The woman caught her balance, stumbling over her high-heeled shoes. She straightened her hair and rushed out her apologies, but Davis stood still and quiet. After the woman's initial fluster, as the red started to drain from her face, she stood and stared at Davis too. She eyed him, from his untrimmed patchy face to his slightly overweight body and worn clothes and shoes. And then, she made eye contact.
It was an intense gaze, a waving knife of hazelnut tinted glass, challenging the idle windows of Davis' meek defenses. And for the minute and a half that it lasted, each second was a trial for him. He was not used to this situation. In any book, he would have just done what the main character would do. A witty remark, a returned equally aggressive sensual stare, perhaps falling into a paranoid fighting stance, but In this moment Davis was lost for both words and actions. And so, when Davis shakily opened his mouth, and the only sound that he could find to form in its caverns was a nervous squeak, the woman fell into hysterics. Her body racked with laughter, holding her stomach and her eyes wet, she lost her balance and tumbled onto the sidewalk. And still she chuckled, desperately trying to halt her outburst, but when she opened her eyes to be greeted by Davis' supremely puzzled face, she couldn't help but to be pulled in by another wave of hysterics. And so when she finally regained control of herself and resumed her elegant standing posture, Davis suddenly felt exhausted, humiliated, and hungrier than ever.
"You really are a strange one, I'll give you that," she commented, folding her left arm behind her back and extending her right with and open hand. "Haley. Haley Connolly." Her voice was welcoming and soft, and so Davis wiped his hand on his pants and took her hand to shake it. Of course he was surprised to find the grip firm, and he could do nothing but feel helpless as she led the formal motions. When the motion stopped, and all that was left was his hand in hers, he could feel her expecting gaze piercing through the hair which fell over his eyes. And so with his left hand he swept away the unruly black locks, and for the first time his eyes truly focused on her. Despite having lived in words solely for nine years, there was no sound that could be made, no letters that could be ordered together, no picture that could begin to describe the beauty that he saw in her. mouth still open, his tongue tripped over itself, trying to find the words that suited the situation, but instead of a steady sentence, the vocabulary in Davis' mind cluttered together like a swarm of bees, and the exit just wasn't big enough to let all of them out, let alone the right ones. Haley giggled, politely covering her graceful red lips. "I heard Davis in there somewhere. Nice to meet you, Davis." She shook his hand again, and smiled slightly as she let go of his hand and it fell to his side.
"Davis," he finally stammered out, finding the sounds for his own name. "Davis Reed."
"Well, it was nice meeting you Mister Reed. I really have to get going now, you know, the whole early bird thing, but I suggest that you really should clean yourself up. You look an absolute sight. There's a public bath two blocks down to the left, and a hospice just beyond that. And I know you're going to be able to afford it." At this Davis' ears pricked up. She was right, he was in half-torn trained clothes, was covered in grime, shards of broken glass and sweat, and even he could imagine that his posture and manner practically screamed that he was tired and hungry. "Oh don't worry," she purred in response to the noticeable silence he had created. "Your hair is washed and clearly conditioned, at least two days ago." He nodded. He would usually condition his hair, only to be able to brush out the knots though. He hadn't cut it in days though, but he supposed that wasn't necessarily a mark of poverty.
"And also," she remarked as she began to walk past him, "no reader could forget the name Reed."
He was stunned, craning his neck to watch as she confidently strode away, his feet plastered to the sidewalk. Suddenly a torrent of emotion began to well up within him all at once. He wasn't just hungry, he was starving. He hadn't slept for days, and he'd been walking aimlessly, for two hours at least, in darkness, unarmed and unaware. He had cuts all over his hand from the window, and they were starting to become irritated. And where the hell was he!? He hadn't seen another person or car in hours! He had no money either, and to be honest the pockets in his pants were much smaller than they should've been. His glasses were the wrong prescription too, and what the hell was this buzzing in his left ear!? He felt scared, confused, worried, vaulnerable, fatigued, famished, parched, alone, and all of these other things that he couldn't even begin to describe. The streets and rows of houses seemed endless, and the alleys and lawns seemed darker than ever. And this concoction of voiceless feelings continued to swirl in his chest, building and building, and there wasn't even anywhere to run, and no clear path to dispelling them.
He fell to his knees on the concrete, wincing at the impact. He doubled over, fists clenching his shirt, rubbing up and down his chest. He brought his forehead to the floor, feeling the heat of his breath bounce back into his face as he desperately pulled in as much air as he could, and then expelled it equally as hasty as it clogged is throat.
Slamming his open hands to the sidewalk, he lifted his head and chest, looked to the sky, and bellowed: "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?"
Silence. A slight breeze came over Davis' head, blowing hair over his eyes. A dog barked in the distance. He felt truly alone, the moon's spotlight towering over him.
"It's four in the fuckin' morning, that's what it fuckin' is! Go to sleep already, fucko!" Somewhere nearby a window slammed shut.
A smile crept over Davis' face. As he pulled himself to his feet, his breathing became easier. Soon his exhalations turned into chuckles. And then he started laughing. His feet began to move in star he patterns underneath him, and the shuffling of his soles on the sidewalk created some sort of miraculous beat. He danced and laughed, and when he felt like he was having the time of his life, tears started to fall from his eyes. When the first fell to the pavement, he stopped, stood still, and let them come. And the he chuckled to himself again.
This was real life, he supposed. In real life, emotions weren't neat. They didn't happen at the right or wrong times, they just happened. Considering the circumstances, he told himself, this was about as convenient as he could have asked for.
Wiping the water from his eyes, Davis slowed his breath and, before taking a step, he planned out his actions. That public bath the lady had told him about really was his best bet. If he was going to buy food, or even beg for it, being clean and presentable would do wonders. New clothes from the hospice, maybe a gas stove or a tent or a flashlight. No, he was getting too ahead of himself. Bath and food first, everything else later.
And so Davis walked onwards, and all the while he couldn't help but think about the woman. He had already forgotten her name. Shirley or something. But she was absolutely... Beautiful. Gorgeous? No. She didn't have the stark features that those types of women did. Pretty? Yes, in a way, but she didn't look all that innocent or weak as a pretty lady usually would. She was elegant and had pride in her step. Davis gave up on searching for a word to describe her, because frankly her face kept on changing in his mind's eye. All of them were attractive, but none of them were her. Her hair just flowed so perfectly, even when a stray one had gotten into her mouth after he bumped into her. Her face didn't seem to have any features which he could specifically remember, because all the parts just seemed to fit so perfectly together. 633Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxGRagCTe0R
After a while, Davis tried to stop thinking of her. He succeeded to stop imagining her, but every now and then the sound of her voice would creep into his head. 'Don't worry,' she'd said, as she held his hand. Or did she? He didn't know. He really couldn't trust himself to think of her anymore, it was getting a bit too... complicated.
He missed the left turn.633Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG1Q8Zv4fUD
