…

  Although banded by truss and window pane, the glass prominently featured just how far in the air we were. For the first few floors, I could deal with it. It stopped a quarter of the way up to let a few others on, and then my knees buckled. I held out my hand to Rebecca.

  She gave an unamused laugh but said: “Maybe not right now. I could block the view if you want, though,” and she did just that.

  The gesture was nice and all but it didn’t really help, as I saw the sky scrolling upwards. My hands remained planted on the floor, and my knees were firmly squashed into kneeling. Hooray, at least I could see the entirety of the City…Too bad it invokes the desire to tear apart every muscle, tendon, layer of skin, and bone by hitting and scraping a ground so far below me that I can’t even pretend I would live from the fall.

  I had it in me to at least look through the glass. A billboard caught my eye. On one side, a large silver ring with a diamond in the middle displayed with a starburst in the background. On another side, an illustration of people kissing. Kissing. It bookmarked itself into my subconscious.

  The top floor covered the view from the building by bold lines of solid colors varying with brass, metal, and more of a reddish metal. If I could describe it in two words, it’d be ‘Art Deco’. And if I could give the feeling for it in two words, it’d be ‘stable again’. The rooftop was its own kind of terrarium. Concrete paths split up small fields of grass. Park benches, pavilions, various utilities like trash cans, restrooms, sinks, and water fountains made up a complete social space. The lounge looked like a wooden lodge, positioned nearly at the opposite corner of where we exited.

  As expected, our only company was an equally overstimulated group, a bartender, and a floor staff member. It was an open bar. Our fourth guest: the guy with dark curly hair, had helped himself to drinks, being an expert on what to order. In descending order, Anna was also an expert on what to order, but she didn’t so much help herself as she gave herself a social drink. Then, there was Rebecca, who was familiar with drinking and what drinks are but didn’t drink. I knew nothing and didn’t even pretend to know, but I just played coy and said I might drink later.

  I got back into some of the main themes for today with Rebecca, attempting to include Anna and her friend at any given opportunity. Although Rebecca had a lot to say, and she was hyper-focused on us, Anna and her friend simply kept getting distracted: either by ordering drinks, looking at the scenery, or some physical gesture type humor. It’s like they wanted to slip away. I tried. I tried really hard. Nothing stuck. They slowly drifted away from us.

  There was a band. We apparently arrived in between sets. Lots of brass, one drum kit, and a bass guitar. Somewhat rowdy, and a bit too loud for casual conversation. Rebecca and I tried to keep up with the subject, especially since the pitch of her voice was still hearable, and I knew I was just loud in general. Concentration eroded, though. We decided to hold drinks, sit and watch the band instead.

  Their second song, which became much more energetic than the first, was Anna and the guy’s cue to get up and dance. The other group didn’t even pay Rebecca or I much mind. During breaks, I kept going, focused on getting to the bottom of some of the larger topics- what exactly was the structure of the City, is it an open system where outsiders apply to it, and what everything meant.

  Rebecca was very frank: refusing answers if I became too jargon-ey, sometimes opting for simple answers that would otherwise be difficult to explain, sometimes giving a dictionary definition response that felt regurgitated from something she read. She was casual, relaxed, where the only value she really maximized was her attentiveness. We weren’t playing soccer, we were playing metaphorical tennis.

  Anna and her friend danced a bit too hard. It was somewhat embarrassing, but I tried to be supportive by clapping along to the beat. Then, Anna stepped on someone. It was a girl around her size from the other group. At first, the other girl didn’t mind it while also instigating further physical confrontation by bumping into Anna. Like a Newton’s cradle, they kept bumping into each other, and although they looked like it was all in good spirits at first, conflict eventually erupted.

  It was one big choleric display of vanity. Why? Because Anna gestured to her poor friend to enter the conflict. And he did, like the puppy he was. For the girl who wouldn’t let the conflict go, she got her group to join in the conflict. So instead of wanting to mitigate an embarrassing display that could get them hurt or worse: kicked out, the two of them wanted to watch what they believed to be their playthings to fight each other. In short, neither was really mad; they both simply had a twisted sense of amusement.

  Caught in my periphery, I only had a few moments to react to a bottle, half filled with a strangely colored alcohol, being thrown in Rebecca & my direction. I slid the serving platter next to me into both my hands, and although spilling the drink that was on it, I shielded the both of us. The bottle shattered, getting my shirt a little wet, but without getting glass on me.

  I looked back to see Rebecca was curled up in a ball, smiling at me. I was relieved she had survival instincts as well. As I put the serving platter in its rightful spot, I had a new idea of what to do next.

  “I feel like the lounge isn’t made for very sober people right now. Do you want to go somewhere else?” My tone was barely above the music.

  “Uhh, I’m not really sure we should leave for now, given everything…although…I guess also the lounge is for those who are drinking…” she deliberated extensively.

  “I’m fine with what you’re comfortable with. It’s your choice,” I said. For her though, I wasn’t reassuring. I pushed responsibility onto her, already fatigued, having an increasing difficulty to determine what my intentions were.

  Personally, I don’t know what my intentions are. I just want to know why. Why am I in the City? What is it can I exactly do here, and find satisfaction and assuredness that I’m doing what an Ishmael should be doing? If I’m not meant to be here, why don’t I know what I should do next? Why is it that it seems everyone else knows what they’re supposed to be doing, and I don’t?

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  That’s my intention. If I don’t have a goal, I need a goal. I need to do whatever it takes to find a goal, where I’d simply aimlessly drift through space if not for a destination to orient myself towards. I have no principles, no recipes to success, no rhyme to reason. Many others I’ve seen thus far have drives, instincts, and basic guidelines. Some want wives. Some want riches. Some want fame. Some want…creepy things. I feel like I don’t make the same mind-body connection. I can try to understand them, but I don’t see how any such craving makes an impact on my decision-making. There’s no point in what they do, especially if I do it. If they find satisfaction in what they do, great, but I’m just not lucky.

  So what of Rebecca? She’s been the closest method to conducting energy from the outside world to inside my mind. What chaotic eldritch thought-forms spew from my mind, she’s translated. What gross incompatibilities the outside world tries to plug into me, she neutralizes, like a cure to a poison.

  I felt like she wasn’t the one person I could trust, but the one person I couldn’t help but trust. I don’t know if it was my body betraying me, a foreign influence pulling me towards her, or if I was meant for her without having been clued in on it. Every time she said something, it was with substance, and that substance pulled me in.

  We sat on the grass closest to the side of the rooftop. There was enough grated fence, plus I was so immobile that I was nearly lying down. I would’ve been totally fine staying at the lounge, but she made the decision, I thought to myself.

  Tension marked any other interaction I’ve had with others; outside of my control, anyone I met put me into a position to enact a task for them, play a role for them, or otherwise put pressure to imprint themselves onto me. There’s nothing I’ve been able to do thus far but resist, like a windshield traveling at a high speed. Like splashing hot water on a cold windshield, Rebecca unwound all my tension. I felt like she didn’t desire a certain image or a certain request. I was company, accepted without ulterior motives. I can’t say she’s wanted something from me beyond what I offer myself. She was the key that broke the chains that held me together. She didn’t want to change me; she didn’t want someone else only to settle with me; it only felt like she wanted me to be me. I didn’t have control over relaxing my integrity before, but I felt like I didn’t have control over keeping myself together now.

  She seemed spent. It was late afternoon, without being as late as early evening. I really don’t know what’s going on. Is it a past issue? Is it something resurfacing? Is it something today? Something with a friend? Is she really just tired? Is it someone she saw here? Bad memories? A sour interaction? Was it me? I had my chance to ask, though.

  “So, uh, going back to earlier. You’ve been…or well, I feel like I’ve seen you stare into space a lot today. It felt like you were dragging around baggage,” I took a few moments to think what next. “I want to carry that load with you. I don’t know what it’s like, what it’s like to be you, but I’m asking. If there’s something I can do-” I was cut off.

  “I get it. You don’t have to keep going. I would like to share, but I’m not sure if this is the way to go about it. Plus, I’m not sure if I have my words put together. I don’t know where to start, and really, I don’t know what any of it would change. It hurts to be constantly told you're broken and that you just have to ‘suck’ it up and deal with it, or that you'll never be accepted if there's lines you can no longer go across. It hurts. Whenever I even think about it, it’s just…dizzying.

  What happened to me…how do I put it…something happened a while back. I’m still working through…things. I feel like I’ve mostly been able to move on. It just feels like…I don’t know, like an allergic reaction if my skin were memories. What I thought I could trust dissolved, and I feel like it’s been hard to look at people the same ever since.

  They're disappointed because I look pretty but can't provide "the good stuff" they want. Scars, no matter if they're visible or not, do not heal. I can only say I feel like I was changed. During that moment, I was not in complete control of myself. There was no shadow to hide under, nothing I could do to protect myself, no door to escape through. At best, I was alone. At worst, I was trapped. And the weakness I have…nevermind. Time had been my shackles, and no amount of effort could reverse it, end it, or let alone make it pass by faster. I feel like I was changed.

  And yet, there were no bruises, cuts, lesions, or any physical evidence. They all dismissed me. Shows what kind of ‘friends’ they were. Does this mean what I went through was not real? Was the insanity all in my head? As long as I remembered the quotes, reciting line for line, all of it, the sins branded on me wouldn’t take solid form. The memory would burn, molten, still mutable. As long as I stoked my flames, I could bring everything to light.” She said.

  Rebecca. I felt like the only person I have connected with so far is Rebecca. Not Nick, not Phoebe, certainly not Joh, not Anna, no one, no one at all. They don’t even pretend to try. It’s like they’re entirely different species.

  I began to gravitate closer to her while we sat.

  “I’m not sure if I put on a mask or if what I am now no longer has a place of my own? I wonder if I’ve snapped, like a cord pulled too taut, and my connection to them came free. I know I’ve cracked a lot of jokes to you,” She teared up, “but I wonder if it were all just a wall, a chaotic border of fire, unpredictability consuming any attempt to reach who I really am.” She said.

  She doesn’t have a crush on me. She’s never loved me. As a result, there’s no illusion she’s tricking herself into- she doesn’t see past me. Every gesture is genuine; every time she includes me, it’s genuine. Everything she does isn’t because she wants to win my attention and isn’t an attempt to single me out; everything she’s done is just who she is. She’s just like this. She’s just someone who listens. She’s just someone who is attentive and engaging. If everything was stripped from her, what’s left would be someone who cares. She’s consistent, her behavior is reliable, and whatever trust I put into her is entirely my fault if I’m let down. She’s trustable not because she tries to be but because she treats others equally.

  “I don’t know who I see as people anymore. I don’t want to be this way. I don’t think it’s healthy to see others the way I do. But I can’t help but see through them- instinctually scavenging to sate feral desires- controlled like filthy pigs loaded with parasites. Even just an iota to surrender to their instincts and everything they do feels motivated by spreading misery.” She said.

  Will I continue to be at Rebecca’s side if I don’t let her know what I think? Will we part ways? She’s been the only key so far to ensure the grotesque amorphous sludge I’ve seen isn’t my own delusion. She’s been like a skeleton key to me.

  “I’m sorry for getting caught up in this…this mindset.” She curled up a little.

  I tilted my head the way the billboard illustrated. I leaned in with my mouth like a fish: ever so slightly open. I glared into her eyes like I was a snake being hypnotized by a flute. I tried to encircle her with one arm.

  She shrieked.

  She violently pushed me away.

  She tried saying something, but nothing could come out right aside from visceral panicked noises.

  As she stood, fear went to anger went to explosive rage, ending back into choosing flight between fight-or-flight. She stumbled but ran without stopping.

  I had not the intention for the sins I committed.

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