A False Sense of Tranquility by Lauren Alexandra

I've always found comfort in the slow hum of the city, ever since I was fourteen years old and moved out of my cramped farming town and into the free city. Sitting here with my legs tucked under me, a book in one hand and an old lighter in the other I relish in the lights that flooded my dark apartment. The only light coming from the slow burn of a candle, accompanied by the comforting glow from the streets below, buildings across. It's been months since I saw him, weeks since I spoke to him. I’d do anything to see him again. I’d do anything to talk to him again, even for just a second. Setting my book down, I let my cold feet move me across the floor to the big window. A mix of tranquillity and sadness pushes against me as I sip at some hot tea. A buzzing phone and a puff of smoke. A habit I swore to myself I would give up. I had given up. But there were times I felt so desperately alone I let myself pick up the thin bones of tobacco and be close to him. One last time. At least, that’s what I’ve always told myself. The harsh buzzing continues and I feel my lungs crawl up my throat and move around my gums, my mouth going dry.

He's calling me. I promised myself I wouldn't wait around for his call. I promised myself I wouldn't pick up when he finally did call.

I stare across the room, the light from the phone's screen creating a haunting glow. Ignoring the angry vibrations of my phone, I push on the glass and onto the cool tile of my small balcony. Hot air, smoke clouds and warm lights. I inhale desperately, ignoring the irony of my action. Trying to be close to him yet ignoring his voice. I flick ash off the balcony, looking at the lights with hope. The small rectangles and squares all filled with glowing hues of orange and yellow and pink. I sigh, stubbing out the blunt before I’d finished it in efforts of protesting. You’ve got to start somewhere, right?

I don't know how many times my phone has rang. The sky has become darker, the lights brighter. I flick my lighter uselessly, but watching the flame I can't help but remember how his features looked behind the deathly burn of the cigarettes we shared. Hate fills my blood and in an instant I’m burning and red and threatening, but it dissipates quickly as I remember how far I’ve come. The lifestyle I worked so hard to create for myself, a version of life where I’m finally happy. Anger that once consumed me with slight provoking nestled somewhere I can no longer find. Why do our hearts insist on whispering the names of those we love hopelessly just as we start to move forward?

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m back inside. Back inside my dark, dark apartment and unlocking the door. He stands on the other side of the doorframe and it feels as if he's in a different universe and it hurts. The familiar ache resonates within my chest and my heart begins to beat too fast and too slow all at once. It's as if my mind is floating beside me like a bubble ready to burst. I don't recognise the body below me, the body I selfishly claim as mine.

“Hey,” His voice instantly soothes me and slamming the door in his face seems like the worst idea I've ever had.

“Hi,” I respond, but I doubt he hears my small whisper as he steps inside and gently closes the door behind him.

“You didn't answer your phone.”

“I know.”

He’s closer to me now. Breathing has never felt so easy.

“I was worried about you.”

“Why?”

“You always answer my calls.”

“That's the problem.” I say, my initial thoughts breaking through the haze that is Kieran. My anger returns and I turn away from him. “Claudia-” Kieran begins, my frantic footsteps drowning out my feeble don’t as I try to walk away. I am aware of his presence behind me and I want nothing more than to scream at him to leave, to stick to my decision and cut him out of my life. I told him I never wanted to talk to him again. He doesn’t seem to hear me when I speak and I wonder if he ever did. But shit, the tightness in my lungs evaporates every time he is near. His delicate fingers wrap around my arm, my frantic movements come to a halt.

“You should go,”

“I want to talk to you. I hate how we left things, you were my best friend.”

I search his innocent eyes and know he doesn’t see the hurt his simple words cause me. I let myself breathe, refocus.

“Fine, but please.”

He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to finish but I don’t remember where I was going with my sentence. I nod, moving into the kitchen and let the kettle fill the silence. He turns on a small lamp in the adjoining living room and I feel something deep inside click. We don't speak, but it's as if a thousand words have been passed between us already. He pulls a broken cigarette from his pocket, holding it up as a question. I slide an ashtray across the counter in response, sitting across from him. Hidden amongst smoke and eye contact are the words we can't say, and won't say. I let the steam roll up against my face from my tea, feeling its heat spread into every pore.

I stand, his eyes becoming frantic. I know he thinks I'm going to leave, just like I've done countless times before. But no, my fingers reach for the stereo and a forgiving melody settles around us. I look into my cup, staring at the water that becomes consumed with the stain of the tea leaves. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what happens when you meet someone, no matter how long you’re in each other’s lives. Your life becomes marked by their presence, stained. You can take them out of your water, but you can’t take out the stain they left behind. The memories. I frown harshly at the dark water, trying so hard to find the beauty in my train of thought. Maybe life just isn’t that poetic, but I want it to be.

“I was in love with you.”

I don’t look up as I speak, instead I play with the rings that litter my slim fingers.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,”

“Well, wasn’t it? Look at us now.”

“I hate that that’s how you feel,”

“Me too.”

But the words don’t feel genuine. The feel like they emerged from some empty place deep down and I push the cup to one side, looking Kieran in the eyes.

We’re sat on the cold tiles now, backs against the wall. The rooftops and the windows peak over the top of the railing, keeping a cautious watch over us. The glow speaks through the movement of traffic, people. Moving from one ear to another, it warns me be careful. My eyes close and I feel my head fall back against the stone wall. His hand is on mine, fingers tracing one another before interlocking. A tradition. Life feels like a silent film as our lips meet. I feel the movements but my mind dances around my body. Seconds pass and I’m in his lap, cuddled against his strong chest. Kieran’s arms hold me tightly, as if I’m an ice sculpture that will melt away without warning. I never want this moment to end, but I've seen this one before and I know the ending all too well.

“Claudia, please stay. Please stay this time.” Kieran pleads, his voice so sincere I feel my veins ache and cry.

“I've been back for months now, you just never bothered to come around.”

“I know. It's just-”

“No. Please, no more excuses.” I lift my head from his chest, looking into his glazed eyes.

“I don't know what you want me to say.”

“Neither do I.”

“I just want you to stay,” Kieran speaks tenderly, his tone truthful. I stare into his grey eyes, wishing I knew what the storm within them meant. He's beautiful. His messy blonde hair, his scarred skin. His past burdens his features in a chaotic way. He's beautiful.

“Kieran, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“You don’t realise, do you? I don’t think you ever did. I fell in love with you, for years all I wanted was to be beside you, hold your hand. You wouldn’t even look at me unless we were alone, unless you were high.”

“Claudia, you were-“

“Your best friend. I know. But I wasn’t really, think back over all the years we’ve known each other. Was it really as romantic as we thought?”

“For the love of God Claudia,” He says, his tone growing angry and impatient. A side I know all too well. He stops himself though, shaking his head. I climb off his lap, careful not to disturb the city.

Kieran doesn’t follow me inside, not right away. I don’t mind though, I don’t want him to be here anymore. I busy myself by moving around my apartment, putting everything back in its place. Kieran leans against the doorframe of the balcony, watching me with guilty eyes as I rearrange a vase of fresh lavender. Inhaling the tranquillity, I know what I need and I suddenly know that it’s not him. The solution feels like it’s been there all along, placed obviously in between my books and candles. Staring me right in the face each night.

My eyes open and Kieran hasn’t moved. I gently set the lavender down, turning to look at him.

“You’re like tea leaves, staining my water and claiming good intentions.”

Kieran looks at me in bewilderment, frustration rising up his neck. He starts towards me but I move before he has a chance to meet me where I was stood.

I hold the door open wide for him, letting it slap against the wall. His jaw sets in anger, and he nods as if to say, fine then.

People always talk about how good it is for doors to open, how you go through many without even realising until you look back. What about how good it is for doors to close? To close with a slam of finality that jolts through your bones and comes to rest in the deep marrow.

I open every window in my apartment then, letting the city flood in and out, carrying with it all that the open door let in without my realising.