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With the light pattering of raindrops against an already weak glass panel and the smell of cigarettes that clouded the entirety of the small space, within that small apartment room emitted a sense of indescribable solitude and stillness. It wasn't necessarily the feel of the room, or the way the room was built and arranged that caused it to seem this way, but was more of a certain lifestyle, or what appeared to be the complete lack of anything resembling life. It was sorrowful, a complete mess, and a testament to a slothful way of being. Bottles of alcohol and empty beer cans were strewn all across the floor, empty cigarette cartons and a full ashtray lay haphazardly on the coffee table positioned in the middle of the small living room and dirty dishes from numerous meals lay abandoned and unclean inside the small kitchen sink. As messy and unkempt as this apartment was however, it could not hold a candle to the individual that resides within the home…
???: "Huh…again, it came early…"
The bedroom door slowly creaked open and an unlucky sight showed itself. The girl, in any normal sense, or if circumstances were more favorable, would have appeared very easy on the eyes. Her long jet black hair that came down to her lower back and her dark blue eyes gave an almost songstress look. She wore baggy gray sweatpants and a barely clean looking black tank top, and (barely) would be a generous way to put it, no thanks to the alcohol stains and cigarette smoke that had soaked into the fabric. In reality, she looked pitiful. Plain and simple. The dark bags under her eyes were off putting and unhealthy, not to mention the lack of care put into her hair, strands of it shooting off into different random and meaningless directions and her expression was one of apathy, as if she was nothing more than a husk of a person who was forced to continue on living, a non existent will to be awake.
???: "Huh…obviously I would be left with all this crap, I'm just too tired to clean any of this…I'll just wait until my next check comes in…then maybe I could afford a vacuum."
As hard as she tried, sometimes it was simply not worth the effort to complain about situations like this, it has gotten to the point that such trivial things like talking to herself was too much of a chore for her. With her stopping herself from continuing on, she simply sighed and walked over to her window.
[It's raining again…it always rains on days like this, it just had to choose this day to do it. But with all of this rain, why are there still so many people outside? Are they stupid? How do those people have the energy to be walking around outside with such crappy weather like this? I wish I could be like those people…those normal people, yeah…I bet they have a lot of stuff going on in their lives…jobs they need to go to, stupid damn jobs that they barely earned. It could have been me, but I guess in a way they are the stupid ones, after all…I am inside and dry, and they are outside, all wet.]
She sat on that windowsill, thinking to herself. If it wasn't watching tv or playing some sort of game on her laptop, she would sit next to that window for hours, just talking to herself and thinking, pathetically wishing misfortune upon those down on the streets, often comparing them to ants or slaves to whatever corporation or business they worked for. The sad and desperate thoughts and words of somebody who had so much, and had thrown it all away.
???: "Maybe…If I can manage to not screw it all up, I might apply for another one, well…I already finished 13 yesterday but…"
Without any need for outside interference, she stopped herself mid sentence and slowly closed her mouth into a melancholic frown. Gazing outside at the rain, she traced every individual drop with her eyes, the classic game of wondering which one will make it to the bottom.
???: "*sigh*, screw it, not worth it. Maybe tomorrow."
With that said, she slowly turned her head back to the coffee table, and there sat a half drunk bottle of whiskey. She moved her hand toward the bottle, her legs slightly sliding off the edge of the windowsill as she grasped the bottle, bringing it to her face. Seeing her reflection in the bottle, she merely scoffed and continued to stare at it.
???: "Well at the very least…i know something like you can't leave me, you don't have legs, or a voice, so despite the whole kidney failure thing you can't hurt me in any way" she said to herself, with that raspy voice.
Spinning the top off and taking a swig, she coughed and used a nearby washcloth to wipe the few runaway drops off her face. Combining the drink along with the pounding of rain against the window she sat next to, times like this were one of the few times where the poor girl truly felt at ease, that is if nobody bothered her.
[Hm…i was damn well good at this back in parties, I know I had fun at least, though to be fair I wasn't the one who had to bring my drunk self back to the apartment. Maybe…I should call her sometime and thank her, but I doubt she would want to see or hear me, I wouldn't blame her.]
After a few more drinks she stepped down from the window and walked over to her old couch and dead dropped onto it, the springs underneath creaking and screeching under her. Despite her small frame, the couch never discriminated against the one who sat on it, it was simply old and brittle, a light feather could have fallen on it and it would still make the same horrid noise that was never easy on the ears.
???: "God this couch, there could be creatures living inside of it and I wouldn't know the difference…hell, maybe it would brighten the place up to have visitors."
As minutes went by her voice got more monotone and hoarse. She sat there for an entire hour, going through her social media and looking at pictures of who she used to see as friends until they "harshly abandoned" her. All their lives seemed to have gone so much better than the state she was in. Graduating college, starting a family of their own, going out to eat with their friends, these seemed like things that the girl could only dream of, if only her dreams were that forgiving, but they are not.
*ring* *ring* *ring*
???: "Eh? W-why is somebody calling me…did i do something? Ah…damn."
After a few failed attempts, she finally managed to pick her phone up from the table, but as soon as she brought it up to her view, the phone stopped ringing.
[Oh…it stopped. Thank god, I don't need to talk right now…but what if it was something important? Nah, I don't have anything going on to begin with. After all this is me we're talking about, I'll check back in a few hours and if they call back then it might be important, but right now people just need to leave me alone…]
Putting her phone to her side, she continued to lay on the couch, silently staring at the ceiling. Against her wishes, another sound came from the phone, but instead of a long ring, it was a simple buzzing sound.
???: "Well…whoever is trying to get to me is clearly not giving up without a fight" she mutters to herself, clearly annoyed at the noise interrupting her solitude.
She bought it back up and opened up to find out that a single new voicemail appeared among the many others that have been left unread.
[...]
Her heart began to drop, the already existing warmth in her face from the drinks she had began to intensify. That entire morning, she had spoken with a sense of apathy and seemed un-bothered with the world and everything around her, but within an instant, she had shed her "I don't care" attitude for what would be more akin to a scared child, afraid of what she was about to hear.
A part of her didn't want to open it up, she didn't want to hear it again. It was always (that) voice that made her feel the worst. But maybe they had something new to tell her? Whenever it came to talking to anybody else, it was easy to stay silent and pretend that they didn't exist, but this one was different. It was an extremely familiar voice of somebody who she could spot within a crowd of millions, a voice that was very much aware of her state…a caring, fatherly voice.
With trembling fingers, she slowly pressed the button, put her phone down next to her ear, and planted her face into the pillow she had been resting her head on.
Voice: "Hey Maria…it's me again. Well I was just driving past your area and ya know…wanted to know how you were doing, I know that you're not taking much phone calls from people these days but I thought I would give it a shot. Just to let you know, you don't have to worry at all, I have plenty of money to help you out until you're able to get back on your feet, I wouldn't just let you on your own like that, you know? *sigh*...listen, you're not the only one that has gone through this…plenty of people just like you didn't make the final cut in that whole situation and it was obvious that they were very selective of who they chose, it was written all over their faces, they knew who they were gonna select at the beginning. I just…I want you to know that I'm…I'm worried about you, despite what you may think of yourself, I know who you really are. I know that you can make it out of whatever you're going through. You can say whatever you want about yourself but I've seen you grow up with a lot worse happening and you made it through. I just wish that you would talk to me…..call me selfish, but I miss hearing your voice, and it hurts to see you like this. Just please honey, if you need anything at all, don't hesitate for a second to call me or visit me. I promise you, you're not a bother or whatever else you have said in the past, I just want to see you happy and if I can help I will. There is nothing wrong with asking for help. So please, if you feel up to it, call me…I love you Maria…bye."
*click*
With that, Maria closed the phone and sunk deeper into the pillow, tears rolling down her face. It was obvious that he was pretty upset before the call, constantly sniffing and pausing through the duration of the message. Was it guilt? Or was it genuine sorrow? In a way both of them could have felt a sense of guilt.
All Maria could do was weakly cry into the pillow, feeling ashamed that she was the reason her father was crying. She was so used to her father being dependable and strong that it felt almost impossible, unnatural even. It was a deep, endless pit of guilt that continued to grow whenever she got calls from those who were worried.
Maria: "***"
Fumbling her thoughts, she gives up on trying to explain herself and wipes away her tears. Whenever Maria got like this, it was a never ending battle of back and forth within her mind and her instincts. In an effort to not slip past the edge, she would tell herself that things would improve and get better if only she tries, but at the back of her mind, the horrible thoughts of inescapable failure and the idea that nothing will change forced itself to the front of her mind, a tug of war between optimism and what she saw as realism. It was mental hell.
So there, motionlessly on her couch she sat, with nothing except thoughts of what could have been, maybe if she had done something as simple as having a better way of thinking and coping with this new world she lived in, things could have turned out differently.
Within Maria, deep in the darkest depths of her being, lived a now well-rooted disease called regret, and now, after pushing all of her friends away from her life, couldn't trust anybody to help her.
[I just…wish I could restart…everything. I would give my life to just have a chance…a clean slate to do better…I know I could…do it.]
As she thought this, she slowly started to drift asleep, her eyelids fluttering with every second that passed by. Whether it be from the exhaustion or from the drink she had earlier, she couldn't stop herself from falling asleep.
Slowly.....slowly.....slow...…..ly.
Whether she was dreaming or not, it was obvious that a figure had appeared near the door to outside, but with the tears in her eyes she was not able to make out the figure. It was tall and dark, almost as if it was a shadow that had manifested itself into a ghost, silently watching her from across the room as she dozed off. Was it a ghost? Or perhaps an angel? Or maybe she was already dreaming? Oftentimes Maria wasn't sure what was dream and what was reality, most of her dreams felt the same as real life, most times ending in a nightmare.
This one was different. No sense of dread, nor comfort. Whatever this presence was, it could only be defined as absent.
Maria: "Please…somebody…help me."
And with her final few seconds of consciousness, the presence spoke.
???: "Only if you promise…to do the same for me."
Maria closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep, a state of sleep that could only be comparable to being in a coma, she felt sick, and the dark void that she was in began to spin. What was this? Did somebody put something in her drink? She had passed out many times before from drinking but nothing like how bad this felt. Millions of notches in her stomach, her head pounded against her skull as she fell deeper and deeper into the spiral, and yet all she could think about…
Was that voice that visited her before she fell asleep.
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