Artistikem

Myself

My knees shake as I enter the place reeking of cigarettes. The strappy stilettos that hold my feet don’t match with the black that repeats itself on every surface, contrasting with the colorful tattoos on everyone’s arms and necks. My fluttery silk skirt stays stiff, as if fearing its surroundings. I am not scared, not inside at least, because I am determined to do what I’m going to do.

I approach the pair of dark eyes framed by glinting silver piercings waiting behind the counter. He eyes my long hair from top to bottom, and that is where it meets my hips.

“I’m here to get a haircut.”

“This is a barber shop.” He says reluctantly as his eyebrows meet each other on the bridge of his nose which also has a piercing through it.

“Exactly what I need.”

He escorts me to a chair, crossing through the sea of estranged looks shot my way. I sit down and see myself on the mirror. Myself, something I had lost a long time ago and was here to reunite with. The chubby barber stands behind me. Everyone around freezes when he asks:

“What would you like?”

I think about it for a moment and remember why I am here. I am here because of him, the man that made my life a nightmare.

I throw my hair back on the chair for the barber to see it clearly. That part of me I loved so much, that he loved so much but also used to yank, to pull, to torture me with. He loved it but used it against me.

“Shave it.”

A collective gasp goes through the place like a wave.

“Excuse me?”

“Shave it.”

Because I want to be myself again.

“Don’t shoot me, please.”

“Why? Why shouldn’t I kill you right now, this instant, with this gun, with a bullet to your head?”

“There are things in life worth living, you know? Reasons not to kill me, reasons for you not to go to jail.”

“Who said I was going to jail?”

“The police will get you eventually, and you will be jailed for my murder.”

“Crap… No, no they won’t. I will make it look like an accident.”

“Shooting me down from six feet is no accident.”

“Dammit. What about if I get closer?”

“A few more steps will do. A contact shot.”

“Then I’ll push it to your forehead.”

“And don’t forget to write a suicide note on my behalf.”

“Does your child know how to swim?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know? That is a matter of life and death. What if he falls into a river? He could drown.”

“There are no rivers nearby.”

“Or a pool.”

“We have no pool.”

“There are pools everywhere. He could be invited by one of his schoolmates, say, to a pool birthday party. You know how long it takes for your lungs to get filled by water? Seconds. And you are still conscious for a couple of minutes, so you are aware you are dying.”

“He is only six months old, Frank. He can worry about drowning later on. Though, not if it involves drowning by vomit, of course.”

Bruised

Bruised men aren’t like any other bruised being in the world. You feel lost in a pond of dark waters and infinite depth.

There was no need for explanations, especially the long ones she constructed as a façade to our disgrace. Stop talking, please, spare me the damage of another winter of self-punishment. To undergo another deception because I wanted to have someone, someone for shits and giggles, for the sex because it was great. Because with her I didn’t feel alone, because with her I didn’t feel bruised anymore. Because…

Because I was stupid enough to think there is a woman out there that can put up with me.

Gibberish, that is all I hear coming out of her lips and I don’t want to be here. In this place filled with strange faces, in this place where everything you say seems to echo inside so many brains eavesdropping by. I don’t want this because I have suffered it before and I hated it then as much as I do now.

I need to get out of here fast. The ceiling is coming down, the floor is pushing me upwards, making me feel devoid from that precious gas called oxygen and without which I can’t breathe.

Fuck. Fuck all this. I’m out.

I strode my way out of the restaurant. Once I was outside the air filled my lungs once more, the color came back to my face and I felt like a person again. Funny how lately every time she wasn’t with me I felt like a person. Like a human being with all its pros and cons. With my will.

I turned back, raced inside and she was still there crying her eyes out. She hadn’t noticed I had stepped out. Why would she? If she never noticed I was bruised. Because when she met me I was already on my knees, crying for help just like her only silently. Mute cries that went on every night and came to me every morning. It was that bad.

She gasped when she felt me standing next to her seat. Her gaze met mine in plead for me not to go, not to walk away from her.

But I had done it already.

So this time I ran away from her, from the restaurant, away from these streets, away from the lights and into the darkness of the winter that was waiting for me with its cold arms.

Deception

I was sitting there with myself waiting for the night bus and I couldn’t stop thinking about her face as she realized how much harm I could inflict on her.

She cried, she screamed, but nothing could stop me from killing her. So stern in her arguments, as if she wore blinders, life blinders.

“Give me all you’ve got, miss.” A voice demanded. It was cold, it was solitary. Who else was it than a robber?

“Fuck off, punk.” I said without looking at him. I didn’t care if he shot me, I had no money on me.

“Give me your money, gimme everything, come on.” I could tell he was nervous. I looked up at his gun and it was silver and looked very bright under the lamppost.

“Silver? For real? Everyone will see you.” He glanced round us. “Just kill me, I’ve got no money, no jewelry, and I just killed someone. Like you will now.”

“Who said I was gonna kill you?”

“What you’ve got that gun for if not for killing?”

He paused for a moment, his eyes turned for the floor introspectively.

I took the gun from his hand and pointed it to his forehead. His whole body shook, frightened. “Don’t kill me, don’t kill me please.”

“What kind of robber are you if you are afraid of dying?” I pressed the cold metal to his forehead. “I’ve killed. Can you tell by my face? No. But I did it, I killed my best friend because she just wouldn’t shut up.” He got on his knees, his hands on the air, surrendering. I was so sure of what I was doing that it wasn’t even funny. How did I get to this? When was it that I turned into a murderer? Yes, when she decided to leave, when she decided her boyfriend was more important than all the plans we had together.

“Are you gonna kill me for reals?”

“I killed her because she was stubborn. Because she wanted to abandon me for what? Him? A man who didn’t deserve her, a guy who wouldn’t stand beside her when she decided to fulfill her dreams? I was there for her always.” I had to stop myself. Was I going to explain myself to a stranger?

I pulled him by the shirt. He was shaking so badly I had to secure the gun by entwining his fingers.

“Shoot me.”

“Let me go, please. I won’t kill you.”

“Do it!” I pulled the trigger myself. “Now you’ll know how it feels to kill someone.”

My shirt, dampened by my own blood, frightened him to the core. I stood there as the bus stopped next to me, it was empty and so it remained as I dropped to the ground and felt the cold asphalt under me.

“Live!” I opened my eyes and the robber was over me, his hands pressing my wound.

“Get off me!” I tried to push him away but he insisted on me lying down. Then he started calling for help, he summoned the bus driver, he took his cell phone and gave it to him.

“Call an ambulance, she needs assistance.”

“Don’t call anyone. Let me die, I deserved it.”

“No one deserves to die.” His eyes looked directly into mine and I saw a glint of light on them. I thought it was the one on the other side of the dark tunnel that leads to death, but there was no elevating sensation on me. “It’s going to be okay, ma’am.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I ain’t no murderer. You are.”