Flesh and Bone

1.1

His jaw tics. A small, barley there, click that strikes out calm and collected, shouting: forced. Deliberate.

I think I might have offended him with my staring because his smile slips before he can summon another, "I was wondering if you would?" his head dips to my sketch book and I snap it shut. A sinking feeling erupts in my stomach.

"It's starting to rain and I can barely see my own hand in this light." I breathe out, the cold engulfing each word in a puff of white air. "Maybe some other time." I shuffle my pens into my satchel.

His smile ebbs from his face. What does he truly want?

"How much do you charge for one portrait?" He says in a harder voice, the demand in his tone telling me he isn't a acquainted with refusal. He fishes into his coat pocket.

I stand up and tug my satchel closed. The man grunts and inspects his other pocket. I turn my back to him and quicken my pace to the city and the prying eyes peeking down from their windows. "I'll be here tomorrow if you're still interested in a portrait, otherwise goodnight." I call behind me and yank my zipper up, swallowing down the miniscule voice begging me to go back. If only to satisfy my curiosity, and of course, give my stomach something to chew on other than itself. I crane my neck behind me and the man is gone.

***

I open the door on my second shove and seek refuge inside the complex. My left wrist throbs from the force needed to open the damn door and I slam the thing closed behind me. I hug my wrist to my chest, rubbing it. Please. Please don't be a sprain. I chant whilst ascending the stairs, my satchel bouncing off my hip with each step. The hall is unlit. I lean to my right and flick the light switch. Nothing. "Hmm." I mumble. Electricity must be out from the storm.

I venture down the hall, the moonlight sneaks in through the two square windows on my right. I brush my fingers through my knotted hair, water droplets gliding down my arm and goosebumps erupting down my spine.

I tap my knuckles against the wood of his door and wait for his loud shout of welcome. A few moments of silence pass-the walls groan against the hammer of rain and the icy touch of the cold creeps up my fingertips. A lump forms in my throat and I turn the door knob. The lock clicks open.

Gabe lies on his bed, his chest rising and falling slower than I've ever seen. An IV is attached to his arm and several bottles of prescriptions are scattered on the wooden bedside table. Each one emptier than the last.

I slip my arm into my satchel and pull out my sketch book, taking amble steps into the room. I take the seat at the end of his bed and flip through my sketch book to the drawing I did today. He always likes those ones. I bite my lip as I tear the page out, the sound cutting through the air. Gabe doesn't move.

I leave the drawing on his bedside table. Maybe it will help him focus on the world around him instead of the one crumbling beneath his feet. I gaze down at him. His grey hair is thin around his face, his skin nearly as light as his hair. I see his eyes, that used to spark a brilliant green, now, just a flickering ember under eyelids that refuse to open.

He is like a father to me. No, I shake my head. He is my father. The moonlight seeps in through the gap in the curtains on the far wall and touches a smile that used to warm my heart, now weighed down by the ice of his blood. The lines that are engraved around his mouth give me hope. He had once been a man who dared to open his arms to a stranger. To me. All he must do is dare himself to live through this and he will. I know it.

I lean down and kiss his forehead. He still smells of brewed tea and black liquorice; the two things he will never live without, much like I will never live without a pen and paper. Somethings, however simple, matter more than others.

The walk to my apartment is quick. I know where I'm going, even in the dark. Gabe lurks in my mind and a surge of loss seizures my heart but I refuse to let it hold mine captive ever again. Never again.

I slide my key into the slot and twist. The lock clicks and I shove the door open. The throb in my wrist is the least of my problems now. I tuck the lone key back into my pocket and wonder what it would feel like to need a key ring; to have more than a single tiny room to unlock. My satchel drops to the floor with a thud and I collapse onto my mattress. The springs groan on impact and cut into my back. I turn onto my side.

A small light flickers in through the hole in the roof. The cold air oozing through and cloaking me in it's icy embrace. I yank the blanket under my chin.

"Excuse me." A deep voice intrudes my thoughts much like he did at the park. He spoke without wavering; no misstep in his confidence. No hesitance. His smile however, boarded on unease as if he wasn't used to the gesture. I squeeze my eyes shut and hoped to physically force the encounter from my mind. A man like him wants something. But what could I give him? And there was no way he just wanted a portrait so what did he want? I sit up and rub my eyes. Argh. I didn't even ask his name. Not that I wanted to anyway, I scold myself. I knew men like him. They were dangerous and it would never end well for a girl like me.

I crawl to the end of the mattress and reach for my satchel. Pens and paper rustle and I dig in deeper till I find it-my much smaller and denser leather book. A book I only use for my portrait drawings. I flip through the pages, careful to avoid any sketches of Gabe and my sister, till I find a blank page. I sketch the man from memory.

My pencil scrawls over the page. I shade under the hood of his cloak that conceals his eyes so well and press down harder to show the straightness of his nose and the harshness of his lips despite them twisting up into a smile. He had a small slither of a scar that cut deep into his cheek. The kind I assumed he had been trying to hide in the depths of his cloak. I lightly trace one on his cheek. I close the book and rub my eyes. The darkness of the room is inviting, and I lay down pulling the blanket with me. Dreaming of nothing but the crunch of leaves under my feet and brush of wind on my face as I run barefoot through an alley of trees, chasing after a girl that never looks back.

I wake up to a bright light that shines in through the hole in the roof and shield my face with my hands. I yawn and after rubbing my blurry eyes they stumble onto a single white and yellow envelope, sitting in the small space between the door and the mattress. "What in the world..." with a delicate hand I pick it up. The edges are bent and there's a slight tear-it's already been opened. I unfold the letter.