Are You Shivering?

I had always confronted myself with insomnia. I don’t think that any night had passed where I couldn’t get my head off the things I’ve done during the day. Subtle, but yet so convincing, my thoughts are restraining my brain and are forcing it to despair about “this” and “that”. They make me overthink. Questions, unanswered calls of despair drive me insane and thus I am unable to sleep properly nor close my eyes.

Sometimes I even wonder how I have a motorcycle license. If I was to listen to my mind, I would’ve probably not even been here right now–I would’ve crashed in a tree and be left on the cold soil in the desperate attempt to run from my persistent problems.

I lit myself a cigarette as it only kept me awake. The bar I sat in was full of cranky old men riding motorcycles and listening to rock; I was the only youngling there. Although the radio tunes played death metal, as my vast knowledge judged, they still seemed to enjoy their time playing chess and poker. This cigarette became awful in a place like this and the taste of the smoke invading my lungs wasn’t even the same as it was back when I was at home.

Tinnitus. And my nose is stuffy and itchy from all the cigarette smoke, yet I was refusing to stop smoking and contributing to the fresh air inside. And God how much I hated being out of my own home, let alone trying to fit in such a country like England.

I didn’t even know why I hung out here. Maybe the feeling of loneliness pulled me in because I loved being solitude. In my mind, I was the best person I could’ve hung out with as I’ve never found myself a good person to share my thoughts and feelings with. Although, admitting it was pleasant to stay lonely was a hard job to fulfill.

The bar doors opened. They were old and they were shaking at each touch, yet the person who came in wasn’t careful with them. It only made my brain hurt even more. The person had their helmet on top of the head, wore a black tank top and ripped jeans. They seemed young as well, the frame of their body was thin, their thighs a bit more thick and the chest slightly bumpy.

The music turned lower.

“Camelia! Long time no see!” the barman shouted as he caught my eyes. He was cleaning a few glasses and smiling widely. All of these while holding a cigarette in his mouth.

Camelia took off the helmet; she was pretty. Her nose was perfect, her lips were puffy and her blue eyes contoured her deep cheekbones. Everyone there seemed to know her as I was staring confused, not doing anything to greet her. Her head turned to me.

She only stared at me a couple of seconds as her smile faded. My guts clenched. She then turned on her tippy toes. Her feet led her to the counter. My eyes fell back on the newspaper, but only because she wasn’t that big of an interest for me. Nor were the other “big shots” of this bar.

The newspaper wasn’t interesting either. Nothing was up to my liking, nor was it a pleasant read. It was full of missing children announcements, cancan drama and cheap TV ads. I rested my head against my palm. The cigarette was already lit off, in the ashtray.

The music turned back up. My eyes were darting around each page of the newspaper, it made my head feel lighter.

A screeching sound caught my attention. Camelia sat down on the chair that sat across my table looking at me. Her lips curved upwards like an ivy, her palms cupping her cheeks and her elbows on the table. I could only huff in distress. Her brown hair was tied in a messy bun and her oceanic irises stared down at the abyss inside my eyes.

“Hello!” she’d greet me, smiling wider. Her teeth were perfect, although she was wearing braces. “What’s your name?” her question spelled almost like a riddle caught me off guard.

I haven’t answered a question like this in a long time. I took my time with it–would I spell a lie or would I tell her the truth? I had no interest in her but she seemed to have an interest in me. She was holding a small cup of beer between her fingers and she was gently shaking. I could only think she was also shaking her leg as I began having the desperate attempt to not be freaked out by her presence. Only her being here made it hard to judge.

“Well…” was all I could say for one moment as I got dug deeper in my intrusive mind. “It’s Deadren,” I told her my name. The real one, yes, I had no intention to lie this time as this interaction would be our last.

She nodded as she stuck out her left hand from beneath the table. I bit my inner lip and shook hands with her. My heart was pounding harder on each second driving me to the thought that I’ll explode. Our hands disconnected quickly thanks to my rushing.

“Your name doesn’t sound so Englandn. Where are you from?” Camelia didn’t hesitate to ask and raise an eyebrow. “You speak English only?” she asked another question.

“I speak both Englandn and English fluently. My mom’s from around here…” I scoffed.

“You don’t seem to like this chat.”

“I am neutral about it.”

“Then why are you so crispy?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Do I look ugly or what?”

“No… Camelia… Be serious.”

“I was joking, jeez,” she laughed.

“How’s that even a good joke?”

“Is it supposed to be a good joke, Deadren?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“It’s not!”

A bit of silence rested between us. I grasped my newspaper again but before I could open it again it flung out of my hands. I looked at her, she was staring at the pages and then laughed.

“You strangers have a weird taste for cancan,” she mocked, but I was quick to disagree.

“In fact, I don’t care about cancan,” I shrugged and looked back at the barman. “I’m pretty sure Marcus does.”

Camelia laughed and nodded. She lit herself a cigarette and handed one to me as well. I didn’t really hesitate to pick it up and smoke it, my judgement must’ve been cursed by the fact that I haven’t slept in two days. My brain must’ve been consuming itself. I am only stating this by analyzing my headache stages.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of old men here,” silence again.

She clicked her glass with her finger nail then took a sip. The silence between us was rather pleasant for me and it was something I required just to work properly in this situation. I loved the silence, I loved it when she shut it up.

But one thing clinked in my mind almost like a light bulb opened. How was she going to drive back if she drank beer? Up to my knowledge, you’re not allowed to drink then drive here; that’s what I’ve been avoiding my whole three years of living in England.

“Can you drive me home? I’m scared of these oldies,” I suddenly heard her say.

My cheeks become pink as I cough. Me? Drive her home? She hardly knows me, is she insane? And why would she be scared of an old man? One fart and he dispels. I took a puff out of the cigarette, thinking for a moment.

“Just hold tight, I suppose… I didn’t bring my car today,” I gently tapped the ash away. My cheeks burn like fire, and so does my body.

Her smile was back. It looked almost like she was a small shining star in this bar. A star so paranoid that she would rather trust a stranger than someone she knows.

She nodded, sparkles lit up in her orbs. She was staring at me almost as if I was her savior, yet again I am rather a devil than a so-called hero that stands brave. Devils are avid hunters for lust, insomniac rulers of the underworld and bad omens. Although, I wasn’t none of these. I only considered myself a devil for my lack of certainty under my actions and the lack of personality I present in the day to day life.

I had always hunted souls to torment with my unpredictable behavior. I had always searched for something to tame my spirits, yet found little nothing.

We both stood up. Was I going to behave the same as I did with many other people with her?