New and I bring a story too!
Jan. 22nd, 2009 04:24 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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writers_loftI'm new and I hope it's ok to post my stories for some feedback.
Title: "Drowning Ourselves"
Author: Beth Tierney (rasputinsloved1), copyright holder.
genre: Romance, General. Some humor.
Rating: pg-13 for cursing I guess...I don't know.
Summery: Alaina Donovan is a writing student. Zayd Bahr is a graduate student and artist. Alaina lives above Zayd in Back Bay Boston, and, unfortunantly, has fallen in love with him and is too stupid and shy to tell him.
disclaimer: I wrote this and the copyright is mine, don't use without premission. Also, copyrighted song appears in this version, it's planned to be taken before publishing in other media.
If you read it please tell me what you think, what needs improvement, all that. It really helps a lot!
Thank you!
“Drowning Ourselves”
Alaina Donovan was never the type to have and hold crushes on total random strangers. She was never one to act on it. There were days when she’d see the man that lived below her and her heart would stop, days when she was furious that he was still there when she returned from classes, standing on the stoop smoking a cigarette as he waits for someone, his foot tapping an uneven rhythm on concrete. He never spoke, not even a “hello” as she passed by. They stare at each other, not wanting to be the first to talk to the other, in awkward moments around the small brownstone apartment building in the South End. The man downstairs remains on her mind most of the time like when she should be studying, working, paying attention in class. That’s when her mind wonders and he walks into the forefront of her mind and stays there as her mind drifts away. She becomes distracted by thoughts and memories of his beautiful brown eyes staring at her from down the hall as she enters the building at an un-human hour. The smell of his cigarettes lofting up from his balcony invading her apartment through an open window where her desk is situated. His laugh at a gallery her cousin Lola, a staple of the local music scene who had recently reached a national audience, has dragged her to in hopes that she may meet someone but it’s hopeless because Alaina knows these “artist” for what they really are. Pretentious.
She’s been like this since she moved into the apartment at the end of the summer when she moved into the brownstone her uncle owned. Alaina liked to think that if she had known what misery Zayd Bahr would cause she would have turned her uncle down and stayed in the crap-hole apartment in Jamaica Plains.
There were a few things she knew about him; His name is Zayd Bahr, he was from Worcester, Massachusetts, far from their current address in South End, Boston. He was from German decent, at least his last name is. He was an artist but he was not like the pretentious jerks her cousin introduced her to. He had a reputation for his indifference towards his art, he didn’t care as long as he painted, drew, created. She’d seen him on his balcony before drawing and painting scenes she couldn’t really make out. And, judging by the backpack loaded down with books, large leather artist portfolio, and clear plastic box filled with paint and brushes , he was either a university instructor or graduate student. That’s all she knew about him. She’d never seen his car, the inside of his apartment, never talked to him it seemed like. Just awkward stares and watching.
“There’s your boyfriend Alaina.” Lola yells over the jukebox in the corner of Charlie’s Kitchen Café, a dumpy bar/café near Harvard Square that catered to the social outcasts and deviants known for its kick ass jukebox selection of punk, indie, and , alternative rock. She resists the urge to turn around and look at him but takes another sip of her Guinness drought, ignoring his existence, or at least trying to. Alaina fiddles with the faux marble laminate on the table top and mumbles. Not thinking about Zayd sitting at the booth right behind her, not thinking about the fact that he could hear the two, not thinking about the fact that he was alone. Lola grins at her, resting her head on the top of her intertwined fingers. “So, Alaina, how does it feel to be a published author?” Alaina coughed on her beer, she had said that way too loud. It was the reason they were out, celebrating the publication of her first book, a collection of short stories and a novella, printed by her university with limited circulation but it was still a big step for her. She could say she was published now. Not many seniors in the writing department could say that.
“I don’t know. Good, I mean what else is there to say? I got published by my university but they seemed interested enough in my talent to invest in it. It’s great that I can finally say that I’m published. Better than the rest of the morons in my major who I wouldn‘t really consider writers but merely wannabe intellectuals that want to appear to be writers just for the sake that it sounds cool. I hate those assholes.” Alaina said bitterly and realized she probably sounded like an elitist jackass to Zayd. God, way to go dumbass, you probably sound like some kind of greater-than-thou lunatic! Alaina thought to herself.
“Yeah, well it’s wicked helpful that your mother is a close friend of the man that signed off on the publication.” Lola said, deflating her ego a bit. “Anyways…” Lola trailed off like she usually did until that spark hit her eyes. “Oh! So have you thought about that proposal?” Behind her was a sharp intake of breath, nearly a gasp, that startled and confused her. What’s his problem? Lola’s choice of words must have struck a cord in him. Proposal? Nice one Lolita. The vinyl upholstery of the bench seat cracked and squeaked as Zayd moved, Lola watched him out of the corner of her eye.
“Um, the play or performance art or whatever you want to call it you want to do with your band?” Alaina was acutely aware of the man behind her. “Sounds like a great idea, you know I have a few ideas so far to put to your songs.” The pint of beer was getting to her (and the disturbing presence of the man in the next booth) and declared she needed to piss. She made her way to the small, cold, bathroom with walls covered in barely legible writing.
In less than five minutes she’s done and back out again. She stopped in mid-step to see Zayd seated across from Lola. The world stopped, nothing around her existed, when his earthen eyes caught her storm-clouds-on-blue-sky eyes. Her limbs went ice cold, she felt a high that wasn’t unlike the lightheadedness smokers get when they smoke a cigarette after abstaining for way too long. Delicious and frightening when you realize how addicted you are to nicotine.
“So you’re a grad student in Art at Emerson? That’s where Alaina goes! Isn’t that something?” Lola was giving him her flirty smile. She could only imagine what was going through her crazy cousin’s head. Probably interrogating him to find something that she could hold over Alaina. Or that she was doing this to torture her unintentionally as she tried to get her to speak to him. “Oh Alaina! Look who I got to join us.” Alaina sits down across from him very slowly, as if she was testing it to see if Lola stuck a landmine in the cracked red faux leather under her. She was going to make Lola suffer.
“Donovan.” He nodded his greeting to her. The writer didn’t say anything, just stared at him openly. “Your friend says that you’re a writer. That’s interesting.” He looks a little over excited and on his way to a good state of drunk.
“Yes. I am.” She said simply. She didn’t know what to say and started to panic. In any awkward social situation anybody else would have just dealt with the sudden appearance of their crush by chatting politely and trying not to stare. A social retard would make a stupid comment, a random frantic reaction, and run away, which was nearly what Alaina did. She slammed down the rest of her pint, grabbed her things, swallowed, and declared that they had to leave or they weren’t going to make it to Middle East on time for the opening act. Alaina had enough restraint to not literally run away after throwing cash on the table to cover their tab. She just walked off without looking back at him. As she went out into the autumn night, it dawned on her at what a total ass she had made of herself.
“Shit! I’m such an idiot!” Alaina screamed like a madwoman as she shrugged herself back into her striped brown and black double breasted sweater coat. Her usually calm and reasonable self was yelling at her. How could she blow this opportunity? How could she be so rude? What did he think of her now? Probably that she was completely bat-shit crazy! Which wasn’t far from the truth.
“Gawd Al! What’s wrong with you?” Lola asked, as she pulled on her own sweater in the crisp mid-autumn night. “Have you gone completely mental? If you do this when all guys speak to you than you might as well become a nun or a lesbian or something.” Lola pulls the other woman out of her thoughts. “Alright weirdo, let’s go to Middle East anyways.” Lola leads the way back up to the square towards the music venue, through rows of dimly lit buildings and crowds of late night wonders, couples holding hands and whispering soft endearments to each other. Alaina couldn’t help but wonder if she was the only person in the state of Massachusetts who didn’t want to be in love. It was beginning to feel too much like drowning.
Over the next few months she had been able to avoid Zayd in near completion. Despite seeing him on the rare occasion around the building they never saw each other. Or at least that’s what she thought. She didn’t know that Zayd saw her nearly everyday from an office in the art department with a window overlooking the pedestrian cross roads in a usually well kept square right below him. He knew her routine. When she left for school, when she got to school, what her train stops were, where she usually shopped, when she worked, who she hung out with, who she called her friends, nearly everything. The things Alaina didn’t know about Zayd would, more than likely, scare the hell out of her. Like how he had a habit of fallowing her when he was bored and that habit nearly became an obsession. It was no coincidence that he showed up at Charlie’s Kitchen that night, or The Onion Cellar when the cousins went the opening night of the play, or even a few gallery shows and gigs they attended. The truth was, he didn’t realize he was stalking her. He just couldn’t admit to her, or himself, what was really going on inside his head. It confused and humiliated him on a level he rarely ventured.
Autumn had brought winter in on its tail. A great, big bastard bringing with him blood freezing wind, snow that stopped traffic and slowed life to a crawl, and treacherous ice that left navigating cobblestone streets and sidewalks a nightmare. The sidewalks looked wet, but anybody that had been a Bostonian for long knew that it wasn’t water, it was really dense, very thick ice. It was days like this that Alaina wanted autumn back.
Alaina sighed, pulled her thick cable knit hat over her ears, wrapped the scarf tight around her throat, and held her long, green paisley, wool pea coat closer to her shivering body. Alaina slowly made her way down the street, hoping the heavy backpack she wore didn’t mess with her center of gravity. She nearly made the two blocks from the warm T station to the sanctuary of her own one room apartment. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!…oh God…she chanted in her head. God damned Shithole sidewalk! Her mind screeched when she nearly slipped and fell. A gasp escaped her lips but she caught herself at the last minute on a nearby mound of snow that was once a 1998 blue Volvo. Alright, you’re ok. Just put one foot in front of the other, very slowly. Don’t fall. You’ll look like a jackass. Alaina nodded to herself, looking ahead, carefully judging where the ice was the worst. She deftly navigated the perilous trenches with precise footing. She made it to the corner of Clarendon and Appleton, her apartment windows two stories above her. VICTORIOUS! She thought in triumph. A little too cocky now, she didn’t mind her step, her boot slipped on a sheet of ice hidden under a pile of snow. “SHIT!” She felt her boot give way sending her body back, gravity did the rest. She fell hard, landing on her right side in the tiny little strip of grass the city planted for no reason other than to waste tax money. At least it broke her fall and kept her from smashing her head on the curb.
“Fuckin’ hell, shit, Gawd! Ow!” Alaina screamed when the pain hit her. She landed on her right shoulder and hip and damn did they hurt! She tried to move but it hurt too much. Giving up, she just laid there in the snow, her backpack next to her, looking up at the grey sky. Bollocks! Well, at least I didn’t fall down the steps. Alaina didn’t think about the cold seeping through her coat and pants, she just thought about how she hadn’t seen the sun in what felt like years. The only thing I hate about Boston. She thought with some feeling of regret. Looking up beyond the top of the trees, the wind swept snow, past the brown and black brick building to the grey void of the cloudy sky. The world looks like a black and white photo. Maybe if I slit my wrists I’ll see some natural color. While not completely serious, she was considering it and how bland the world was when a colorful tattoo covered neck appeared at the center of her vision, her eyes traveled up past the pierced corners of a smiling mouth, average nose, dark maple eyes, pretty, she thought, and black swept back overgrown hair. Well hello Zayd Bahr. “I fell.” She told him, the artist nodded at her. He’d seen her take the dive. “I think I broke my ass.” Zayd laughed at the statement, offering her a hand. She took it, pulling herself up off the wet ground. Feeling the tingling sensation when she realized she was touching him, sort of, through two layers of leather.
“You took a wicked digga Donovan. Ah you ok?” Zayd asked in that default Boston accent as Alaina dusted herself off, slinging her bag on her shoulder.
“I could use a beer or two and a smoke.” She told him. They move to the steps, Alaina hisses as pain radiates out of her hip. “Yeah, and an ibuprofen.” He nodded, taking hold of her arm to help her.
They make their way, cautiously, to the building. Alaina is surprised when he doesn’t release her arm and go into his own apartment, instead he fallows her up the narrow, musty stairs to hers. Alaina grumbles something about the state of the molding, 70’s floral carpet in the common areas more out of nerves and not really having anything to say or mention other than her embarrassing stupidity the last, and first, time they met face to face. They reach a heavy black door with a gold colored metal plate engraved with A. Donovan. She took out her keys and unlocks the door leading him into the apartment. He looked around, nearly reverently, at her habitat. It was nearly wall-to-wall, hardwood floor-to-ceiling shelves of books, objects of personal significance - like a set of Day of the Dead skeleton figures with musical instruments, a bottle of sand and small shells, a basket of vintage pens -vinyl records, a record player discovered in her uncle’s basement, DVD’s, photos of family members, books and literary magazines dominated the space, and her own writing in loose leaf stacks, collected in binders and folders, black composition notebooks, and leather bound journals. It was a fairly large room. There was a section that was turned into a type of TV room where the small, hand-me-down, worn out sofa sat in the middle of the room where the bay windows began facing the old TV and iPod tower speakers. Behind the sofa was a small table covered in magazines, empty glasses and beer bottles, candles, and a blue vase of dead flowers that had been there for years. Zayd looked up to see that the smooth ceiling had been draped with exotic textiles in every shade from around the world though probably purchased at a store in Cambridge. The floor was covered in faded colorful rugs of various shapes and shades. Alaina had been aiming for gypsy caravan when she decorated though she didn’t really know why, it looked ridiculous in a pleasing sort of way. She might be mistaken for a hippy if it weren’t for the collection of horror movies, vintage Film Noir posters, and other randomly creepy stuff she kept laying around.
“Make yourself comfortable.” She told him. In her mind she was trying to think of any way to negate the crap she did last time, trying to be normal for once in her life around a guy she liked. Alaina turned on the radiator and threw her coat on it to dry off. In seconds a faint, rancid smell that reminder her of cat piss and her brother’s sweaty football cleats wafted into her nose like every damn time she turned the thing on. Zayd chuckled from where he stood studying the refurbished old table that served as a desk. Her mom’s old typewriter front and center on the table top next to a black laptop.
“Your radiator does that too? Smells horrible. Like something crawled into it and died.” Zayd said, sitting on the desk chair backwards, facing her. He was in a black suit, shirt, and red tie again, his coat and things were hanging on the coat rack she noticed. She couldn’t resist a man in a suit, she couldn’t really help it. This wasn’t a good idea, having him up here, she’d do something so absolutely stupid that she’d be forced to go into exile. Far, far away, maybe Cambridge. Who was she kidding? This guy was smart, she knew that, he had a reputation. He was funny, everyone around him was always laughing, honest laughs that rumble up from the belly and radiate out, not airy, polite ones you give when the joke isn’t that funny. He had talent, he could paint! His work was hanging in a few galleries she’d been to and talent was such a turn-on for her. He was grade A, five stars, and two-thumbs up, her kind of man. But who was she kidding? He hung out with raven haired pretty things in billowing black and 40’s pin-up dresses, make up painted pale faces, perfect hair. Alaina, on the other hand, rocked the thrift store indie girl meets Girl, Interrupted look, had dull black ringlets that fell to her elbows and pale skin and eyes. Black Irish through-and-through. Yeah she had a pretty big bust and slim waste but that didn’t really give her much. Point was, Alaina wasn’t pretty, she was plain, she wasn’t in his league so to speak.
“Mold.” She said, “That’s what that smell is.” She got up and went to the brick alcove that sheltered her pathetic kitchen. “Maybe burning hops. Like beer.” Beer! That’s what I wanted. She took out two beers then searched for a bottle of ibuprofen when she heard the familiar Bauhaus like electronic beats, unobtrusive guitar rhythm, and monotone voice that lurched out the lyrics of She Wants Revenge’s “Tear You Apart”.
“It’s cute in a way, till you cannot speak
and you leave to have a cigarette, your knees get weak
an escape is just a nod and a casual wave
obsessed about it, heavy for the next two days
It’s only just a crush, it’ll go away
it’s just like all the others it’ll go away
or maybe this is danger and you just don’t know
You pray it all away but it continues to grow.”
Alaina nearly screamed when she heard the lyrics. What the hell was he doing? Was he teasing her? Probably laughed at her for weeks after the crap she pulled months ago. Ha-ha, what a stupid little, awkward girl. Freaks out every time a man talks to her. Poor Alaina Clodagh Donovan! Can’t do anything right. Alaina looked around the corner, Zayd had his back to her, looking out the window.
“I want to hold you close
skin pressed against me tight
lie still. And close your eyes girl
so lovely it feels so right.
I want to hold you close
soft breasts, beating heart
as I whisper in your ear
I wanna fucking tear you apart.”
He was teasing her. That had to be it, he knew from her reaction at Charlie’s. His music selection hit a little too close for comfort. It wasn’t something she was prepared to face just now. If ever. There was no way he was interested in her. Nobody ever was. But, on the very unrealistic flip side, maybe he was. Just put away all the doubt and second thoughts, why? Why him? What was he doing? Maybe it was all a plan, his master plan was to get into her apartment after a near-death tumble on the ice, seduce her while she’s vulnerable, and if that didn’t work, rape her. She thought; Wow, you really need to get out more Alaina. You’ve gone stir-crazy! What did he do? Use his totally awesome mutant powers of telekinesis to trip you, risking a nasty head wound? Right. And what makes you think he’s going to rape you? That was a good point, but he was still in her parlor and he wasn’t leaving. Trying to get her mind off it she turned her attention to the music again.
“Either way he wanted her and this was bad,
He wanted to do things to her it was making him crazy
Now a little crush turned into a like
And now he wants to grab her by the hair and tell her”
That was enough! Alaina reached the desk where the remote to the speakers was and turned it off. Zayd turned to look at her. It had to be her imagination, but he looked crushed. She sat one beer on the table, turning away from him. Not knowing what to do, what to think.
“I want to…” Zayd started, he wanted to tell her that he had a moment of clarity, that he wanted to get to know her, that he was a complete coward. When Alaina turned around her fear and reluctance was written plainly in her expression. Her shoulders hung low, burdened. Eyes hurt and smoldering. “Never mind. I’ll leave you alone.” He took his coat and bag from the coat rack in as much of a hurry as she had always been. This time she felt guilty for running him out and not the least bit embarrassed. What the hell was wrong with her? There was a man she had some kind of feelings for living under her and she was avoiding it like the plague because she had bullied herself into believing he wasn’t interested in her at all.
“IDIOT!” Zayd Bahr yelled at himself as he burst from the front door of the apartment building. Crazy Korean Can-Man looked up from the garbage barrels when the artist shouted, scaring the hell out of him. “What the fuck were you thinking? Way to go dumbass!” Zayd kicked open the swinging door to the store. You scared her off. Now she’ll never talk to you, he thought. He was a miserable man, then again, most artist were. The idea made him laugh, the cliché fit him though. The most miserable man you can find is a man in love, but Zayd raised the bar on that. His obsession with Alaina Donovan had the purest intentions. He had fought it, he tried his hardest, tried to drown it in booze but it didn’t die, tried to distract himself with the women he usually found attractive, didn’t work either in fact he thought he had made Alaina angry and jealous, which was actually a good thing wasn’t it? He had fallen in love with the woman when she walked through the front door at the beginning of summer. Now the problem is how do you tell someone you hardly know that you fell in love with them at first sight? He blew it with that song tonight. It was a stupid idea and now he was going to try drowning his feelings in booze. Maybe whiskey will work better than the vodka and beer did.
Alaina turned back to her bottle of unopened beer when she heard the distinct sound of the heavy double front door opening and shutting. Alaina went to window. Pulling back the cobalt curtain she saw Zayd walk into the convience store across the street and leave a few minutes later with a brown bagged bottle of liquor. What was this man’s problem and why did it involve her? These feelings, be they love or a strange crush, felt like drowning.
Time went on again, winter went deeper and colder than ever. December had come and gone, and the city had ejaculated Christmas lights, trees, and Santas on the unsuspecting public. The next big step in the Boston social works was First Night. The New Year’s Eve celebration near the John Hancock building. She could see, very clearly from her window, the razor blade-like building jutting up above the tops of more dignified, quaint buildings a fraction of it’s stature. It was maybe three blocks away and that meant retarded, loud drunks screaming up her street at all hours of the morning.
Alaina had put Zayd in the back of her mind around the same time that strange feeling of lightheadedness got more intense and frequent even when he wasn’t around. They hadn’t seen each other for a long time but when she saw him last she felt like the world was swimming around her. She wanted to say something, anything but couldn’t. He was surrounded by well wishers and women. He looked past them all, meeting her eyes and she knew what the lightheadedness meant. Unfortunately she was too self-absorbed and damaged to bring him in on it. Lola brought her out of her funk, inviting her over for beers, trying to introduce her to the right people in their little artists’ circle. They were going to take over Cambridge one day, then the rest of Boston would fall as well, then the world. But Alaina didn’t have her heart in it.
It was a long holiday vacation but Alaina had braved the wind and forecasted blizzard to venture to her campus to get her portfolio from last semester. He had gone here too. She’d seen him around, sometimes, carrying that load of art supplies and books. Trying to get somewhere. She left her professor’s office and made her way across the parking lot in the direction of the T station. There were a few cars there, one being a more recently produced black Honda Accord with a broken front fender and taped up light that had a bumper sticker that read “I don’t suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it.” She laughed, vaguely wondering who owned the car when she felt something hit her hard.
“What the hell?” Alaina looked around the parking lot to see who could have thrown something at her. There was nobody around her except a lone figure in the distance walking her way. Then the sky opened up and fat hail stones came plummeting down on her. Desperate for shelter she opened the door in a knee jerk reaction, diving into the passenger side when the hail really started coming down. She shut the door and shook the hail off her skin-tight, wine-color corduroy jeans and plucked a few strays from her camel colored Ugg boots. Then she realized where she was. The car was messy, smelling of chemicals and spice, with black leather interior, that was cracked in some places, or dotted with paint. She looked around, on the floor board in the back was one of the large clear plastic boxes that the art students used to carry their supplies in. Next to it was a sketch book that was so worn it was yellowing and warped looking like it would crackle under your fingers. It was big and thick, the date and name on the front was faded away. Next to her, well, she was actually sitting on it, was a heavy leather bound journal. Flipping through she could see that the handwriting was distinctly male with it’s jagged edges and carelessness, some pages were accompanied by hand drawn sketches or water colors. Smiling she put it down to pick up another book under her feet. She felt her heart beat in throat as she read the words on the cracked spine of the book, the pages it held together yellowing with sweat, dog eared, it was well loved. Before a Winter Storm by Alaina S. Donovan. She turned it over, studying it, when an folded piece of paper fell out of the book. Alaina couldn’t help reading it, shocked when she found it addressed to herself.
My Alaina,
I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t believe in love at first sight so ,obviously, I wasn’t prepared-
Alaina looked up to a man in a long, black wool coat and red scarf carrying a load of leather presentation books under one arm and an sturdy umbrella in the other coming towards her. It was the owner of the car. Alaina held her breath, closing her eyes as the man opened the door. Please God, don’t let it be someone I can’t stand. Let it be him, let it be him, please! She begged silently. The cold air rushed into the car as the man sat in the driver’s seat. He let out a little scream when he saw her sitting there, eyes closed, biting her lip in anticipation.
“What the fuck are you doing- Donovan? What are you doing in here? Why are you in my car?” That voice, that blessed, familiar voice! She gripped the letter tightly as she opened her jade eyes. Brown eyes stared back at her. Alaina closed the distance between them, kissing him without thought, months of anguish melted away with that kiss.
Zayd blink at the woman kissing him, confused, bewildered, and relieved, he couldn’t help but wonder what brought this out of the shy girl. Stop thinking for five seconds and kiss her. He thought, and he did. It felt like everything was finally right when he kissed her. He took her hands and felt something in her hands. It clicked. Oh crap!
“I can explain! I swear on Lovecraft’s grave that I wasn’t stalking you! I-” Alaina stopped his mindless sputtering with another kiss.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Alaina Donovan was never the type to have and hold crushes on total random strangers. She was never one to act on it. There were days when she’d see the man that lived below her and her heart would stop, days when she was furious that he was still there when she returned from classes, standing on the stoop smoking a cigarette as he waits for someone, his foot tapping an uneven rhythm on concrete. He never spoke, not even a “hello” as she passed by. They stare at each other, not wanting to be the first to talk to the other, in awkward moments around the small brownstone apartment building in the South End. The man downstairs remains on her mind most of the time like when she should be studying, working, paying attention in class. That’s when her mind wonders and he walks into the forefront of her mind and stays there as her mind drifts away. She becomes distracted by thoughts and memories of his beautiful brown eyes staring at her from down the hall as she enters the building at an un-human hour. The smell of his cigarettes lofting up from his balcony invading her apartment through an open window where her desk is situated. His laugh at a gallery her cousin Lola, a staple of the local music scene who had recently reached a national audience, has dragged her to in hopes that she may meet someone but it’s hopeless because Alaina knows these “artist” for what they really are. Pretentious.
She’s been like this since she moved into the apartment at the end of the summer when she moved into the brownstone her uncle owned. Alaina liked to think that if she had known what misery Zayd Bahr would cause she would have turned her uncle down and stayed in the crap-hole apartment in Jamaica Plains.
There were a few things she knew about him; His name is Zayd Bahr, he was from Worcester, Massachusetts, far from their current address in South End, Boston. He was from German decent, at least his last name is. He was an artist but he was not like the pretentious jerks her cousin introduced her to. He had a reputation for his indifference towards his art, he didn’t care as long as he painted, drew, created. She’d seen him on his balcony before drawing and painting scenes she couldn’t really make out. And, judging by the backpack loaded down with books, large leather artist portfolio, and clear plastic box filled with paint and brushes , he was either a university instructor or graduate student. That’s all she knew about him. She’d never seen his car, the inside of his apartment, never talked to him it seemed like. Just awkward stares and watching.
“There’s your boyfriend Alaina.” Lola yells over the jukebox in the corner of Charlie’s Kitchen Café, a dumpy bar/café near Harvard Square that catered to the social outcasts and deviants known for its kick ass jukebox selection of punk, indie, and , alternative rock. She resists the urge to turn around and look at him but takes another sip of her Guinness drought, ignoring his existence, or at least trying to. Alaina fiddles with the faux marble laminate on the table top and mumbles. Not thinking about Zayd sitting at the booth right behind her, not thinking about the fact that he could hear the two, not thinking about the fact that he was alone. Lola grins at her, resting her head on the top of her intertwined fingers. “So, Alaina, how does it feel to be a published author?” Alaina coughed on her beer, she had said that way too loud. It was the reason they were out, celebrating the publication of her first book, a collection of short stories and a novella, printed by her university with limited circulation but it was still a big step for her. She could say she was published now. Not many seniors in the writing department could say that.
“I don’t know. Good, I mean what else is there to say? I got published by my university but they seemed interested enough in my talent to invest in it. It’s great that I can finally say that I’m published. Better than the rest of the morons in my major who I wouldn‘t really consider writers but merely wannabe intellectuals that want to appear to be writers just for the sake that it sounds cool. I hate those assholes.” Alaina said bitterly and realized she probably sounded like an elitist jackass to Zayd. God, way to go dumbass, you probably sound like some kind of greater-than-thou lunatic! Alaina thought to herself.
“Yeah, well it’s wicked helpful that your mother is a close friend of the man that signed off on the publication.” Lola said, deflating her ego a bit. “Anyways…” Lola trailed off like she usually did until that spark hit her eyes. “Oh! So have you thought about that proposal?” Behind her was a sharp intake of breath, nearly a gasp, that startled and confused her. What’s his problem? Lola’s choice of words must have struck a cord in him. Proposal? Nice one Lolita. The vinyl upholstery of the bench seat cracked and squeaked as Zayd moved, Lola watched him out of the corner of her eye.
“Um, the play or performance art or whatever you want to call it you want to do with your band?” Alaina was acutely aware of the man behind her. “Sounds like a great idea, you know I have a few ideas so far to put to your songs.” The pint of beer was getting to her (and the disturbing presence of the man in the next booth) and declared she needed to piss. She made her way to the small, cold, bathroom with walls covered in barely legible writing.
In less than five minutes she’s done and back out again. She stopped in mid-step to see Zayd seated across from Lola. The world stopped, nothing around her existed, when his earthen eyes caught her storm-clouds-on-blue-sky eyes. Her limbs went ice cold, she felt a high that wasn’t unlike the lightheadedness smokers get when they smoke a cigarette after abstaining for way too long. Delicious and frightening when you realize how addicted you are to nicotine.
“So you’re a grad student in Art at Emerson? That’s where Alaina goes! Isn’t that something?” Lola was giving him her flirty smile. She could only imagine what was going through her crazy cousin’s head. Probably interrogating him to find something that she could hold over Alaina. Or that she was doing this to torture her unintentionally as she tried to get her to speak to him. “Oh Alaina! Look who I got to join us.” Alaina sits down across from him very slowly, as if she was testing it to see if Lola stuck a landmine in the cracked red faux leather under her. She was going to make Lola suffer.
“Donovan.” He nodded his greeting to her. The writer didn’t say anything, just stared at him openly. “Your friend says that you’re a writer. That’s interesting.” He looks a little over excited and on his way to a good state of drunk.
“Yes. I am.” She said simply. She didn’t know what to say and started to panic. In any awkward social situation anybody else would have just dealt with the sudden appearance of their crush by chatting politely and trying not to stare. A social retard would make a stupid comment, a random frantic reaction, and run away, which was nearly what Alaina did. She slammed down the rest of her pint, grabbed her things, swallowed, and declared that they had to leave or they weren’t going to make it to Middle East on time for the opening act. Alaina had enough restraint to not literally run away after throwing cash on the table to cover their tab. She just walked off without looking back at him. As she went out into the autumn night, it dawned on her at what a total ass she had made of herself.
“Shit! I’m such an idiot!” Alaina screamed like a madwoman as she shrugged herself back into her striped brown and black double breasted sweater coat. Her usually calm and reasonable self was yelling at her. How could she blow this opportunity? How could she be so rude? What did he think of her now? Probably that she was completely bat-shit crazy! Which wasn’t far from the truth.
“Gawd Al! What’s wrong with you?” Lola asked, as she pulled on her own sweater in the crisp mid-autumn night. “Have you gone completely mental? If you do this when all guys speak to you than you might as well become a nun or a lesbian or something.” Lola pulls the other woman out of her thoughts. “Alright weirdo, let’s go to Middle East anyways.” Lola leads the way back up to the square towards the music venue, through rows of dimly lit buildings and crowds of late night wonders, couples holding hands and whispering soft endearments to each other. Alaina couldn’t help but wonder if she was the only person in the state of Massachusetts who didn’t want to be in love. It was beginning to feel too much like drowning.
Over the next few months she had been able to avoid Zayd in near completion. Despite seeing him on the rare occasion around the building they never saw each other. Or at least that’s what she thought. She didn’t know that Zayd saw her nearly everyday from an office in the art department with a window overlooking the pedestrian cross roads in a usually well kept square right below him. He knew her routine. When she left for school, when she got to school, what her train stops were, where she usually shopped, when she worked, who she hung out with, who she called her friends, nearly everything. The things Alaina didn’t know about Zayd would, more than likely, scare the hell out of her. Like how he had a habit of fallowing her when he was bored and that habit nearly became an obsession. It was no coincidence that he showed up at Charlie’s Kitchen that night, or The Onion Cellar when the cousins went the opening night of the play, or even a few gallery shows and gigs they attended. The truth was, he didn’t realize he was stalking her. He just couldn’t admit to her, or himself, what was really going on inside his head. It confused and humiliated him on a level he rarely ventured.
Autumn had brought winter in on its tail. A great, big bastard bringing with him blood freezing wind, snow that stopped traffic and slowed life to a crawl, and treacherous ice that left navigating cobblestone streets and sidewalks a nightmare. The sidewalks looked wet, but anybody that had been a Bostonian for long knew that it wasn’t water, it was really dense, very thick ice. It was days like this that Alaina wanted autumn back.
Alaina sighed, pulled her thick cable knit hat over her ears, wrapped the scarf tight around her throat, and held her long, green paisley, wool pea coat closer to her shivering body. Alaina slowly made her way down the street, hoping the heavy backpack she wore didn’t mess with her center of gravity. She nearly made the two blocks from the warm T station to the sanctuary of her own one room apartment. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!…oh God…she chanted in her head. God damned Shithole sidewalk! Her mind screeched when she nearly slipped and fell. A gasp escaped her lips but she caught herself at the last minute on a nearby mound of snow that was once a 1998 blue Volvo. Alright, you’re ok. Just put one foot in front of the other, very slowly. Don’t fall. You’ll look like a jackass. Alaina nodded to herself, looking ahead, carefully judging where the ice was the worst. She deftly navigated the perilous trenches with precise footing. She made it to the corner of Clarendon and Appleton, her apartment windows two stories above her. VICTORIOUS! She thought in triumph. A little too cocky now, she didn’t mind her step, her boot slipped on a sheet of ice hidden under a pile of snow. “SHIT!” She felt her boot give way sending her body back, gravity did the rest. She fell hard, landing on her right side in the tiny little strip of grass the city planted for no reason other than to waste tax money. At least it broke her fall and kept her from smashing her head on the curb.
“Fuckin’ hell, shit, Gawd! Ow!” Alaina screamed when the pain hit her. She landed on her right shoulder and hip and damn did they hurt! She tried to move but it hurt too much. Giving up, she just laid there in the snow, her backpack next to her, looking up at the grey sky. Bollocks! Well, at least I didn’t fall down the steps. Alaina didn’t think about the cold seeping through her coat and pants, she just thought about how she hadn’t seen the sun in what felt like years. The only thing I hate about Boston. She thought with some feeling of regret. Looking up beyond the top of the trees, the wind swept snow, past the brown and black brick building to the grey void of the cloudy sky. The world looks like a black and white photo. Maybe if I slit my wrists I’ll see some natural color. While not completely serious, she was considering it and how bland the world was when a colorful tattoo covered neck appeared at the center of her vision, her eyes traveled up past the pierced corners of a smiling mouth, average nose, dark maple eyes, pretty, she thought, and black swept back overgrown hair. Well hello Zayd Bahr. “I fell.” She told him, the artist nodded at her. He’d seen her take the dive. “I think I broke my ass.” Zayd laughed at the statement, offering her a hand. She took it, pulling herself up off the wet ground. Feeling the tingling sensation when she realized she was touching him, sort of, through two layers of leather.
“You took a wicked digga Donovan. Ah you ok?” Zayd asked in that default Boston accent as Alaina dusted herself off, slinging her bag on her shoulder.
“I could use a beer or two and a smoke.” She told him. They move to the steps, Alaina hisses as pain radiates out of her hip. “Yeah, and an ibuprofen.” He nodded, taking hold of her arm to help her.
They make their way, cautiously, to the building. Alaina is surprised when he doesn’t release her arm and go into his own apartment, instead he fallows her up the narrow, musty stairs to hers. Alaina grumbles something about the state of the molding, 70’s floral carpet in the common areas more out of nerves and not really having anything to say or mention other than her embarrassing stupidity the last, and first, time they met face to face. They reach a heavy black door with a gold colored metal plate engraved with A. Donovan. She took out her keys and unlocks the door leading him into the apartment. He looked around, nearly reverently, at her habitat. It was nearly wall-to-wall, hardwood floor-to-ceiling shelves of books, objects of personal significance - like a set of Day of the Dead skeleton figures with musical instruments, a bottle of sand and small shells, a basket of vintage pens -vinyl records, a record player discovered in her uncle’s basement, DVD’s, photos of family members, books and literary magazines dominated the space, and her own writing in loose leaf stacks, collected in binders and folders, black composition notebooks, and leather bound journals. It was a fairly large room. There was a section that was turned into a type of TV room where the small, hand-me-down, worn out sofa sat in the middle of the room where the bay windows began facing the old TV and iPod tower speakers. Behind the sofa was a small table covered in magazines, empty glasses and beer bottles, candles, and a blue vase of dead flowers that had been there for years. Zayd looked up to see that the smooth ceiling had been draped with exotic textiles in every shade from around the world though probably purchased at a store in Cambridge. The floor was covered in faded colorful rugs of various shapes and shades. Alaina had been aiming for gypsy caravan when she decorated though she didn’t really know why, it looked ridiculous in a pleasing sort of way. She might be mistaken for a hippy if it weren’t for the collection of horror movies, vintage Film Noir posters, and other randomly creepy stuff she kept laying around.
“Make yourself comfortable.” She told him. In her mind she was trying to think of any way to negate the crap she did last time, trying to be normal for once in her life around a guy she liked. Alaina turned on the radiator and threw her coat on it to dry off. In seconds a faint, rancid smell that reminder her of cat piss and her brother’s sweaty football cleats wafted into her nose like every damn time she turned the thing on. Zayd chuckled from where he stood studying the refurbished old table that served as a desk. Her mom’s old typewriter front and center on the table top next to a black laptop.
“Your radiator does that too? Smells horrible. Like something crawled into it and died.” Zayd said, sitting on the desk chair backwards, facing her. He was in a black suit, shirt, and red tie again, his coat and things were hanging on the coat rack she noticed. She couldn’t resist a man in a suit, she couldn’t really help it. This wasn’t a good idea, having him up here, she’d do something so absolutely stupid that she’d be forced to go into exile. Far, far away, maybe Cambridge. Who was she kidding? This guy was smart, she knew that, he had a reputation. He was funny, everyone around him was always laughing, honest laughs that rumble up from the belly and radiate out, not airy, polite ones you give when the joke isn’t that funny. He had talent, he could paint! His work was hanging in a few galleries she’d been to and talent was such a turn-on for her. He was grade A, five stars, and two-thumbs up, her kind of man. But who was she kidding? He hung out with raven haired pretty things in billowing black and 40’s pin-up dresses, make up painted pale faces, perfect hair. Alaina, on the other hand, rocked the thrift store indie girl meets Girl, Interrupted look, had dull black ringlets that fell to her elbows and pale skin and eyes. Black Irish through-and-through. Yeah she had a pretty big bust and slim waste but that didn’t really give her much. Point was, Alaina wasn’t pretty, she was plain, she wasn’t in his league so to speak.
“Mold.” She said, “That’s what that smell is.” She got up and went to the brick alcove that sheltered her pathetic kitchen. “Maybe burning hops. Like beer.” Beer! That’s what I wanted. She took out two beers then searched for a bottle of ibuprofen when she heard the familiar Bauhaus like electronic beats, unobtrusive guitar rhythm, and monotone voice that lurched out the lyrics of She Wants Revenge’s “Tear You Apart”.
“It’s cute in a way, till you cannot speak
and you leave to have a cigarette, your knees get weak
an escape is just a nod and a casual wave
obsessed about it, heavy for the next two days
It’s only just a crush, it’ll go away
it’s just like all the others it’ll go away
or maybe this is danger and you just don’t know
You pray it all away but it continues to grow.”
Alaina nearly screamed when she heard the lyrics. What the hell was he doing? Was he teasing her? Probably laughed at her for weeks after the crap she pulled months ago. Ha-ha, what a stupid little, awkward girl. Freaks out every time a man talks to her. Poor Alaina Clodagh Donovan! Can’t do anything right. Alaina looked around the corner, Zayd had his back to her, looking out the window.
“I want to hold you close
skin pressed against me tight
lie still. And close your eyes girl
so lovely it feels so right.
I want to hold you close
soft breasts, beating heart
as I whisper in your ear
I wanna fucking tear you apart.”
He was teasing her. That had to be it, he knew from her reaction at Charlie’s. His music selection hit a little too close for comfort. It wasn’t something she was prepared to face just now. If ever. There was no way he was interested in her. Nobody ever was. But, on the very unrealistic flip side, maybe he was. Just put away all the doubt and second thoughts, why? Why him? What was he doing? Maybe it was all a plan, his master plan was to get into her apartment after a near-death tumble on the ice, seduce her while she’s vulnerable, and if that didn’t work, rape her. She thought; Wow, you really need to get out more Alaina. You’ve gone stir-crazy! What did he do? Use his totally awesome mutant powers of telekinesis to trip you, risking a nasty head wound? Right. And what makes you think he’s going to rape you? That was a good point, but he was still in her parlor and he wasn’t leaving. Trying to get her mind off it she turned her attention to the music again.
“Either way he wanted her and this was bad,
He wanted to do things to her it was making him crazy
Now a little crush turned into a like
And now he wants to grab her by the hair and tell her”
That was enough! Alaina reached the desk where the remote to the speakers was and turned it off. Zayd turned to look at her. It had to be her imagination, but he looked crushed. She sat one beer on the table, turning away from him. Not knowing what to do, what to think.
“I want to…” Zayd started, he wanted to tell her that he had a moment of clarity, that he wanted to get to know her, that he was a complete coward. When Alaina turned around her fear and reluctance was written plainly in her expression. Her shoulders hung low, burdened. Eyes hurt and smoldering. “Never mind. I’ll leave you alone.” He took his coat and bag from the coat rack in as much of a hurry as she had always been. This time she felt guilty for running him out and not the least bit embarrassed. What the hell was wrong with her? There was a man she had some kind of feelings for living under her and she was avoiding it like the plague because she had bullied herself into believing he wasn’t interested in her at all.
“IDIOT!” Zayd Bahr yelled at himself as he burst from the front door of the apartment building. Crazy Korean Can-Man looked up from the garbage barrels when the artist shouted, scaring the hell out of him. “What the fuck were you thinking? Way to go dumbass!” Zayd kicked open the swinging door to the store. You scared her off. Now she’ll never talk to you, he thought. He was a miserable man, then again, most artist were. The idea made him laugh, the cliché fit him though. The most miserable man you can find is a man in love, but Zayd raised the bar on that. His obsession with Alaina Donovan had the purest intentions. He had fought it, he tried his hardest, tried to drown it in booze but it didn’t die, tried to distract himself with the women he usually found attractive, didn’t work either in fact he thought he had made Alaina angry and jealous, which was actually a good thing wasn’t it? He had fallen in love with the woman when she walked through the front door at the beginning of summer. Now the problem is how do you tell someone you hardly know that you fell in love with them at first sight? He blew it with that song tonight. It was a stupid idea and now he was going to try drowning his feelings in booze. Maybe whiskey will work better than the vodka and beer did.
Alaina turned back to her bottle of unopened beer when she heard the distinct sound of the heavy double front door opening and shutting. Alaina went to window. Pulling back the cobalt curtain she saw Zayd walk into the convience store across the street and leave a few minutes later with a brown bagged bottle of liquor. What was this man’s problem and why did it involve her? These feelings, be they love or a strange crush, felt like drowning.
Time went on again, winter went deeper and colder than ever. December had come and gone, and the city had ejaculated Christmas lights, trees, and Santas on the unsuspecting public. The next big step in the Boston social works was First Night. The New Year’s Eve celebration near the John Hancock building. She could see, very clearly from her window, the razor blade-like building jutting up above the tops of more dignified, quaint buildings a fraction of it’s stature. It was maybe three blocks away and that meant retarded, loud drunks screaming up her street at all hours of the morning.
Alaina had put Zayd in the back of her mind around the same time that strange feeling of lightheadedness got more intense and frequent even when he wasn’t around. They hadn’t seen each other for a long time but when she saw him last she felt like the world was swimming around her. She wanted to say something, anything but couldn’t. He was surrounded by well wishers and women. He looked past them all, meeting her eyes and she knew what the lightheadedness meant. Unfortunately she was too self-absorbed and damaged to bring him in on it. Lola brought her out of her funk, inviting her over for beers, trying to introduce her to the right people in their little artists’ circle. They were going to take over Cambridge one day, then the rest of Boston would fall as well, then the world. But Alaina didn’t have her heart in it.
It was a long holiday vacation but Alaina had braved the wind and forecasted blizzard to venture to her campus to get her portfolio from last semester. He had gone here too. She’d seen him around, sometimes, carrying that load of art supplies and books. Trying to get somewhere. She left her professor’s office and made her way across the parking lot in the direction of the T station. There were a few cars there, one being a more recently produced black Honda Accord with a broken front fender and taped up light that had a bumper sticker that read “I don’t suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it.” She laughed, vaguely wondering who owned the car when she felt something hit her hard.
“What the hell?” Alaina looked around the parking lot to see who could have thrown something at her. There was nobody around her except a lone figure in the distance walking her way. Then the sky opened up and fat hail stones came plummeting down on her. Desperate for shelter she opened the door in a knee jerk reaction, diving into the passenger side when the hail really started coming down. She shut the door and shook the hail off her skin-tight, wine-color corduroy jeans and plucked a few strays from her camel colored Ugg boots. Then she realized where she was. The car was messy, smelling of chemicals and spice, with black leather interior, that was cracked in some places, or dotted with paint. She looked around, on the floor board in the back was one of the large clear plastic boxes that the art students used to carry their supplies in. Next to it was a sketch book that was so worn it was yellowing and warped looking like it would crackle under your fingers. It was big and thick, the date and name on the front was faded away. Next to her, well, she was actually sitting on it, was a heavy leather bound journal. Flipping through she could see that the handwriting was distinctly male with it’s jagged edges and carelessness, some pages were accompanied by hand drawn sketches or water colors. Smiling she put it down to pick up another book under her feet. She felt her heart beat in throat as she read the words on the cracked spine of the book, the pages it held together yellowing with sweat, dog eared, it was well loved. Before a Winter Storm by Alaina S. Donovan. She turned it over, studying it, when an folded piece of paper fell out of the book. Alaina couldn’t help reading it, shocked when she found it addressed to herself.
My Alaina,
I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t believe in love at first sight so ,obviously, I wasn’t prepared-
Alaina looked up to a man in a long, black wool coat and red scarf carrying a load of leather presentation books under one arm and an sturdy umbrella in the other coming towards her. It was the owner of the car. Alaina held her breath, closing her eyes as the man opened the door. Please God, don’t let it be someone I can’t stand. Let it be him, let it be him, please! She begged silently. The cold air rushed into the car as the man sat in the driver’s seat. He let out a little scream when he saw her sitting there, eyes closed, biting her lip in anticipation.
“What the fuck are you doing- Donovan? What are you doing in here? Why are you in my car?” That voice, that blessed, familiar voice! She gripped the letter tightly as she opened her jade eyes. Brown eyes stared back at her. Alaina closed the distance between them, kissing him without thought, months of anguish melted away with that kiss.
Zayd blink at the woman kissing him, confused, bewildered, and relieved, he couldn’t help but wonder what brought this out of the shy girl. Stop thinking for five seconds and kiss her. He thought, and he did. It felt like everything was finally right when he kissed her. He took her hands and felt something in her hands. It clicked. Oh crap!
“I can explain! I swear on Lovecraft’s grave that I wasn’t stalking you! I-” Alaina stopped his mindless sputtering with another kiss.
“Doesn’t matter.”
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