This one's for you, David (Nifty archivist). (Yes, there's a boyband member in this chapter. I had to develop the plot didn't I?) Thanks David!
Disclaimer: Is anyone really gonna litigate? 1st amendment.........
"Specter"
Aaron DeLorean
Chapter Two
"All I could ever see Was the specter of me reflected I want a monument to the friendship We never had erected I want it to take up lots of room I want it to loom." --Ani DiFranco ______________________________
I stomped up the steps of my flat wearily. Everything looked so different. I felt utterly alone. As if no one I saw me. I felt like a ghost. I felt transparent.
I felt like dying.
I pushed the hair out of my eyes and slid the key in the lock. I closed the door and slumped down on the floor of the foyer. I surveyed the surroundings of my flat. I had lived here five years and still I hardly had any furniture save for a few bookshelves, a long, red sofa, and a platform bed in the bedroom. I carried my stress-addled frame into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Skyy off the counter. I popped two DILAUDID in my mouth and knocked back a healthy amount of the thick, clear vodka. BANG...sizzle. Heat. It radiated down my chest and rested at the bottom of my stomach with a delightful plop.
All of the anger that had been building up inside of me since I learned that Holly was dead frothed up and culminated in a red rage. I took the bottle of alcohol and flung it across the room. It smacked against the kitchen door and caught on the doorknob. It shattered and vodka drizzled down on the hardwood floor like rain. I ran into the living room and headed for the bookshelf. Stereo. POWER. I hit PLAY roughly. Sneaker Pimps screeched out of the JBL's and assaulted my ears. I dug my hands behind the bookshelf and pushed with all my might.
The books at the top fell to the floor first. Then the bookshelf went over. BANGPOW. I smiled widely. Good. Fuckin' books. I never read half of that shit anyway. I eyed the Sony Wega evilly and considered tossing it out the window. The window wasn't that big. Damn. I pushed the Wega over onto its front anyway. The picture tube cracked and sizzled as sparks flew from the back of the television. BANGPOW. I began throwing books around the room from the two remaining upright shelves. The large hardbacks made a satisfying WHOP as they made contact with the floor.
I felt a stinging coming from my torso. I looked down. My shirt was soaked clear through with blood. My wounds had begun bleeding again. Fuck. I took a step to the bathroom. My head spun. Too many Dilaudid. Or maybe it was the alcohol.
BAMBAMBAM. Went my front door. What a fucking GREAT time for someone to come a callin'. I rolled my eyes. The room spun. UGH.
"Go the fuck away!" I bellowed. The knocking ceased. I stumbled my way into the bedroom. I flopped down onto the bed. I passed out.
BAM BAM bam. Again with the knocking. My head was pounding even worse then the door. Ha. That'll show them. My head can pound harder then they can bang on my door. I screwed up my nose and wondered when I had started thinking such strange thoughts. I stood up and stumbled to the door. No knocking. I wrenched open the door prepared to bitch someone out...No one was there. I rolled my eyes and held my hand to my head. I closed the door and sat down in the foyer. Blood was trickling down my side again. I cursed and laid down on the cold floor.
I blacked out as the telephone rang.
I felt arms under my shoulders. My body was being lifted. I looked into someone's bright blue eyes. I smiled.
"Who are you?" I asked. He smiled down at me and held out his hand,
"I'm Nick. When you wouldn't answer your door after you trashed your apartment I got the super to let me in. I was worried."
"Oh. Thank you Nick."
He smiled again,
"No problem, now let's get you to the hospital." He picked up the phone that was resting on the floor, overturned. I watched as he dialed 911 and spoke into the receiver. Christ, I can't afford an ambulance and another freaking hospital visit so soon after the last one. It wasn't like my designs were selling like Jean Paul Gaultier or something. I put my hand on Nick's.
"Nick," I muttered, "I can't pay for an ambulance. I'm self employed." He just looked at me and smiled that damn smirk again.
"It's ok Akira, I'll help you pay for it." SMIRK. I caved at the smirking smile act. Damn it. I nodded my head,
"I'll go to the hospital if you'll buy some of my designs."
SMIRK (quite sexy by this point too, I might add)
"Alright Akira."
And how the hell did he know my name?
"How do you know me, anyway?" I asked. God, don't let him smirk at me again, I thought to myself." He smirked,
"I live next door." I nodded,
"Oh."
Nick surveyed my apartment while I waited for the ambulance in pain. His gaze finally came to rest on my overturned television.
"I love what you've done with the place." He said sarcastically. I rolled my eyes,
"Why thank you, I had to do something with it before House Beautifull got here." He chuckled.
The Wail Of Sirens.
Nick accompanied me to the hospital.
The EMT's offloaded me into the Emergency Room as I came face to face with Mr. Cute Nurse Kyle.
"Well Mr. Maxwell, so nice to see you're doing better" he said as another nurse handed him my chart, which was growing rather thick by this time.
"Yeah, I missed you so much I decided I'd tear open my gun shot wound." He laughed,
"You know Akira, there are cheaper ways to see me." He said as he winked at me. I pursed my lips.
Uh oh.
I felt a case of Florence Nightingale syndrome come over me. I noticed Nick eyeing us from a few feet away.
"I'm sorry sir, you'll have to wait in the waiting room. Akira will be fine."
Kyle drew the privacy curtain.
To Be Continued.