Cocktail for Disaster

My phone beeped. The news headline notification that appeared immediately grabbed my attention.

‘Earthquake in Indonesia leaves thousands without homes’.

My heart broke for every single person affected.

A small part of me, however, was grateful for the distraction. I needed to focus on someone else’s pain for a while.

Part of my job for the small disaster relief company that I worked for was to source and arrange for supplies and donations to be collected and sent to where they would be most useful.

I was deep in the calm and comforting world of updating all my spreadsheets and the lists of things that needed to be tracked when I heard my name.

“Kit?”

The tone was hesitant, wary.

I was very aware that everyone around me had been walking on eggshells, worried that I wouldn’t be receptive to seeing or talking to them.

I wasn’t.

I wanted everyone to just leave me alone.

I ignored the voice, and focused instead on calculating the number of cots that would be needed in the emergency shelter our operatives would be setting up.

There was a long pause – long enough that I had assumed they’d gone away – when Kestryll pulled a chair up to the table, sat down, and rested her chin on folded hands.

The little stone shadow that had been following her ever since that night sat next to her, imitating her pose.

In my head I called them every possible name I could think of.

I screamed at the two of them until my imaginary voice was raw.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that they were sitting here, talking, breathing, living when…

I chased the thought away, looked down at my list, and ticked off water bottles.

“Kit?”

I ignored her.

“Please Kit? Can we talk?”

‘No. We can’t. Because you’re here and she isn’t. If you want to talk to someone, talk to that infernal stone child of yours.’

I didn’t say it out loud though. There was no point.

I had learnt a long time ago that the only time people cared about your pain was when they were paid to.

They might say they cared.

Might even believe that they did – for a short while at least.

They might even try to actually care.

When it was this kind of pain though? This all-consuming, never dwindling, constant, intense pain?

No one wants to feel that kind of pain. No one wants to share the load – not if they’re not getting anything out of it.

I continued to pretend she wasn’t there, checking things off my lists, double checking my calculations.

I don’t know when she left. I don’t know how long I worked.

Time vanished down here in the staff quarters of the bar – day blended into night blended back into day.

When I eventually emerged from my little bubble the world was still and silent.

No one was curled up in any of the overstuffed couches in the lounge area. The usual cacophony of the gaming system competing with someone’s overly loud music was gone. Even the bouncers had gone to bed.

My stomach grumbled and I stretched, looking around for one of the kitchen staff. Usually they had an uncanny knack for bring me food or a mug of hot chocolate before I’d realized I needed it.

It seemed that I’d outlasted even them.

I wrinkled my nose. There was something distinctly odd about them.

They were practically invisible for starters. I usually just caught a glimpse of a white chef’s uniform and they were gone again. I’d never seen any of their faces.

They were, however, helpful and attentive and hyper-efficient.

I closed my laptop and stood up to do some more stretches, starting from my feet. I did toe curls, knee raises, ankle rotations. I worked my way up slowly, making sure I paid attention to each set. By the time I reached my neck I was starting to feel almost normal.

I hadn’t even thought about…

My eyes pricked.

I imagined her walking up to me, her hand taking mine and then running it slowly up her thigh.

My stomach protested even more loudly than before. Another welcome distraction.

There were still no kitchen staff around.

I wondered how much trouble I would be in if I just wandered back there on my own.

I glared at the doors to the kitchen, daring them to spill their secrets.

One of the cupboards on the other side had to hold snacks. Or even just a loaf of bread. A simple cheese sandwich would be heaven at this point.

Nope. That would be too impulsive.

I had chosen not to be an impulsive person. I had chosen to be a person who follows the rules, who was detail-oriented and organized.

I packed my laptop into the laptop bag that had been leaning against the chair so that I could go to bed. I could eat in the morning again, at breakfast.

Bed.

Her face swam to the surface of her mind.

Bright eyes glinting with mischief and laughter below the pixie cut that she refused to style. Her clothes and jewelry that flashed and sparkled with her every movement. Her smile. Her infectious giggles.

Nope. No bed yet. If I was going to be dreaming about her, I would need sustenance.

I crossed the dining room to the white double doors, and pushed my way through into the kitchen. I had braced myself, expecting angry voices and the bustle of a busy kitchen.

Everything remained quiet.

Spotless counters housed gleaming appliances. Every item had its place, the organization a soothing balm to my soul.

Three massive fireplaces were built into the far wall.

A long wooden shelf above connected them. At either end of the wall were smaller doors. Light from the flames glinted on their brass hinges and their doorknobs, which looked like faces.

The center fireplace was the one that held my attention though.

Just above it, in the middle of the long shelf, was a small white statue – a woman. She was draped in cloth. Candles and stones were set next to her. The fire below blazed strange blue flames.

I stepped closer, drawn to the feeling of comfort and peace that the hearth gave off.

Minutes later, I jumped back.