DIAMONDS IN THE TRENCHES

27 | the mess of dsm-5

I played it again. And again. And again. But I did not open the document she had mentioned. I did not care. There was nothing I needed to understand. She was dead anyway.

🪁

The night had fallen, and we were at the place of the locals, a small apartment on the outskirts of Zografou—a suburb of Athens. The place was clean and bright, white walls and furniture, big balconies and golden curtains swaying in the summer wind. The rain had stopped, at least for now, and the smell of humidity came in through the open doors. The atmosphere was friendly and unnerving all at once. I just could not comprehend how this was real, how we were at the house of two strangers planning how to sabotage an anarchic group. What kind of life was this? I was sure that if we kept living this way, we would go mad.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, I watched Abel. His eyes followed the locals' every move, the way they laughed at their bad jokes and the way they carried themselves with ease.

Their names were Ioanna and Michalis, they were in their twenties, and all they wanted was money. So, as Clairvoyant had ordered us to do, money we would give them. But before that happened, we had to find out what they could offer to us in exchange.

Sitting around a small table, they looked ready for the negotiations to commence. But I could not take them seriously. Hell, I could not take any of us seriously. Not me, pacing back and forth, thinking about how surreal everything felt. Not Ioanna, dressed in a long black skirt and an olive green top, looking like she had just come back from the beach, her dark brown curls messed up by the salt air. Not Michalis, the tall guy with the colorful shirt, pouring us wine, as if we were childhood friends and not unfortunate partners in crime. Not anyone.

"So you're saying that you know how to break into the lair of this 18th of November anarchic group?" Abel asked as he fetched a purple-painted chair and placed it next to Ioanna's.

She nodded. "That's exactly what we're saying. I used to be part of them a few years ago, so I know their whereabouts."

"And why exactly are you not part of them anymore?" I asked.

"Because I didn't want to live a life of shame and regrets."

Abel and I exchanged a look. It lasted less than a second, but it was enough to know that we were both thinking the same thing, that we both wished we were more like Ioanna—if what she had said was even the truth. But we were not like her, and maybe we would never be, so I did not dwell on it. We had bigger things to worry about.

"Where's the lair?" asked Abel, still not having touched the wine.

"In a suburb of Athens called Mati."

I did not know where that was, and Ioanna did not bother explaining. But before I could ask for more guidance, a flash of lightning broke the darkness of the night sky. I saw it because I was looking outside, but Abel was sitting with his back against the doors, facing me, so he was not prepared for the boom of thunder that followed it. It heaved him to his feet, a hand over his heart, as he turned around to see for himself that it had started raining again.

"What the fuck—" he said and then laughed at himself.

Ioanna and Michalis laughed too. But I did not. Instead, I walked over to the table and asked, "How do we break in?"

Michalis grinned. "What will we gain if we tell you?"

"You may have dismissed cruelty, but greed is still holding strong, isn't it? You have to be aware, though, that greed often leads to cruelty."

Ioanna shrugged. "Whatever."

Such a young fool, I wanted to say.

But maybe I should not be worrying about issues of morality when Abel was drinking from the wineglass almost every other second now, moving forward to his chair and then slumping back in it like he was done with life. I wanted to reach out a hand and ask him if everything was okay, if he would manage to stay here for a few more minutes, but I knew the way we were supposed to look. We were supposed to be stone-faced and strong, unwavering in the face of terror. So I nudged him in the shoulder, bringing him back to the present moment.