Blame me

warning: some violence scenes

A soft, leisurely shower rained over the street and sidewalk from above. It was a night in the early spring, and the air outside had that slight chill to it but was otherwise pleasant to the taste and eyes.

The streets were quiet, as most would be, given the lateness of the hour, except for one person, a woman who walked alone in a certain direction, and seemed to be distressed, or so one might initially suppose. Despite being out after midnight and walking alone down this particular street, she seemed perfectly content with where she was going, though no one would guess that she was actually worried about something much more than the time she was walking.

Her face was neutral; her expression was unreadable, but her body language was tense. She kept looking around herself frequently, like someone who was expecting to see someone there but didn't want to admit it out loud. A neurotic habit she'd unconsciously picked up over the years, one that made her uneasy and suspicious of her surroundings.

Her thoughts immediately went back to the past few weeks, when she had last seen her Eric. There wasn't much to report, as they weren't really a couple, nor were they best friends like the ones she had with other people, even though they acted like they were more than that. They never made anything official. But that was all that mattered to them—the love they shared and how they felt about one another, not a label. The thought of him brought a smile to her face, but she couldn't bring herself to care about her happiness right now.

What is enjoyment if not the absence of suffering? What kind of life is it that she is leading when there is only sadness around every corner?

She wished to alter her course, flee her history, and avoid people who had wronged her. He volunteered himself at that point, which is why she picked him. He was the only person who truly understood her and could see the damaged woman inside who yearned for a life worth living. And from that point on, she experienced success; prior to that, she always managed to muck things up. She always manages to injure both herself and everyone else. She occasionally questions what she did incorrectly but never receives an explanation because she is not deserving of one. None of them do.

She considered leaving everything behind, but what would that accomplish? How would she begin?

In addition, she still loved him, so doing that would just make things worse. Perhaps it's best that she make up for what transpired between them rather than get herself into more trouble.

Furthermore, where would she flee to?

After repeatedly crossing the middle of the road, there was a loud crack of thunder followed by a sudden increase in the intensity of the rain. Today's weather has already made up its mind twice that it will not be kind. Naturally, there would be more to the story when she got to her destination, but on this particular day, it felt like a lot of different things were going wrong.

She started moving in the direction of the location as she opened her umbrella, which was not nearly large enough to shield her from the intense deluge outside. Even though it wasn't very far away, she found it more and more difficult to see where she was going as she continued to walk on the city's slick asphalt streets.

The wind pushed on the little frame of her glasses, threatening to cause them to slide down her nose, and she muttered an expletive as it blew into her face. She was forced to walk faster and faster till she was virtually running as the wind picked up as well.

After what felt like hours of running around aimlessly through the wet street, with only an occasional flash of lightning illuminating the darkness around her, she finally reached the destination she sought and pushed open the door, letting out a huge sigh of relief at being warm inside. She hadn't even realized how cold she had been until now.

She glanced at herself in alarm as she realized how filthy and wet she was, her feet fully saturated in water. The clothes she wore were now drenched and ruined. It seemed as though everything was conspiring against her, especially the weather. Even though she didn't really need it, she took off her glasses, folded them, and put them inside her purse. With a quick wipe of her face with her sleeve, she took off her shoes and set them carefully by the side, before proceeding to put down her umbrella near the entrance of the house, leaving a trail of water and mud in her wake. She drew her coat closer to her body, her hands still quivering from the rain and the rush of adrenaline that had just swept through her body.

"Hello ?" Nobody responded, and nothing was audible. She moved a little further inside the house while scowling.

Everything in this place was antique, and the inside was uniquely and sparingly done with taste. The furniture wasn't just plain; it was also extremely outdated. Every piece of furniture was constructed of mahogany, with ornate carvings and decorations adorning them. Even the walls were dark, stained wood with the faint smell of mothballs clinging onto them. Since there were no windows in this room, the atmosphere was eerie.

The home owner's tastes ranged from the mundane to the absurd. From his houseplants to his sculptures, all he did was collect items that appeared to be not of earth and life, but rather of another realm. Although it's true that your home can occasionally reflect who you are, it's actually more common for someone to reflect on who they were meant to be.

Perhaps you can't truly tell the difference between this man's collection and his own soul if you don't know him very well. Vanessa had always been astounded by the range of quirky traits one person could possess, given that most people only see each other as having one or two characteristics at most.

Nevertheless, she liked him despite his eccentricity.

Despite the fact that he appeared younger than other people, he gave the impression of being older.

It would be difficult to sum up his appearance with a single adjective like handsome or handsomely good-looking. Even though he had too angular of a face, untidy hair, and excessively blue eyes, somehow he fit the bill perfectly. He fit everything about him.

The house was relatively empty, but you could still feel its presence. Her heart was thumping hard in her chest, and every stride reverberated across the room.

She could hear a ticking sound coming from somewhere inside the house, and two light bulbs hanging from the ceiling provided a low amount of illumination for the front hallway. She froze as she heard a creak under her feet.

It appeared that nobody was there at all. The only sound in the house, aside from the ticking clock, was how empty it felt.

"Eric, are you there? It's me." Her voice had a small tremble to it from fear. There is none.

The silence continued as she made her way further through the house, her hand trailing along the wall for support. She stopped and put her hands on the wall to stabilize herself as the ticking grew louder. There was unquestionably a problem. As much as she hated to admit it, she was scared to death.

"Eric, please come out. I'm sorry, ok?"

If he was there at all, she called in the hopes that her words might reach him in some way. She noticed that the ticking had developed into a rhythm as she heard movement in the adjacent room. She approached the closed door gently, listening carefully for any movement as fear surged through her veins.

She gingerly turned the door handle after hearing the rustle once more. She heard something substantial moving around inside. Was Eric hiding there?

No matter what she tried to rationalize, she couldn't find the strength within herself to open that door. The only thing she could muster up was a simple word: "Eric."

It echoed loudly throughout the house. It sounded more menacing than she had intended.

"Eric..."

Inside, there was a murmuring sound, followed by a tremendous bang. The ground shifted beneath her, and everything started to whirl. The next thing she knew, her cheek was resting against the wood floor as she laid on her stomach on the carpet. She took a slow, thorough look at her surroundings to assess her state.

She was panting a lot and was drenched in perspiration. She had a chill across her entire body. She had worked herself up a little bit. The constant sound of the continuous rain outside had taken the place of the clock.

The surroundings of the room started to become black and white. Her eyesight was starting to swim, and her respiration was getting shallower and more erratic. She was queasy. In actuality, everything was whirling, and it was very difficult to stay awake.

In an effort to stave off a dizzy spell, she put her hand to her forehead. However, as it became clear that her fingers had come into contact with her hair rather than her flesh, she dropped the hand, embarrassed by her frailty.

The clock continued to strike several hours after midnight, though this was no longer noticeable because the time had become completely distorted. She succumbed to exhaustion and drifted back into deep sleep as everything faded into blackness.