Chapter Text
Stanley left the hospital building in the afternoon. Sunlight, which barely seeped through the grey mass of clouds, mellowed out, grew easier on his eyes as he slowly adjusted to being outside for the first time this week. He was cold, wearing hospital clothes and a brown suit, the only thing he had on him upon arrival that wasn't ruined. They told him that when he got in, he was dressed in typical office attire, a bit on the casual side: grey jeans, a checkered shirt; black boots. Only the jeans were so dirty and dusty they turned a shade lighter and his shirt was torn to the point where he was missing a sleeve. His boots somehow survived, but it seemed like he walked for miles in them, so he couldn't wait to put them in the farthest corner of his apartment and forget they ever existed.
The stay in the hospital was dull. Stanley, however, started to feel differently about it when he stepped out into the street and told himself he knew exactly where he was going. He felt like he'd rather come back, get up on the elevator, wander through a thoroughly cleaned hallway and sneeze several times when the smell of antiseptic hit his nostrils; wander and wander until he found the room he stayed in, got under the white covers of his bed and drifted off to sleep. There, under the fluorescent lights, with no visitors to greet him, with the patients whose presence did not really bother him, listening to the soft murmurs of the hospital staff, he was safe. He didn't need to be anywhere, didn't have to be out in the cold, and most importantly, he had company, albeit the one he ignored.
He walked home slowly, down a paved road. The traffic pulsed with life, people returned from work, he saw parents with their kids, a tired woman in a worn-out coat and a man putting out his cigarette by pressing the end of it into a wall. A crowd of teenagers passed him by, making the air buzz with laughter, and he tensed up, overwhelmed with the sound.
There were people outside too, you see, but they were too close or too far away. They didn't try to make polite conversations with him or ask him how he was feeling today, they were minding their own business. Thank god for that, he thought, they wouldn't get any useful information from me, but the bitterness washed over his tongue. This was new, and he didn't appreciate it.
Cheer up. Cheer up, man, just buy yourself a cake or something, for the occasion.
If only his wallet wasn't still in his apartment. He hoped it was there and not anywhere else.
_
September 5th
I miss the gentle way it rained in August. Now it's just getting tiring and my umbrella doesn't fit in the hallway when I leave it there. I keep stumbling over it like a fool. There is nothing exciting about having to dry your clothes every day after you come back from work only to get it wet again because, well, that umbrella doesn't actually help if the wind hits you right in the face anyway.
They told me I had a mild case of hypothermia and a concussion. Stumbled into the clinic looking like a drunk zombie and collapsed, scared the receptionist lady, I believe, though I think she probably saw things worse than that. I was planning to get home earlier that day, actually, even had a date planned, wrapped everything up quickly and left before anyone decided to give me more work, but I guess this is out of the window now. The doctors asked if I knew what I was doing after leaving the office, but I wasn't sure how to put it. I mean, it's my business, right?
I'm fully recovered now. And the date that I had missed... I need to get back to her.
By the way, the suit isn't mine. I don't buy that kind of stuff, too expensive. Whoever gave it to me must've been very kind.
_
There was no one at the bus stop besides Stanley. It didn't rain today, which he was happy about, although the weather forecast website promised it would pour in the morning. No matter how hard he tried to find the most accurate one, a lot of them still got it wrong, usually on the days when he had important tasks to deal with and couldn't risk coming to work soaked through. At least this time the change was positive. He guessed it was just how forecasts were.
The silence felt wrong. Eerie, almost, which he linked with still being half asleep. The air smelled stale, all fallen leaves and car fumes.
He needed a presence, he decided. Not a friend, just a simple presence, a voice would do. It was easier when he immersed himself in work, it was never quiet in the office, but everything in between felt different, like a gap in the fabric of reality, a space between now and then, occupied by him only, too big for one person.
He told himself he'd consider his options as soon as he was free.
For now, Stanley would just have to deal with the uncomfortable feeling that stretched out the passage of time.
_
Mariella was not at her desk. In fact, someone else was at her desk, and Stanley didn't appreciate it one bit. He fumbled with his tie nervously, eyes everywhere but the woman's face, and cleared his throat.
'Can I help you with something?'
Her hair was fully grey, but she couldn't be older than fifty, and she had the most piercing eyes he ever saw, that's why he tried to turn away. He just needed to ask one thing. One thing and then he can go and mind his own businesses.
'Do you know where Mariella is?'
He didn't like the sensation that came with using his voice, mostly because he did it so rarely. Talking too much would inevitably lead to problems, and he saw no point in that, no point at all, but Mariella did, she would never stop talking and he appreciated her for it. That's why, during breaks, they would hang out in the employee lounge or the cafeteria, and he would listen to her quietly roast everyone else to hell. Colleagues, distant family members, her landlord. The thing about her was, she never spoke behind people's backs, so whatever it is she told him, she would surely tell it straight to their faces later in the day. Gosh, she was
fierce
and took absolutely no shit from anyone, and it gave her so much trouble every day, yet it seemed like she didn't care. Sometimes he even wished he could be like her.
Mariella was probably his only friend, and she never said it, but he sure as hell hoped she thought so.
'Since I appear to be taking her place, it seems to me that she quit, most likely.' she said.
And that was it, and Stanley looked around, searching for a sign it wasn't true, maybe she's just at another desk now, really, why would she quit so suddenly? Why would she do it now, of all times; he just got back from the hospital, he was free and he was sorry, okay? He was sorry! He still had her number saved, of course, so maybe he could give her a call once he was somewhere private, or send her a text message, really, it wasn't time to panic yet, what got him so worked up anyway?
The woman's expression turned softer, somewhat understanding. Clara, he read on her badge.
'I'll ask someone about her, if you're worried, alright? I'll get back to you.'
Clara must've read something on his face. He forced himself to speak:
'Thank you.'
And then he went back to his own desk, and he looked through the papers he was supposed to check, and it was so quiet, suddenly, only the ticking of the clock was there for him to hear, measuring out the seconds he wasted by sitting still, and nothing ever happened.
Nothing ever, ever happened.
_
September 9th
No one knew why Mariella quit. The resignation letter was there, on her desk, and she wasn't, and that was it. I went to the restroom, made sure I didn't have company, shut the door and dialled her number, and you know what? It didn't exist. Her number didn't exist, so why would she give it to me?
'I like you.' she told me. Said she could tolerate me the most. And I scoffed because I knew the reason for that, but still, it was nice to hear her say it.
'Let's go out.' she then said. 'It'll be a date.'
This indescribable weight is pressing down on my shoulders. Wherever I go, I carry it with me. I wonder why it didn't bother me before. I used to be so content.
An important part of me is missing, has been missing for several weeks now. You appear in my dreams more often, and sometimes I wake up convinced that my dream never ended.
Your voice is always muffled, the story you're telling me doesn't make any sense. You've built an aquarium for me, maybe that's why I can't hear you well enough—since you're watching behind the glass.
_
Stanley found an old MP3 player in a shoebox where he stored all his highschool items. Flipped through a few songs, saw nothing of interest, but took it with him anyway. Sunlight hit him in the face as he walked outside, he was untangling his earbuds and then turning that little thing on again, mindlessly pressing buttons.
The screen flickered a few times; then, a pleasant intro music had started to play. It seemed that he could listen to the radio with this.
He put the earbuds in, curious and attentive.
'-as for the southern part of the state, expect a sudden increase in temperature-'
Click.
'-50% off for any product you order after the trial-'
Click.
'Good morning, my dear listeners.'
The voice belonged to a man.
He stopped in his tracks. Strange warmth washed all over him, the wind—which wasn't strong today at all—ruffled his hair, and he stood there, forgetting to breathe, staring wildly at the player like he'd never seen it before, memorising the number of the station.
'Today, I will be your guide as we, once again, dive into the story of Richard Papen, a college student who just so happened to become an accomplice in the murder of his own friend.'
Stanley increased the volume.
'If you've been here before, then you know that I'm going be reading for the next two hours—advertisement breaks included—and I hope you will enjoy catching up.'
A soft, tired sigh. It seemed like this person wanted to say something else, but couldn't.
'Chapter five. When the lights came on, and the circle of darkness leapt back into the mundane and familiar boundaries of the living room cluttered desk...'
The man narrated, and Stanley listened, transfixed.
It felt right, and maybe he wasn't so alone anymore.