Esra Dean and the Darkness Inside [Flat 413]

Night Day 4
VC Whoring

The sun had sunk yet again and the dull malaize of night crept in through the doors of the apartment block. On the westward facing side it had left a dry heat in the small rooms that started to come to life. During the day work or play kept most of the inhabitants away so now as evening started to become night light after light flickered on. The moan of AC and TVs combining into a background melody that smudged over the gossip, shouts of children and sounds of cooking. It was home.

Esra Dean lived alone, she was thankful for that. All her life until a few months ago she had to share everything in a room almost as big as this shoebox. Here everything was her own, it was freeing, it was lonely. To the left was a kitchen counter and a tiny little oven, a single cabin bed then ran all the way to the back wall over a wardrobe and shelf. A window looked out towards an apartment across the street, glittering with refracted sunlight. A desk filled the corner, the rest of the back wall and still was barely big enough for the lime green chair to slip under it. To the right a sliding door to a bathroom you could almost turn around in, it was just enough for a person to live in, just.

There was enough of a walkway to get to the desk, or at least it was designed to have it. As Esra dropped her backpack by the door and started to unzip her tracksuit she had to shuffle past a manikin. It didn’t have a face, but it wore a dress that one would never associate with Esra. White lace ruffles on an underskirt that peaked out from a layer of plain dark red, hitched at the hip on one side to show the decadent underskirt. As far as lolita fashion went it was plain, on the edge of even counting. The shoulders were clearly unfinished and there were several places where pins stuck through. There was barely enough room for the form to stand, even with the dress being quite form fitting. Compared to everything else in the room it was the only obvious extravagance.

Reaching over the desk to unhitch the window to let out some of the heat, sliding over her sewing machine Esra thought about sinking into the plastic chair. Tutting and thinking better of it she walked back towards the bathroom instead, dropping sweaty clothes as she went. It was such a hassle not having a washing machine, having to use the laundry room in the basement. This was the only place the government would give her though, beggars couldn’t be choosey. The coffin of a shower was almost designed to be uncomfortable enough that you wanted to spend as little time inside as possible. There wasn’t enough time to think, to consider past, present or future. It felt safe for all its rampant claustrophobia and that the hot water lasted for only two minutes before settling into a barely tolerable cold.

Esra didn’t like time to think.

Damper, cooler and for now at least sweatless she twisted the chair overhead before clambering above the door to replace the fuse wire in the fusebox. Deft hands pinched it between the contacts, back on the ground she turned the light on with a small smile. The last of the light was gone now, she was starting to find the darkness eerie. Rather than fight the chair back to the desk she placed it next to the dress in progress. Plucking a comically large needle from the neck she silently started to weave a copper ribbon along the frilly white lace, humming to herself.

It was fitted for herself, though she had no intention of wearing it anywhere. It was not the persona she projected to the world, nor did she think it one she wanted seen. In a white t-shirt and tartan shorts she weaved in and out, killing time and thought out. Having done a full day at school, run several miles and spent time in the batting cages on top it did not take long before her arms were tired and this job at least was done. There were still hours to go before it could be considered finished, what did it matter?

School. It had been weird today. Unfolding and hanging her uniform, slipping her sweaty clothes into a cloth sack for tomorrow she finally let herself reflect just a little. It had been different for certain, so many things taking her out of her comfort zone. Then on her way back home, a sense of being watched. She was just being paranoid, all the things that happened had just put her on edge. If there were shadows of motion in the corners of her vision, that was all they were, shadows. Trees, birds, distant people, nothing to get worked up over. No one was stupid enough to mess with her anyway.

She was tough as nails, everyone knew that and it was true, nothing hurt her. Grimness rather than determination sank into her. Red eyes flicked up to check the door was locked, turning the radio to just being audible she slunk up the ladder, wrapped her arms around her knees and just lay there. Not crying, not doing anything. Stewing in self pity, self hatred and egoism.

A while passed before she sat up bolt upright, slapping herself hard in the face. Physical pain was the way she found easier to deal with it. That was why she pushed herself so hard, forcing herself to suffer. Sliding out of bed, chucking a textbook from the shelf onto the desk she put the kettle on and started to take notes. Esra wasn’t smart, almost nothing came easy to her. She had to study and she hated it, which was why she did so much of it. She’d treated herself with some embroidery and now it was time to pay for it. Cramming her head with formula and molar mass equations so there wasn’t room for self pity. The coffee steamed a rich nutty cafe, the red mark on her cheek slowly fading as the evening became night.

She didn’t cry, she didn’t know how to ask for help. Anyone who helped, even if she asked, would want to know why. If she couldn’t admit it to herself any more, how could she tell anyone. Could there ever be a person she could trust with that crushing burden?

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