, but also doesn’t. Her cognition impairment was intent of maintaining that condition of unease, her cries for constant change were always left fallen on deaf ears.

Men from the the other room can be seen preparing themselves as well for something. She assumes they have their own business to attend to, surprisingly wearing something refreshing beneath all that drab. She has always ignored them even though they live one step apart. It is figured that it was her way of exhibiting that regal dominance and class difference with people she most likely does not want to associate with. Regardless of that, she still remains that desire to be desired, that impulse to impress is still highly tempting.

Ironically enough, she was not much of anything herself either, only in a delusion that she created where she can at least pretend to do so.

Her brother left without even a goodbye. She wasn’t expecting any, but she regret the fact that it turned out in a way she unintended. Their relationship is nothing short of strictly civil. Like a fraternal bond between soldiers. There is that strong sense of respect, but the lightheartedness has its lights already flickered out. For what it’s worth, she could only wish for his peace and that he could find solace from people so he can forget about her while she wallows in her own selfishness and grief.

Not only is the sibling relationship somehow compromised, but also the parental ones are most often the guiltiest root of all self-loathing nature that one person can relate to. The seed should have a plant to always come from. This internal loathing within the family has been highly flammable from the get go, and one undoing is all it takes to combust the streak of diplomacy that is constantly under tension. It is not something people would want to be in the middle of, unless one desires the destruction of their humanity and shredding of the tangible concept of morality within a given frame. Shades of violence will occur, not because of misunderstanding, but of sheer hatred directed at each other. She would take it upon her the responsibilities of carrying the world in her shoulders including the madness associated with it. Her resolve is uncanny and unmatched by anyone she knew of. It proved to be very productive, but the ends do not justify the means. She anticipates the moment wherein her own strength cuddles up and shows the weakness it truly is. Their reproach is also hers to live for, a legacy of blind justice and scorn.

Now wrapped up and ready, she sets forth to the outside world that she longs for. The cool breeze of the wind congratulated her hair as she opened the door whispering compliments of joy and excitement for the hours to come. Her faltering thoughts would have none of it; the idea boggles her mind. To this woman, happiness can only be achieved once and never again; a one-of-a-kind elation, like orgasm only more. What comes next would only be the depression that she already possesses. This tragedy consumes her and traumatises her inner being relentlessly, like scissors chasing paper on an infinite, narrow alleyway. Every step she took down the steps were heavier and there happens to be pressure on to her back as a sign that her weak stature is always at risk for anything, as if she was meant to perish sooner than later. Her life was expendable, but it’s not an indication to her not to try pulling herself back up. There remains that desire that we’ve discussed earlier, and it fuels her every single moment, giving her a slight glimpse of hope that is near-impossible to achieve. But that hope is all that she lives for now and not a single thing in this world matters to her except that. She walked away from the flat without looking back. There was nothing in it to look back to. It wasn’t comfortable for the sight to behold. It represented her manifesting rage, her twisted ideologies of freedom and the absence of success associated with the edifice. The reek of chicken smell from the restaurant kitchen down below did nothing to alleviate that pain in her, instead adding a literal itch to her already suffering body contour.

She normally chooses to walk, but seeing as that her Oyster card has been topped up for the entire week, then she might as well make the most out of it. Adding to that, the chill isn’t as friendly as it seems to be, it penetrates even the deepest wool, and one would be left shaken and almost paralysed. That alone is not a good indication to roam the streets more often. She calls for a companion, the one that invited her over to tonight’s festivity. With her on the bus stop are the men that lived one door next to her which she paid no attention to and still up to this point. They were carrying some sort of bag which sparked no particular interest. It was just that after all the drab they put on earlier, she now wondered if they too are planning to enjoy the night away, or to live in misery under the slimy skirt of a mistress to a job in which one would obviously be furious of. Their own people’s choice of jobs and career are astoundingly poor for her taste, and it irks her to no end. After a brief and confusing conversation with her friend it has been decided that they were to meet at their place in four more hours. That gave her more room to waste but also less option to choose. She is undecided where to pass that time, anywhere would be good except back at her hellish place.

And so she began a new adventure once more. The bus and tube travel alone are particularly hectic, and despite the boredom they are commonly associated with, the time spent on these are extremely capable time killers. With her infinite travel card in hand, the options are infinite. Her loneliness demands no reprieve. She is reminded by the idea held in her own mind, those difficult things that people find hard to fathom. She embraces that shadow of a doubt, and with her it travels towards the unknowing space that lies ahead. She enters a well-known shopping centre within the heart of the town. Her walking alone was very demanding to the needs of all the others. They see it as a sign of vulnerability. She thinks they are truly misinformed but acknowledges the fact that a part of what they assume is true. Her secrets were lame and obvious, but sometimes it just might work. This wasn’t one of them. It took her a lot of time and patience to stroll around without purchasing much, her financial resources were very limited. Half of it she believes are reserved for the copious amounts of alcohol she would highly likely consume that night. Not that she has any alcohol issues or anything, if any it’s mainly because she doesn’t have any. There is no reason to consume spirits when you are alone, except maybe to reinforce that notion of how pathetic and low one person can get when it comes to depression.

After much walking and sprinting loitering in the corners as if about to consume the blouse that she is trying to fit in, her feet began to swell and feel the pressure setting in. The long walk was exhausting, but it proved valuable in killing time. She was in part hungry that she could almost feel her muscles fainting. It was hardly believable that she already spent hours within those ceilings. All that she could bother to waste money to was a classic novel by Anthony Burgess called A Dead Man in Deptford. She had no idea why she bought it, only that she partly liked one of his previous works, the now infamous A Clockwork Orange, which was made to film by a highly-respectable director, Stanley Kubrick. Her interest in the language of Nadsat remains up to this day.

She departed from the edifice and once again walked east without destination for now, mayhap hoping to find someplace to eat.

She ends up wandering at an entrance of the underground tube station. The temptation to travel much easier was much too powerful than walking along a blind path. Maybe then she could find somewhere to relax and just sit back to eat. For the most part, she did just that all by herself, obviously. Afterwards, she ventured forth towards the place, finally getting the action that she deserves after countless attempts to do so. All the travelling made her a little bit nauseous, too.

She arrived at the intended stop. Stopped by in an off-license shop to grab a couple of cans before heading into her friend’s place, it would be rude not to.

On her way to her friend’s, she was greeted by two persons leaning on to her like geckos thrown to a wall, slithering as if their intention was to make her realise how playfully coherent their bonding is, mocking her unintentionally in the process. Turns out they are two of the few people heading to the party. The three walked together towards the place. Finally for her, things are shaping up pretty well from that point forward. She is now in the loving caress of familiar people. As if they’ve never seen each other just a day before. But they actually did. Point still stands, at least comfort begins filling up her exhausted ego.

(to be continued)