Broken
“Well then, what does it mean to you?”
“Does it matter?”
For a moment, only the ivory encased clock made conversation, its constant tick-tack banter a heartbeat of its own.
“It means I am done. It means that hope is a good swimmer, and I have to find a way to drown it.”
“Is that what you are doing now? Drowning hope?”
“Yes. I used to think that if I leave it out there long enough, it would soak up enough salt water and go down on its own.”
“How does one go about drowning hope?”
“With needles. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Because I stick needles into my arms.”
“Hadrian, please show me your arms.”
Hadrian removed his sweater, and was now sitting in his olive green tshirt. On it, an invitation to travel, Prague – Czech It Out.
“I told you, there is nothing to see.” His arms smooth, no bruising, no entry holes, he crossed them across his chest, closed his eyes, and put his head back.
“Hadrien, do you remember now why you are here?”
“I heal fast, but I don’t care if you believe me the part about the needles. Can I smoke now?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“You ask me questions all the time, to which you know the answers. Maybe we’re both hoping to hear something different for a change.”
—
Her high heels off, Oriel headed down the dimly lit hallway on her way to the bathroom. Her jacket and white blouse joined the uncomfortable shoes on the floor. Before she started the bathwater, she pulled off her skirt and let it lie where it fell.
Through the dark apartment, she walked to the kitchen, pulled out a bottle of wine from the fridge, and started toward the bathroom again.
“One broken machine, trying to fix another.” That’s all she could think, as she sank her bare body in the bath water coloured with therapeutic salts.
The lit candles warmed the walls and cast long, dancing shadows. Oriel reached for the syringe beside, and pierced her wet skin with the needle. Then, she uncorked the wine, drank from the bottle, put her head back, and slowly drifted into unconsciousness, hope drowning in salt water.
