4
The thin folder weighed a tonne in her hand as she hurriedly closed the door. Melanie grimaced, and paused for a moment, fighting back tears like so many other times. Melanie rushed through the maze known as Thompson Recordings. The elevator opened, and she stepped into it blindly; never looking over her shoulder to the past. She felt shattered, and her feeling of dismay slipped from her mind, as the folder slipped slightly from her shaky grip.
She didn't bother to hold back the tears in the elevator. Melanie was beyond tears. Frustration rose in her mind like a river breaking its banks.
She closed her eyes, and imagined her mood was a roiling put of lava, on top of which were multiple stone spires. Opportunity leaped from spire to spire, but the ocean of lava leapt ever higher, threatening to snuff it out. Her reverie was interrupted by the elevator doors opening.
When Melanie opened her eyes, she saw the street awash with the activity of life. People going about their inconsequential business, forever lost in an urban crypt, unable to see through the darkness. She moved out of the elevator, frustrated as ever, even more so than when she found out about Dean's suicide. Memories of the last evening’s writing session flooded back. Time didn’t make that bludgeoning blow any easier to endure.
A thought clicked in her mind, as did the car’s central unlocking system. The walk back to the car was mostly in a daze. She needed to get through the frustration. Go home, a voice in her mind commanded. The door of her car slammed shut at her will, and she sat, teeming with rage holding the wheel as if it were Thompson's throat, trying to strangle it.
She was no longer interested in strangling him, and her gaze lapsed towards the folder and the cheque that lay within. She didn't care how much it was for, the money wasn't important. All she needed was a cigarette. Fumbling through the glove box, and other compartments in the car, she did not succeed in her search. ”For fucks sake.” She slammed the steering wheel with an open palm. It didn’t achieve anything.
One of Melanie's dreams that had spontaneously ended today, and with it, the passion driving her onwards was gone, like an ant, squashed under somebody's unsuspecting foot. She stomped down on the accelerator, causing the car to rev loudly. It was still in neutral, and went nowhere. She swore to herself, again. She needed to numb the feeling of despair. Melanie knew what to do. She reached to the car’s console, angrily extracting the cigarette lighter, with the intent to burn herself. She placed it against her wrist, and waited for the pain to arrive. She grimaced as it did, her calm facial features contorting in agony.
The wound began to bleed, her wrist with the still fresh incision throbbing in pain. The dark fabric band snapped over and concealed her painful insecurity, now reading 9:56
When she placed the cigarette lighter back into the dashboard, she sighed at the sound of its identical mechanic click, the same every single time. Her painfully throbbing arm reached for the folder, now dumped on the passenger seat, opening it, and she fished out the cheque.
She gawked at the figure. $3,500, more than enough to last her for two months. Punching herself in the leg in disbelief, she let out a cry of pure happiness. The only thought going through her head as she was driving away from the huge building was Now, where can I buy a packet of cigarettes?
Melanie's car swerved excitingly, and there was no reason why she could not be arrested for dangerous driving, but this was the last thing on her mind as she braked suddenly, narrowly missing a pedestrian, she smiled in glee. She had found a convenience store, nondescript, decrepit, but a sacred temple where she could obtain nicotine and soothe the desires that threatened to overcome her lucidity.
She hurriedly double parked her car and rushed out of it, cheque in hand, quickly advancing towards the shop.
The first thing that annoyed Melanie when she entered was that the place had no-one at the counter. She rang the bell on the counter impatiently, a speck hardened speck of blood from under her fingernail gingerly falling onto the shiny metal. She swore to herself that if someone didn't come to the counter within the next minute, she would dismantle the bell and use it to kill the person who would eventually arrive.
As Melanie's hand made contact with the polished metal of the bell again, she saw a man emerge from somewhere out of the corner of her eye. She turned to face him, and smiled instantly, getting down to business. "I'll have two packs of cigarettes." Before he could respond and question her order further, Melanie spoke again. "I'm not fussed what type." The man was now behind the counter, back turned reaching for two packets of most obviously the dearest kind.
With his back still turned, Melanie observed the slight arch in his backbone and thought to herself what it would look like outside of his body. It wasn’t the first time she had such thoughts. She really wanted a cigarette. He turned back around. "That will be twenty-eight dollars thank you." Melanie handed over the cheque, and the man regarded it for a moment, before pointing to a sign that read “CHEQUES NOT CASHED” "I'm sorry ma'am but I am unable to accept this." Of course, he couldn’t accept it, the sign forbade it.
The disappointment in Melanie's eyes must tortured the clerk. She wasn’t an unattractive woman; and knew how to exploit her feminine wiles. She pouted, as the store clerk returned the delicate, alluring promise of currency across the counter. "I'll tell you what. You can have one pack on the house." He tossed one of the packets in his hand to Melanie, and she smiled in satisfaction, quickly ripping off the plastic seal.
She managed to mutter a thank you before exiting the shop, with a single cigarette already dangling precariously between her lips. She’d come back here again, she thought.