Door 334

“How much for that piece of meat?”

The vendor turns and follows my finger and points to a chunky and fatty piece of meat.

Then he spoke in a raspy voice, the one that comes with age and bad habits. “This one?”

“Yeah, that one you got right there. How much?”

He pushed back his gray-spotted hair and picked at his white-red stained coat as he thought of a price.

He turned to the left and yelled, “Yo, Mike”

And a faceless man yelled “what” in return. They discussed for a little while and both agreed on a price of 15 dollars as the cut isn’t the highest quality but decent in size. I gave the money and he wrapped the meat up in some new papers placed it in a bag and handed it over.

“Alright, thank you, Max, cya.”

“Bye Jack. Come again soon!”

As soon as I left another person hurried and took my spot at the glass countertop where business took place and where the meat was showcased. I walked away with the lights of the meat shop’s sign slowly lighting up my black bag with colors of red and yellow and doing the same to my back. Those colors soon fade as different signs shine their lights and take their place as I pass by more vendors. The street is densely packed and yells of items and prices are heard at all times even when most people are supposedly asleep there will still be shouts about watches, sunglasses, hoverboards, pets, and all that other crap.

The crowd is rough as people rush towards open spots causing waves to form which make people push against others, Sometimes the waves are violent enough that they cause some to fall. Thankfully that event didn’t happen as I walked to my complex.

I walk for a little while finally reaching an intersection where I take the right and continue to walk following the pace of those around me. There isn’t much to say about this daily walk, other than it’s surrounded by buildings and is usually covered with the smell of blood, sweat, piss, hot air, and humidity that piles on one’s forehead.

My complex is rather boring, with a simple rectangular shell and a basic layout on the inside. It’s no different from the other complexes that surround it other than it being one of the few that still use metal doors, instead of those walk-throughs. I stand in front of the door and push a button that has a “Ring For Service” message written above it.

Then out of a speaker that is slightly below the button, came the cheery voice of the receptionist, Rob, asking me what my business was, “It’s me Jack, room: 334.”

“Scan fingerprint”

A very faint whirr noise was made as little gears turned to move a small piece of metal that uncovered the scanner, and I did what I was told.

“Welcome home, Jack.”

I removed my finger and the gears turned, The scanner went back inside the door while it clicked and I pushed it open. A funny smell rushed me as the door creaked open and slammed closed.

“What’s up Jack, don’t mind the smell, some guys are doing a paint job on the first floor, it shouldn’t go up any further than the first and the lobby.”

“Alright, thank you, Rob.”

He smiled charmingly and leaned back in his seat and put his feet up on his desk, near his computer, and placed his hands behind his head.

“Jack, when’s the last time you got a haircut? These strains are getting long, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m going to, eventually, if the fucking shop wasn’t always so packed.”

Rob then ran his fingers through his hair, in a childish attempt to gloat.

“If only you had hair like mine.” His tone was overly sophisticated and prolonged the ending of each word with something seemingly being caught in his throat as he said it.

“Then you need NOT to wait in such a filthy place.” He scoffed and looked away. He shortly looked back at me, and said I could always cut my hair myself. I told him that I was shit at looking backward. He seemed confused and I left as he shouted what I meant. I walked down the hall which cut through the middle of the lobby’s wall, the wall opposite to the door. The hall smelled strong with chemicals and certain smells which I can only describe as headache-inducing and when I reached the end of the hallway I saw that men were on both the left and right sides of the intersection of the hall. They and their equipment created a maze that hid the rooms and elevators that were in those parts of the hall, and instead of attempting to search for the exit, I went back out of the hall and took the stairs that hugged the right wall.

Rob greeted me once more when I exited the hall and asked me what I meant beforehand. I called him an idiot. We both laughed. Each step I took caused the stairs to make a loud and annoying creaking noise, my face scrunching up with each new noise made, Rob had enough and yelled “Man won’t you hurry up!”

“My bad, Rob!”

I lost the sense of embarrassment after he spoke and I quickly ran up the stairs as they made the noise of a dying dog.

I fumble with my keycards for a little, somehow mixing up the red card with the blue and getting rejected out of my home for 3 minutes while it notified my phone someone tried to enter. Thus, I was annoyed and quickly ran to my fridge to cool down by drinking some orange juice. Ever since childhood orange juice has always been a pleasure, more than it should, perhaps it calms my mind by painting pictures of days passed that brought a sense of peace and clarity. The notion that everything is going to be okay. Perhaps, but whatever it is, it always calms. I placed the bag on the table took a glass from a cabinet and poured Orange Juice into the glass and closed the fridge door. While I drank out of my glass I heard the door slowly creak and close with the spring groaning and the hinges squeaking. My bedroom door also begins to squeak open with the thought of needing oil passing by my head.

“Honey, you didn’t say you returned.”

Then she peered her head out from the nearest corner which was to the right of me, a corner caused by our bedroom slightly cutting into the living room which also includes the kitchen. She was smiling and had a nice ponytail which made her hair appear much shorter than how it was truly, it also made her forehead bigger, she doesn’t like it when I say that though.

I put my glass down on my kitchen table and greeted her with a hug and showed her the black bag which stood next to the glass.

She admired the piece of meat and grabbed a knife. I told her the price while she cut it into smaller portions while I washed the glass I used.

“You got a really fatty piece. Much of it is just fat.”

“Ah, bad deal then?”

“Not that bad. Differently not the best, 7/10.”

“At least I got above average. Better than usual.”

“Well, yeah, usual is average dumb, dumb.”

“And I got better than usual, a 7/10, dumb, dumb.”

She groaned and I walked to the bedroom and sat on the bed sulking about something I couldn’t put a name to. But it seemed. Sad.

I snapped out of it after a short while, it ran away and I changed out of my coat and long-sleeved shirt into a simple dark blue t-shirt and I tossed the coat and shirt onto a chair. I walked over to the window that was across the door and I pushed away the curtain and looked at the frosted window. The day was dark and the street, once made for cars but now a large sidewalk, was full of men and women with different colors shining on them as they walked, all of them carrying at least a bag with something in it. I wiped away some of the frost to better show the street and then let the curtain fall back into place.

I walked back to the kitchen and found her almost finished cutting it.

The room was surprisingly dark, darker than how I last saw it, perhaps the lights outside blinded my eyes, forcing them to take in less light to save themselves some suffering. I flipped the switch that was near and the room started to glow yellow in a beautiful hue.

“Do you have work today?”

I turn and see that she looks slightly depressed, or at least saddened by something.

“No, I don’t have work on Saturdays and tomorrow. Only work on weekdays. Why’d you ask?” I walk slowly to her left side to simply stand there and let her know I’m listening.

“I don’t know, guess a part of me wanted to be reassured you won’t leave.”

“Reasonable enough. I think. But, Nah, I don’t have anything to do today. We can simply chill with each other. Or something along those lines.”

She seemed to smile slightly, “Yeah, that’ll be okay.”

Then she focused on cutting the meat.

We ate potatoes and meat, it was a nice meal, fulfilling at least. But when we were cleaning up she seemed to be depressed, her eyes reflected emotions that I’ve never seen her show. It was confusing but that was overshadowed by my worry. But she simply said that it was nothing, that she was tired. I’m not sure if I believe her even though my entirety wants to. But my soul could taste her dishonesty in the way her eyes never met mine when we spoke after dinner and how she quivered in her voice, even though it was so slight no one else could tell. I was able to, and fear followed us both to bed.

“Stephanie? What’s wrong?”

She turned and stared into my eyes without saying a word, she was crying and her mouth was quivering intensely, her lower lip constantly jabbing at her upper. Nothing was said and all one could hear was her slight, muffled whimpers, muffled as I pressed her to me and her arms wrapped around me.

I woke and found myself still in her grasp with her fingers almost digging into my skin and her face pressed onto the top of my skull. Though I would be a liar to say that it wasn’t enjoyable. But that joy and warmth were killed quickly after her whimpers reemerged in my memory. I moved her arms and felt her grasp loosen and let go from my back as I sought to leave her be as perhaps space and time were what she might need. In the past, it’s what she asked for and I didn’t see any reason to disrupt a constant truth. Till my memory reminded me of a statement she said earlier, “You won’t leave.“. I was free as she turned to her back and faced the ceiling with only an arm under me. But I didn’t want it, even if I was right, and she wanted space, I didn’t want to leave, my mind kept boasting that something like that was wrong.

“One wouldn’t leave a child alone in a tree if he seemed afraid, now, would he? If he did then his thoughts shall haunt him if he was moral, if he was good. And you are moral and consider yourself good, so why seek to ignore the child’s scream? If you don’t shiver at it then consider yourself less than human as you are inhuman!”