The Unexpected Sleepover

Chapter One - The Unexpected Sleepover

The ticking of the clock grows louder, ringing through my ears as the page in front of me remains blank and deceased. My eyes begin to ache as I stare at the screen like a corpse, still and dormant. I rub them before gazing at the clock, which reads 9pm. The nights have grown longer and my patience shorter.

   There's a loud slamming noise as I push the laptop lip down with force in frustration. Inspiration seems to be somewhat distant and unreachable, compared to what it used to be with the easy 'flick of a switch' in my mind, then the words would flow. But now, they almost fear being found.

   I decided that sleeping may benefit me more than pacing back and forth across the room like a wandering child. Late nights of 3am had not been seldom seen lately.

   I enter the bathroom to commence washing my face, the daily routine to attempt to keep impurities at bay, all being failed attempts, of course. The warm water brings no comfort to my tired and drained state, nor does it 'flick the switch'. All it does is simply add to the drowsiness that is now me, what I am; a tired man with nothing to show for his time.

   The rest of the routine took place without falter, which is more than I could say for the progression of the writing. Once finished, I made my way back to the bedroom, where I would be welcomed by the bright, white covers that'd provide comfort for the night, and for the rest of the week, although at times I wish it could provide comfort all of the time, yet I must crawl out of bed every morning to commence the same old task of sitting at my oak desk and staring into the abyss that is the blank screen.

   I decided to leave the light off that night, as I couldn't bare looking at anything within the room. Sitting in here every day has become almost a task in itself. It sickens me at times.

   The bed welcomes me as though I were its own. The warm spreads across my entire, almost naked body like a second skin, and I begin to slowly drift off into a light, yet stable sleep, and I continued to sleep well until the ever dreaded knock at the door during the middle of the ring. F*****g drunk teenagers. I thought to myself. Even though I am not far ahead of the years of the youth, 21, to be precise, I still find it frustrating that drunken men and women lack the ability to have self-control when intoxicated.

   Even if I wished to ignore to rattling on the glass, I'd have felt bad for not answering, so I quickly got up, threw on my navy blue dressing gown - which was just as conformable as the bed - and paced down the stairs and towards the door with an angered face that is disguised by a gentle smile, warming yet fake.

   I switched on the light in the hallway which blinded me like the Sun’s rays, luckily this only lasted for a few seconds and I was blessed with the gift of sight once more. The blurred figure behind the stain glass door was a small figure, their arms did not hand freely and their head looked from left to right as they waited for the door to open.

   The handle is cold, the golden metal chilled, almost crisp. Slowly, I turn the silver key which unlocks the door with a click, and I can see the figure prepares themselves to speak. I open the door to be ajar.

   I say nothing as both the figure and I stare at one another. The figure, who I believed to be a drunken teenager, turned out to be a young woman, blonde and no older than 23. Her eyes, Sky blue, were flooded with tears and drowned with trickling mascara, smudged across her eye lines from the fierce rubbing, causing a redness to show on both sides of her face.

   “Sorry,” She began, her voice was sweet yet there lingered a croak which infected her voice from her despair. “I’m a bit lost,” she sniffs, wiping tears from her red, sore looking eyes. “I was looking for a friend’s house and I don’t know where I am.” Her pleas for help soften my roughened state. The tear that fell to the ground splash with a quiet ‘tap’, the sound being accompanied by her everlasting sniffs.

   “What is their name?” I ask, my voice too infected with a croak, yet this croak is from lack of sleep. It takes her a while to get her words together again as the tears keep coming, seeking nothing other than the cold ground. The ground, which is already wet due to the rain that came not a few minutes ago, glistened in the light of the moon, sparkling like a diamond in the Sun, yet the beauty is much less fascinating.

   “Mark Cullerton.” She finally replied, breaking eye contact and finding the ground. You could hear the self-pity in her voice. She was upset, for being upset. I wanted to help in any way that I could, yet I know not of “Mark Cullerton”, nor may I ever with such an obscure surname, in comparison that is.

   “I’m sorry,” I began, breathing before continuing to dash her hopes. “I don’t know a Mark Cullerton.” Her face dropped instantly. Her failed attempts are getting to her.

   “Ok, thank you.” She forced a smile, turned on her feet and began to walk away. Her Cream dress, which was decorated in various flower patterns, war drenched, covered in mud and seemed irradiating. Her dark blonde hair, which seemed to be once curled, now lays on her head, neck and shoulders like a dead animal. She lacked a coat, lacked anything that could provide her warmth to her pale skin.

   I closed the door before I began to watch her leave any longer. For little more than three seconds, I rested against the glass, thinking of what to do. I glanced over at one of the many plastic clocks in the house. 3:30am it read.

   I knew that I’d not be able to drift back to sleep without showing some form of hospitality, and I swung the door open, letting the cold reach me as quickly as the warmth of my blanket, and stepped outside. My feet were bare, and now muddy and wet. The girl was just outside the gate, looking to cross the road with the unneeded caution she has.

   “Wait!” I shouted without thinking, stopping her in her tracks as she took one step onto the road. She turned to me and looked at me like a girl with no idea of the world. She said nothing in response, nor shrugged her shoulders to ask what I wanted. “You can stay here for the night, if you want?”