Page 34 of Cloud Storm

I cross the bridge and the symbolism doesn’t escape me. That’s what my life has been about, crossing bridges, moving on and never, ever giving up.

Don’t look back.

It’s my promise to keep. Never look back, never give up.

Many people consider it dangerous to walk downtown at this hour of the night, they fear being robbed or worse. However, I feel safe in my environment. I lived here for some time and managed to survive unharmed, so that’s even more reason for doing so now.

I want to go home to feel the comforting, warm hug of my blankets, to enjoy the silence of the apartment and recharge my strength. Tomorrow will be another day and we’ll have to see what excuse Roselynn will present when she arrives at my home, ready to discover every last detail of what happened with the Suit.

If she only knew…

I appreciate the flat sandals I decided to wear, they match with my outfit, but more importantly they are comfortable for the walk home.

I walk on the sidewalk, slower than usual. I’m in no hurry. I do something similar to an exercise I read in a book years ago about a pilgrimage. The idea is that when you walk without haste, you have time to contemplate the wonder of the details that surround you and today, I am delighting in many details.

Market Station, the complex of houses and apartments where I live, is more beautiful than other times. Although it is nothing from the other world, compared to other sites around it. It is built along simple, modern lines, but comfortable and also very cozy. Undoubtedly, Mr. Hatz’s hand is seen everywhere, in the long pots full of plants that adorn the central courtyard, to the lighting that rises from the ground.

When I get to the corridor leading to my apartment, I notice that the lights are on and my whole body tenses in anticipation. I take the pepper spray from my bag, which I’ve been carrying with me for a while, and go to the door.

Upon entering my home I see the slim figure of Roselynn curled up on the couch, with her knees up against her chest and her arms gripping them. Beyond is Chase, her husband, and next to him, the Suit. As ever, he looks as if he’s just left his house, he’s smartly dressed, although his expression is bleak and his hands are sunk in the front pockets of his jeans.

And, I must admit, that although I know he is forbidden for me, I’m secretly glad he’s here.

“Get out of here, all of you,” I tell them from the doorway.

“God, Ariel, where were you?” Roselynn cries, jumping off the couch and standing up.

“Rosie,” I say with a forced sweetness that comes out at a time like this, “I don’t feel like talking to anyone right now. Please, go home.”

“We’ve been so worried about you,” she murmurs and although her voice is soft, I know she’s recriminating me. “We all have been.”

She glances over to where the idiot stands, the Suit. I avoid looking at him, I just can’t.

Maybe in a few months I’ll be able to, but right now too much anger is bubbling in my throat.

Chase approaches me. Taking me off guard, he hugs me, kisses me on the cheek and walks away toward the door without looking back.

That feels strangely comforting, it was a fraternal hug, of that I have no doubt, and for a moment, the image of all of my brothers saying goodbye at the foot of the road comes to my mind.

Every day starts with the promise of the new beginning at dawn. But this one has just turned into a shitty afternoon.

I need to take a nice hot bath and let the soothing water seep through all the cracks that have been brought to the surface today.

“You too,” I say to him. “What are you waiting for? Leave!”

“Ariel, give me just a minute.”

“No, Lancelot.” And it even surprises me that I called him by his name. “This is not the time, maybe another day.”

“Ariel, it’s not what you’re assuming.”

Roselynn has the nerve to nod in support of that asshole.

“Nothing’s changed. I asked you to leave. However, you’re still here.”

He stares at me, his brow furrowed and his pupils obscured by something I prefer not to name. Not a single sound comes out of his mouth. It’s not necessary, his eyes have said everything his mouth hasn’t.

I point my arm toward the door, keeping my face impassive, inscrutable, cold.

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