Page 2 of Your Soul Is Ours

“Who sends you here?” he asks, sinking beside me. His pants rattle as he sits, and I wonder what’s in his pockets.

“The experts. The letters show up weekly.” I cross my legs, sitting criss-cross applesauce.

“I’ve never gotten letters,” he says.

This is the most social interaction I’ve had in months, unless you count the endless calls of torture from family. This guy has the vibe of a red flag. His style is douchebag mixed with grunge, like a fuckboy who doesn’t want to be pretty, who has a harder edge than he should.

“Attention, the centre is closing for the day. You can come back on your next appointed day to get access to the services again.” The announcement blares over the P.A. system from the woman behind the plexiglass holding a microphone. She gives the fake-ass smile they do every time I’m here.

“Fuck,” he says from beside me. I glance at him before I push myself off the floor.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” he asks.I shrug as I walk through the procession of people. We all walk the same way, stuck within our minds. The anger courses through my body, but I’m raw from the experience of being around others. My mind hangs by the small thread of responsibility to continue living.

Once my face hits the stuffy city air, I inhale the scents of the outdoors: car exhaust, pollution, and the smell of something burning somewhere. I square my shoulders, shove my hands in my pockets, and walk towards my house. Having to go to my mother's house weighs on my mind. There is nothing more I want than to live in a world where she doesn't exist.

“Hey, what are you up to for the rest of the day?”

This guy is more persistent than anyone I’ve ever known before. He isn’t the first guy to come around. I’ve spent mostof my life fading into the background, becoming invisible. Everything my mother has done over my lifetime has given me the gift of dissociation. Being able to blend into the background is a talent I’ve mastered.

“What do you want from me?” I turn to face him. Sure he is attractive, but I’m far too emotionally damaged to be loved. Or so I tell myself, because love is a myth to me, proven by the life I’ve led.

“Just to hang out, I have nothing happening.”

I shake my head and, without a second thought, I leave him behind on the sidewalk. I brush my hair away from my face, and the sun's warmth envelops me as I make my way home.

As I open the door, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I answer it quickly. I listen to my mother drone on about her daily life. If only she would stop talking and show some interest in how I'm feeling. To be seen, what would I have to sacrifice? What would I have to do to have her say she’s sorry, that she feels bad about the damage she’s done?

“You just wouldn’t understand. It’s adult stuff. Have you been taking care of your apartment or are you going to need help yet again?” her dismissive tone hurts. She’s only had to help me one time, but her haranguing is never ending and the more information I give, the more ammo she has.

“Yes. It’s done,” I say as I take a seat in my apartment. It’s a bachelor pad. From the corner chair by the patio window, I can see the layout in its entirety. The smooth tile floor stretches from the kitchen counter to the bathroom door. Despite being a young adult, she still sees me as incapable.

“Best keep it that way. You know how much stress you put on me all the time.”

Biting the inside of my lip, I wait for the next assault of words. “I just wish you could be more like other people your age. Just because you are sad doesn’t mean you can’t go out and makefriends. You’re wasting your best years, and you’ll be devastated when you reach my age and realize all you ever did was give birth to one ungrateful child.”

“I have two siblings. What about Michael and Ashley?”

“I said one ungrateful child. You never listen when I talk.” She hangs up.

I wonder how many days I’ll have to endure the silent treatment.

The days of the past linger over my eyes, when I would plead for her to talk to me, to say anything. Her second favourite weapon of choice is ignoring me, making me gauge her mood to stay safe. I grab my smokes and walk outside. Curling up on the back porch chair, I light a cigarette and watch the smoke twirl away into the air.

Two

Sebastian

It is surprising to see someone so vigilant be so clueless. Despite being completely engrossed in her surroundings, she remains oblivious to my presence. Weeks have passed since dancing the same old dance with her. I’m getting closer everysingle day. Today, I finally surrendered and let her know of my existence, succumbing to the desire to be seen by my beautiful dove. Her presence brings me peace, a chance to do better, a new opportunity.

My sweet Marla, the woman I’ve been watching for just over eight months.

Every day I’ve watched her, and I’ve never felt the need to speak. The torment behind her eyes draws me to her. Something about her makes me feel. Numbness fades when I watch her, the murderous desires I have inside are quiet for her.

I follow her to the small apartment building, and take up my normal space outside her side window. "Clancy Courts" makes it sound fancier than it is. The six apartments are basic at best. From what I know, her building is clean. It’s not a roach hotel. Sometimes I have to come in to clean it for her, but it’s the least I can do. She gives me so much already and doesn’t even know it. She’s on the phone, her dark hair lays across her shoulder, showing me the column of her neck. Her bangs hang in her face, her red lips pressed in a frown. The moment I saw her, I knew I wanted to keep her,and neededto keep her as my own.

The allure of my sweet Marla is something that will cut open my chest, pull out my heart and make me beg for the emptiness I’ve always felt after she breaks me, but I’m willing to risk it all for her. I watch as she walks to the porch, see the flick of the lighter, and smell the freshly lit cigarette. She is within arm's reach, but I know it isn't the right time to make my move. My goal is to make her want me above all else, but before that can happen, I need to break her resolve and persuade her to let me in. If all else fails, I’ll take her, but for now I’ll wait for her to come to me. She’s like a caged animal, scared of everyone, of every intention and every word spewed. But I will have her. I’ll show her she doesn’t need to be afraid anymore.

I walk through the streets. The career path of a drug dealer was never a dream of mine, it was something that fell into my lap and I’ve been doing the same old actions as if on autopilot mode. Each deal made is another high for them and a low for me. I’ve been practicing on them, releasing them from their own personal demons, but the time in jail has made me paranoid. It’s easy to go for a bid of under two years, but the moment they find out that I snuff the light from people’s eyes just because I like to, they’ll lock me up and throw away the key.

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