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• ☕️ Trust •215Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ55EDX9Q7aS
215Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlY3zYU9DzP215Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡud9QMDKmlL
It was the typical start to a British summer that year, raining with a chance of sun. The evenings were the only benefit, who were generous enough to give the gift of time as the nights are kept at bay. The warm breath of summer clouded the air that still frostily nipped occasionally, as a little reminder that winter is always only around the corner.
I was in mediocre spirits as I gave the venue my finishing touches. Up a ladder in a fucking tux, clearing up the mess the town council called "volunteers", had tangled among the treetops. Personally, I thought they had sent in a bandwagon of clowns and their efforts were "special" to say the least.
My front teeth bit down on my tongue as it poked the corner of my mouth, while concentration and aggravation shaded over my face. My forehead wrinkled at the thought of my suit doing the same, as I fiddled with the stray set of fairy lights, left dangling onto its last thread of dignity. My fingers fussed and disentangled the wires in hope of rescuing them from any embarrassment. Looping my thumbs and fingers at both ends of the knotted cord, tracing it to find the source of the madness. My fingers worked their magic, pulling the line apart, shaping the string to become undone. No longer embracing itself, I plaited the now free set of lights within the branches, wrapping them like they had done themselves. My face still furrowed as the fairy lights didn't wanna work with me, cupping a single bulb in my grasp before letting it go. I didn't know what annoyed me more; the lights or the lie of that event.
"Summertime Ball" would insinuate that it was summer, on this occasion it didn't. The clocks only went forward a few days earlier as the year stepped into April, leaving March well and truly behind. However, the town council insisted on calling it "Summer" despite my argument for "Spring". It didn't sit well with me. It was a lie. Providing false hope for something it's not. "It has a better ring to it," they'd said. "Summer is more fun," they continued. What's happiness if based on false hope? And anyway, summer is overrated. What we call "Summer" is a winter in most places. It's a season filled with fun and stupid expectations that always burn into nothing. You end up wasting it, believing it will last forever. When really, that summer you think exists, doesn't. Nothing lasts forever. Everything comes to an end. Even memories fade and distort over time.
My feet cautiously tread down each individual metal step of the ladder, as my hands guided the sides. My feet arched as my toes curled into fists in my buffed dress shoes. They gripped into the soles, in the hope the same action would be mimicked when making their way down. I didn't wanna slip up or in this case, fall.
Standing on the solid ground, the soft bounce of the lawn beneath my shoes confirmed that. The blades of grass damp from the earlier drizzle, that is associated with this country. The residue beaded the grass strands as though attempting to tame its wild side yet feeding it. I strode to the cold, hard pavement, flattening the grass under my feet, crushing its nature as I made my way to the path. Once there, I plucked debris from my blazer, dusting myself down as though the trees had wiped dirt down my black, velour-glossy suit.
"..Never send clowns to do a Guy's job." My dirty chuckle trickled from my lips, as I played with my name and my shirt cuffs.
I only looked up from my initial embossed cuff links, to examine my work. The bulbs of lights blushed against the dawning backdrop as the day was swallowed by the night. The glass domes twinkling like stars as they bent gleefully in the breeze. Something about lights always awoke this feeling in me. It was like a desire to hold a flame but not blow it out. Just to simply hold it, look after it, protect it from harm. For it to compliment but never smother, like the darkness does with light. Bringing out the best in both of them. Yet I had this wanting for its warmth to consume me somehow.
I turned on my heels and made my way to the Doric columned building. The sound of my shoes spanking the ground like a stallion trotting majestically, was the melody I associated with my own footfalls. Some people love the sound of their own voice, but for me, it was my feet. They made grand entrances and effortless exits. Yeah, I was a cocky fuck who thought just a little too highly of himself, but back then I had no reason to be grounded.215Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwRbWkgAln7
"Do you still feel cocky? Or have you since found your reason to be grounded?" Her tonic voice bringing me back into the room.
"I'm getting to that if you let me talk, lady." Snapping as she derails my train of thought, my finger extends its judgement towards her.
"We only have an hour, Guy." Again, her voice remains curative but the words have this hidden "quit wringing" note. Message received loud and clear, darling. I ain't gotta sit for this shit.
"I knew this would be a waste of time." Getting to my feet, lobbing a black look as dark as my hair her way, letting her know I have read between her lines.
Fuck it and fuck this. I knew this was a stupid idea! I feel fucking foolish without her adding salt to the wound. Fuming, I tear my way to the door. My footsteps telling her and that room to go do one. My hand attacking the door knob, strangling it.
"Guy, please. Come back and sit down." The tone more pleading and less arty.
Breathe, Guy.215Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO8ydfNAt0y
Breathe.
"..Don't worry, I'll pay you for the full hour." Turning my head slightly over my shoulder, looking down at it so I don't have to look back at that chair.
"I can see what you're struggling with already. You can't keep running, Guy." The harsh truth in her voice hits me like a toe on the edge of something.
Fuck me. What is it with everyone saying that to me? My hand still choking the door knob, threatening to turn it as it tenses in my grip. The words wrestling with my thoughts as they turnover in my head space. Not wanting them to win, I unhook my hand from the knob that sighs in relief, letting my arm drop to my side.
Bowing my head, I take that infamous breath that I have to remind myself to take every fucking day. I step in a stiff circle until my back faces the door, still avoiding eye contact with the chair and that lady. I tread my way back over to that damn seat. My feet and mindset hesitate while every living particle that crudely shapes me is ripping through it. I plonk my sorry-arse self in the armchair. An elbow stabbing into the arm's tanned flesh, as I rest my forehead in the space between my thumb and forefinger, my hand shading my eyes from view.
The heat from the seat and waiting for her to talk, my sidekick, impatience is becoming more apparent. My foot starts to yap on the plush rug, as it twitches to stamp out the angst. I cross my leg to lock it into a figure-four, my hand holding it there to muzzle it from kicking the coffee table in front of me. Managing to somehow hinder my feet from acting out, I uncover my face and instead, I tap my fingers on the leather in an anxious beat. My eyes peruse the room, always pronging way from that woman when they're idiotic to graze her, like a gazelle stotting from a lion.
The mellow mocha walls ooze tranquility that blend into the espresso oak flooring, while the toasted caramel rug under my feet, dips into the taste of the room. A canvas capturing a calm ocean tide floats on the furthest wall above a three seater sofa. My eyes flow over the waves and the longer I lose myself in them, the more they come to life. The sound of the tide over the pebbled shore rolls over me and for a few blinks, I feel I am a pebble in that painting. A Guy can only dream he were a pebble bathing in a tide. Heh... Guy.
Pulling my sights away from the ocean, they finally grow some balls and shift over to that woman. Her tarnished, poppy hair, chopped into a short, straight cut with a combination of uneven lengths that level out to the nape of her neck. The locks messier on top while the parts that just pass her ears, sleekly frame her face. Sitting with her back upright and her legs crossed as she comforts the cup, of what I'm guessing is some herbal crap, in her lap. Her cultured khaki eyes drift over it, while she smiles down at the cup, as though it's told her an inappropriate joke.
"I find some calm in the chaos within that painting too." Her voice narrowly smiling, as she circles the rim of the cup with her finger tip.
Is she high? Whatever she's got in that tea I want me some of that. Before I can intercept, a small smile spreads on my face. It's not my usual smirk that I whack on, it's the start of a smile I have long forgotten exists. I shake it away in the hope that this lady doesn't see it.
"Comfy?" The woman's olive eyes lift as her tone does.
She brings the cup to her lips taking a sip, before she returns it to her lap. Her eyes don't leave me once, as they tell their own story from over the top of the cup. I roll mine to stop that bridge from being built but cave into her consoling vibration by nodding.
"Good. Now, that you are. What's this all about and how can I help?" She uncrosses her legs and places the cupful on the wooden table as though she is giving it a better view.
She leans back in her armchair, folding her empty hands together to rest in her lap as though she was still hugging the cup.
"..That's what I'm trying to figure out." Looking down at my curled palms, flexing them slightly only to close them again.
"Do you think I can help?" The lady's eyes hold more tone than her words, as they pulsate compassionately.
I remain silent. The real question is do I want her to? Maybe I enjoy feeling like this. It keeps my head from going back up my arse again that's for sure. Surely you learn from your mistakes?
"Ok, let me rephrase. Do you trust me to do so?" As though she knows I'm having this internal dilemma.
"..Trust is something you earn and I don't do handouts, lady." It's the truth; I've never fully put my trust in anyone or anything and I'm not about to start with a lady who's being paid for it.
"I agree, however, you can put your trust in me, Guy. And please, I much prefer Gabrielle." Her eyes smirk at her own delivery of her name, as she opens her arms out like a magician's assistant.
"..For someone who is paid to listen, you sure are gabby." There he is! My sneer returns with vengeance and this time it brings my dear friend, snarky.
"Someone's got to talk but I'd much prefer if that someone is you." Gabrielle chucks it right back and I nod in approval as I catch it. Touché lady.215Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡf35dnuMmwS
"Everything you share and do within these four walls will remain here, Guy. You don't have to tell me everything, however, the more you share the better you'll feel, I can promise you that." Gabrielle's tone walks the tight rope of persuasion and dignity.
And there's that word again... Promise. People throw that word around as much as those three little ones, but they're anything but little.
"..In order for me to do that, I've gotta take me back." Accepting to some degree, that this is no way to live, once again I look down at my fists as I begin to crack my knuckles.
"Back to where?" Gabrielle's sincere curiosity takes me by surprise.
"Back to that night. The night I met her." My eyes burn Gabrielle's for the first time as the thought of her scorches both my head and my heart...215Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4lx2ZXbYEp
215Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTOwNoKU4Iu
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