Candle in the Attic Window(30)
She looked up into the mirror. Her eyes were larger than ever, but lined with shadow, faded, watered down. Her skin was paler than normal, highlighting her freckles.
She needed a cup of tea, some chicken soup. She hadn’t bought food, her mind focused only on the man outside the window. She would go to the corner store, get what she needed, then come back and rest.
Leftover rain formed puddles on the sidewalk and a scent of decay drifted up from the sewers. She walked slowly, one foot in front of the other, careful not to fall, avoiding puddles the best she could so the water didn’t get into her ripped tennis shoes. Her head spun, still pounding. Her fingers rolled over and over the money in her pocket, feeling the crumpled bills – a ten, a five, a one – rolling over and over three quarters, pressing them in the clefts between fingers. One, two, three.
Someone was behind her. She heard the footsteps, almost in time with hers, and hoped that whoever it was wouldn’t give her trouble. She didn’t think she had the strength to deal with it tonight. She concentrated on the money. Three bills, three coins, three and three. Three more buildings to pass before she got to the store. Light shone out of its front window, brightening the sidewalk and making her headache worse. She stared at the ground as she walked. Tea bags, soup, aspirin. Three things to get.
The footsteps grew louder and a shadow drew up beside her. Water splashed onto her feet, making her shiver. “Sorry,” a deep voice said.
She looked up and forgot to walk. It was him. Dressed in the same jacket, dark pants, beautiful face. He was tall , as she looked up, she noticed that stubbled shadow lined his upper lip and chin. His eyes were pools of darkness fringed by long lashes. Under his coat, white letters stood out on a black t-shirt, but light from the store made her squint so she could not tell what it said. He didn’t seem as thin or sickly as he had from the window. He looked at her, waiting.
“N-no problem,” Lorena stammered. She smoothed her hair back, feeling how greasy it was, wishing its mass was back so she could hide behind it. Why did I cut it? She wondered what she looked like through his eyes.
“Watch out for those for those puddles,” he said, and continued walking. “You’ll catch a cold.”
She stayed where she was, reveling in the sound of his voice as shivers racked her body, afraid she would fall down. If only she had been feeling better; if only she hadn’t cut her hair. If only he wasn’t so perfect. If only. She breathed deeply, trying not to think, hoping the dizziness would pass, watching him walk up the street, wondering where he was going. The outside lights to the corner store blinked off and Lorena remembered why she was here. She quickly went in and completed her shopping.
Climbing the stairs back to her apartment was agony. She had to stop several times, panting deeply. The bag weighed a ton. She dragged it on the floor behind her, half-tempted to leave it on the steps, but the emptiness in her stomach pushed her on. At one point, she forgot where she was going, wondered what she was doing on the stairway and whose stairs they were. She noticed the stains on the wall, as if for the first time, and gazed at them, trying to make sense of things. Eyes stared out of the wall. His eyes. Searching.
“I’m here,” she whispered. A face formed around the eyes, blurry. She smiled, happy he had sought her out. His body came into focus and then his clothes. Baggy jeans that looked newer than new, a bright-yellow t-shirt. Curly brown hair.
“Whachoo lookin’ at, psycho? Think the wall’s gonna help you up these steps?” The laughter continued as the man pushed her out of the way, bounding down the steps.
Home. If she could just get home and something to drink. Her throat was parched, head throbbing more than ever. She had become used to the rhythm, though, a second heartbeat Soup. Water. Tea, she chanted mentally, as she shuffled up the stairs. Somehow, she made it the rest of the way. The bag ripped, but nothing fell out except the corner of the cracker box. She shut the front door and latched it, made her way to the bed. She was hot and cold, hungry and tired. The cracker, dry as a page from one of her books, held no appeal. She struggled with the cap to the soda bottle for a few seconds before giving up and sipping water from the glass that had been sitting on the table all day. There wasn’t much, but it wet the back of her throat, eased the ache. The walls pulsed with the beat of her head and heart. She wrapped herself in a blanket and shuffled into the kitchen to put a pot of fresh water on the stove.
By the time the water boiled, Lorena was curled into a corner against the cabinets, shaking. It took an eternity for her to pull herself up and rescue the pot, pour some of the water into a cup with a tea bag, spilling most of it on the counter. Some splashed to the floor and burned her feet. She was so weak at this point she decided to forgo the soup and, instead, took her tea to the bed. She propped her pillow up on the wall and rested her back against it. Sipped tea while watching the night and closed her eyes before finishing the cup.
Sleep came in fitful sweats of tossing and turning. And dreams. When she woke up, she felt worse than before, her head a metronome of pain, face on fire. She made it to the kitchen for water and aspirin and soup. Her throat was too swollen to swallow the pills, but she sipped at the water and carried the soup back to the bed in a chipped blue bowl edged with stars. She settled into bed, spilling on herself, and leaned back against the wall while she ate. She glanced at the clock. 3:38 a.m.
Half-closed eyes gazed outside. A car drove down the street, leaving drunken laughter in its wake. A woman walked quickly past Lorena’s building, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets. The wind blew and Lorena caught the odour of oncoming rain. She loved that smell. It reminded her of childhood, brown leaves and brown eyes. Brown, brown eyes that never left her thoughts. She didn’t want – or need – to think about the man who had been haunting her the past few – had it only been days? It felt as if she had first seen him ages ago.