The crowd seemed to get bigger by the second. Everywhere he looked it seemed as if a new group was starting to enter the vinyl colour-changing dancefloor. Their faces were a blur -- everything was. He could barely see what was in front of him there were so many people. The dimmed ceiling lights and overly brightened disco lights didn't help him either. He looks up and stares at the disco light; its colours changing from red to yellow to blue to purple then back to red. The colours were so bright for him that he started to feel nauseous. A lump in his throat started to form. He looked around, it seemed as if the song that started to play was a crowd favourite -- but he couldn't tell what it was. The crowd seemed to love it though as the only thing he could distinguish that wasn't blurry were the stupid, ignorant and blissful smiles on their faces. There were so many people, and it didn't seem as if that was going to change any time soon.. He could barely move, not forwards, backwards, left or right. He started to get squished in between people who were manically jumping up and down to the beat of the now distinguished terrible song, energized like he was not too long ago. Every second that passed the lump in his throat got bigger; and it didn't help that anything he saw, smelt and touched, regardless of how unrecognizable or blurry it was, was abhorrent. The exasperating disco lights, the smell of alcohol and perspiration, and the feeling of sweaty bodies that collided with his own every second or so made him want to vomit. Whatever vision he had left spotted more people as they came along, not caring that the vinyl colour-changing dancefloor was more than full. The floor started to get more and more congested to the point where he could barely breathe. His senses were overloaded and he couldn't tell left from right but he tells himself what's the point; afterall, all directions just had piles and piles of bodies. He stares down, noticing the vinyl colour-changing dancefloor. It's coloured popped out more than anything in the place tonight. A moment of confusion before a moment of clarity as he started getting his bearings. He removed himself from the situation and started thinking. Outside was the cold winter breeze. He wonders if it ought to still be cold by the time he exits. The cold winter breeze that existed outside of the vicinity ought to give him a form of solace. He seems to have found it. In an instant he felt nothing, no lump in his throat or blur. The vinyl colour-changing dancefloor was getting closer to his face by the looks of it.
"One-hundred and twenty dollars exactly huh?" Jane rhetorically asks as she counts the bills. "Mhm." Conroy says as he looks around the apartment once again. He stands by the door as Jane continues to count. The apartment was clean and well kept. He focuses on the coffee table, seeing the mat slightly wet. He looks at the two glasses idly waiting at the counter for someone to clean it.
"Do you maybe want-"
"I'm still confused as to why you'd spend so much money for an interview." Jane looks up at him. "Huh? Sorry, did you mean to say something?" He decided to shake his head. "No, it's fine." She shrugs in response before putting the money in her pocket.
"A hundred and twenty dollars."
"Ugh don't remind me." Conroy says, a little shaken up by the lack of funding in his wallet. He notices Jane lost in thought for a moment, before a small grin comes to her face. "Your money your stupid choice I guess." She says in a merry tone. "I guess it is." Conroy mutters.
Jane walks past him and opens the door for him. He goes through and stands there for a few, before turning back to see Jane just standing there, he guesses she's waiting for him to leave.
"Well goodbye Jane Eyre." Conroy says with a small grin, hoping to lighten her mood one last time for the day. "Goodbye, Jean-Paul Gray." She reciprocates with curtsy making him chuckle lightly.
"Until you waste your money on me again." He hears her yell at me as he walks off. The grin he had grew a little bit more.
The time alone to himself made him look around the apartment as he walked down the stairs. The grullo-coloured walls made him interpret it as asking for lull, while the terracotta-coloured cross tiles urged for inquest.
Soon enough, as he goes down the last flight of stairs, he sees the man waiting for him. Conroy surmises that Jane messaged the man telling him they were finished with the session. He stops in his tracks for a moment, the man's eyebrow raised at him.
"You got what you need?" The man asks, crossing his arms. Conroy shrugs at him before nodding his head. "Pretty much." He replies. The man takes a second before nodding his own head and moving away from the middle of the staircase. Conroy walks down to him and faces him.
"Thank you, Patrick." Conroy almost forgot the man's name. The man seemed a little surprised, but recovered quickly. "You're welcome Jean-Paul." Patrick puts his hand out for him and though a little surprised himself at the formal gesture, takes his hand and shakes with relative firmness. He nods at Patrick and turns to leave.
"Wait." Patrick calls him out just as Conroy opens the door to the freezing cold. Conroy turns his head back to see the man leaning on one foot. "Should you need more, um, research or whatever it is that you're doing. Don't be afraid to come back." Conroy tilts his head at the man before nodding his head slowly. He walks out the door and closes it.
The cold winter breeze made his face sting slightly. It was colder than when he first came in. His breath was now seen and his body chilled despite the layers he had on. He looks at the ground and sees it slowly becoming icy, dangerous should he misstep. He takes small steps forward, and watches his step warily as he goes down. The moment his hand touched the rails he recoiled, feeling the indescribable cold. "That's cold." He states to nobody, putting the hand in his pocket to warm it up again. He gets off the steps and takes his phone out, noticing the chill getting worse as the seconds go by. He turns back to the apartment, taking the view in. It looked nicer than the other apartments around he thought. He looks up to the third floor, seeing a light on. He stares at the apartment for a while, thinking about the interview he just held a couple of minutes ago. It was a success for the most part to him, even though he would admit it had a very rough start. Conroy thinks about the proposal the man just gave him. The thought of coming back wasn't unappealing to him. Should he need more context he believes it's nice that he wouldn't necessarily be unwelcomed in Kierkegaard street again. He shakes his head and walks off. "Jane was nice enough." he mutters to himself.
He came home around three. The snow made the walk feel longer than it actually was. The small steps he took didn't help his case and the near-slip occurrences made the journey worse. The snow was always a welcome sight for him, but he always hated being in it. His shoes were wet and slippery, overcoat coated in snow. His hair was cold, near frozen and disheveled. He crosses his arms for warmth as he enters the apartment complex, excited to just get inside, outside the freezing breeze.
"Conroy?" A woman speaks just as he almost walks past her. Conroy's pulled out from his miserable and cold related thoughts as he looks to the direction of the voice. "Aela?" He says, seeing the woman pick up her mail. She closes her locker and locks it before coming to him.
"Hey! You come from the storm?" She asks, eyeing him up and down. Almost all of him was either covered in snow or noticeably wet. "Yeah, nearly froze to death." He states rubbing his hands together. She smiles at him and chuckles lightly.
"I just dropped Holly off at daycare. I needed time to study."
"Oh when are you going to pick her up?" Aela looks at the clock behind him before meeting his eyes.
"Around five maybe." She says. Conroy nods and the two stand in silence for a little as he tries to focus on anything other than the wetness of his clothing.
"Where were you?" Conroy knows he should have anticipated that question but it still takes him aback. He shifts his eyes away from hers and focuses on the lockers instead. He plays with his hands a little as he tries to come up with an indirect explanation. He trusts Aela yet a sudden compulsion to try and hide away certain details overwhelm him. "Oh," he starts. "I had to do a thing for the book."
"What kind of thing?"
"You know," he goes quiet again for a moment. "Inspiration searching and that. Should not have gone in the freezing winter though." He ends his sentence with a slight, albeit awkward laugh. Despite an odd look coming his way Aela still chuckled in response before putting a hand on his shoulder.
"You writers will do anything for inspiration huh?" She slyly says making him roll his eyes in jest. Aela nudges him back with the hand on his shoulder, still giggling. He laughs sheepishly before putting his arms in his pocket.
"So, you going to study?"
"Well," she shrugs. "Yeah." Conroy nods slowly at her. He was about to bid her goodbye but-
"But," She states.
"Do you want to come up?" Her tone was easygoing. His hand grazed his phone. It was a cold sensation, as if his phone was trapped in a freezer. He circled the screen for a little as he contemplated his choices. Turning back and he sees a few minutes past three. He grips the edge of his phone for a few moments before easing. "Sure. Why not?" He replies with the same casual voice. Aela nods before walking past him, prompting him to follow.
"Did you find any inspiration then?"
"Hmm," Conroy states, looking at the level indicator, numbers going up and up. "You could say that I guess." He still had to listen to the interview with Jane. "I'll have to see though."
The ding indicated they were at their floor.
"How about you? Finals?"
"Oh no, dissertations. I needed to start." Aela and Conroy walked side by side with each other, Aela looking ahead with Conroy fascinated with things he's already seen.
"What subjects?"
"A little of literature, a little of applied social psychology. A lot of Psychological Assessment." The walk wasn't long, only around sixty steps. Aela grabbed the keys from her pocket and unlocked the door, opening it before looking back at Conroy who looked seemingly interested.
"After you?"
"After you."