Strength and Sensuality [Completed]

15 - Eyes turning into mirrors

I've finally found a way to write.

One day I had to stay in the office until late in the evening to finish something. And suddenly, after everyone went home, I realized its potential. Perfect electric system. Better computer than at home. Stable connection. No blackouts. No shouting neighbors.

Perfect.

Since that day, after picking Ben up at school, we head back together to the office. He writes his homework there, while I also write. Definitely not a homework. Nothing out of duty. Only for leisure.

It's such a relief. I was fearing for my mental health lately. Writing is not just a pastime for me. It's a basic need. Deprivation can lead to a serious case of constant daydreaming. Or hallucination. Or even worse.

We usually leave when the cleaning crew arrives. Except when I'm too involved in the story. Then I don't even notice them. They have a conversation with Ben, and he instructs them to leave the lunatic in peace. I know I'm a bit scary while being only half-present, with a dreamy smile on my face, an empty look in my eyes, and made-up people chatting in my head. But I guess Ben explained to them that I wasn't dangerous, just a harmless kook. I hope he did.

I'm so lucky he likes to read. And he's exceptionally patient for his age. The conditioning I gave him during the war, just to make sure we don't die both because he opens his mouth at the worst time, fades slowly. Painfully slowly. I wish he was less patient sometimes. And less silent. Now I'd give my right arm just to see him behaving according to his age. I hope I live long enough to see him as happy-go-lucky as any of his schoolmates one day.

But until then we are both immersed in our stories. He reading it; I writing it. And when it happens, we stay until late in the office.

Today is one of these days. The sun's setting outside, but we're still here, reading and writing.

The cleaning crew arrives, as usual. I have a vague feeling that they've been here before, but I guess they are just aware of the high standards of the place, being super thorough.

The cleaning man asks me something, as usual. I lift my feet from the floor to let them proceed.

Then he asks me something else.

"Thank you, you're doing a great job," I answer him, as usual.

"Thank you." He smiles, as usual.

Then he lifts his hand in front of my face, and waves slowly.

I hate to be torn out of my thoughts. I try to focus on him, but the things happening in my head are much more interesting. I don't care for anything he can tell me. He's not belonging in the story going on in my head.

Then he touches my shoulder. Very gently, but still pulling me out of my inner world.

It still takes me some time to concentrate on his face.

It's vaguely familiar.

I blink. The picture gets sharper.

It's Mr. Warren.

"Oh..." I produce a faint growl, covering my eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asks, looking worried.

"Yes..." I answer, sounding everything but okay.

He's kneeling in front of me. He's so tall, his face is still level with mine, and I'm sitting on a chair.

He's looking me straight in the eyes, giving me the feeling he's staring right into my inner world. Seeing my thoughts. My imaginary landscapes. My deepest fears and joys. Everything.