Nocturnal

by Ilia Bera

  “Wow…”

  “I feel bad for the girl, to be honest. Her dad was a psychopath. He was the executioner at the prison—what’s it called—The Fort Daevins Penitentiary. My parents told me to stay far away from them—I guess the dad was a total creep.”

  “Executioner?”

  “Yeah—after they brought back the death sentence, he was the guy who did the dirty work.”

  “Wow,” Connor said.

  Brittany finished the final sip of her drink.

  “It’s funny—we live so close together but we’ve never even met,” Connor said, smiling handsomely at Brittany.

  Brittany bit the edge of her soft lip and blushed.

  “Is that your real eye-colour?” Brittany asked.

  “What do you mean?” Connor asked.

  “Your eyes. Are they really that blue, or are those coloured contacts?”

  “These are my eyes,” Connor laughed.

  “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but they’re stunning.” Brittany smiled.

  She’d always been a lightweight. It usually only took a drink or two before she loosened up.

  Gently, she placed her hand down on Connor’s firm, athletic thigh.

  “Hey Connor?”

  “Yeah?” Connor asked.

  “You seem like a really cool guy. We should really hang out like this again sometime.” Brittany smiled flirtatiously at Connor.

  “Um,” Connor said uncomfortably. “Brittany?”

  “Yeah?” Brittany asked, gently massaging Connor’s leg with her fingertips.

  “I think you’ve got the wrong impression.”

  Brittany’s expression dropped.

  SEVEN

  REJECTION STINGS

  “Brittany—You seem like a nice girl, but I’m not really looking for—looking for a relationship, if you know what I mean...” Connor said.

  Brittany sat frozen for a moment, and then she retracted her hand from Connor’s thigh.

  “Oh—I think that you’ve got the wrong idea... I—I wasn’t hitting on you, if that’s what you think. I—I wasn’t hitting on you.” Brittany laughed nervously as she looked away.

  “Oh,” Connor said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “—No, no. I’m sorry. This happens a lot,” Brittany laughed. “People are always mistaking me as flirting.” Brittany laughed. “It’s funny, really. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh. Okay—good. I didn’t mean to assume anything.”

  Brittany forced a smile at Connor as Andrew returned with the drinks. “It’s fine,” Brittany said, her face red with embarrassment. “It happens.”

  Brittany felt sick to her stomach. She hid her trembling hands between her thighs. The rejection stung deep, and time seemed to have suddenly stopped—stopped to torment her in her moment of awkward humiliation.

  “Is everything alright?” Andrew asked as he stepped up to the table.

  “Yeah,” Brittany said.

  Andrew placed a drink down in front of Brittany. She bit down on her lip, trying to hold back the embarrassed tears that were swelling in her eyes. As Brittany reached forward for her drink, she awkwardly knocked it over onto the table, spilling it everywhere.

  “Whoa!” Andrew said, dodging the spilled drink.

  “Careful!” Connor said as he jumped back.

  “Shit! I’m—I’m so sorry,” Brittany said frantically, quickly picking up the spilled glass and trying to soak up the fluid with all of the available napkins.

  “It’s okay,” Andrew replied. “It happens.”

  “I’ll go get you another, drink,” Connor said, hopping to his feet—a perfect excuse to get away from the awkward tension at the table.

  “I’ll grab a rag from the bar,” Andrew said, turning towards the bar, leaving Brittany sitting alone to wallow in her spilled embarrassment and her shameful rejection.

  Andrew returned with a rag and started to wipe up the mess. “I’ll grab you some fresh napkins in a second.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Brittany said again. “That—That never happens.”

  “Seriously—don’t worry about it,” Andrew said. “My brother will happily whip you up another one for free, and the spill didn’t get on anyone’s lap. There was no harm done.”

  “I feel so stupid.”

  “Don’t feel stupid. It happens. I do this at least once a night.” Andrew smiled. “You just happened to beat me to it tonight.”

  Brittany was struggling to hold back her tears. Andrew quickly grabbed a rag from the bar and began to wipe up the spill.

  “Seriously—it’s not a big deal. See?” Andrew said, motioning to the clean table. “It’s as if it never happened. It actually looks better than before the spill.”

  Brittany didn’t respond.

  “Are you okay? Can I get you something?”

  “Sorry—I think I got a little on my leggings. I’m just going to go and clean up. I’ll be right back.” Brittany stood up and looked around. “Where are the bathrooms?”

  “Just that way,” Andrew said. “Around the corner and then on your left.”

  “Thanks,” Brittany replied, taking off for the washroom.

  Andrew watched as Brittany walked towards the bathroom.

  Connor waited for Brittany’s new drink at the bar. He looked up at the television to watch the hockey highlight loop.

  He looked back down, realizing he was standing right next to one of his classmates—Kane. Kane was keeping to himself, drinking silently.

  “How’s your night going?” Connor asked.

  “It’s going,” Kane replied.

  “Good—Good.”

  Connor continued to watch the hockey game.

  “So, what about that Brittany chick?” Kane said.

  Connor looked back down. “What about her?”

  “She’s kinda hot—and she totally digs you. You gonna take her home?”

  “Oh—No. She’s not into me.”

  “Sure she is,” Kane said.

  “I don’t know—I think she’s just a little outgoing, is all.”

  Kane laughed. “Right.”

  “What?” Connor asked.

  “She’s especially outgoing for you.”

  Connor thought about it. “Yeah. I don’t know. She’s not really my type.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong with her?”

  “Nothing. She’s just a little bit...” Connor looked back to make sure Brittany wasn’t right behind him. “Slutty.”

  “Hey man,” Kane said.

  “What? You know what I mean.” Connor asked.

  “I don’t know that I do.”

  “I mean, look at her. Her chest is practically falling out of her shirt. She’s just—putting herself out there a little too much for me.”

  “Right...” Kane said, turning back to the bar and taking another sip from his beer.

  “What? Don’t tell me you don’t see it.”

  “I guess I didn’t,” Kane said without looking back at Connor.

  Connor silently scoffed. “What high school did you go to? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before.”

  “Me?” Kane asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Kane was silent for a moment. “I didn’t go to school in Snowbrooke. I just moved here.”

  “Really?” Connor asked.

  “Yeah,” Kane said. He laughed and turned to Connor. “So what’s the deal with Mr. Fenner?” Kane changed the subject.

  “You don’t like him?”

  “You do?”

  “I don’t know. He’s pretty dry—kind of strict.”

  “He’s a real asshole.”

  Connor laughed.

  “Teachers, man. What is it about being a teacher that makes a person such an asshole?” Kane asked.

  “I don’t know—I wish I could tell you.”

  “And homework on the first day? What’s the deal with that?” Kane asked.

  Something about Kane’s small talk made Connor feel uncomfortab
le.

  “Where did you say you move here from?” Connor asked.

  “Me?” Kane asked.

  Connor stared at Kane for a moment. “Yeah.”

  “The city.”

  “The city? Which city?”

  “Lots of cities—I moved around a lot as a kid.”

  “Why did you come to Snowbrooke?”

  Kane thought for a moment. “I guess I was just looking for a change of scenery.”

  “Where were you before?” Connor asked.

  “Jesus, man—Do you work with Census or something?

  “No—I’m just curious. I just think it’s weird that someone would choose to move to Snowbrooke. Usually people are desperate to get out.”

  Kane stared at the inquisitive Connor. “I was in London.”

  “London? London, England?”

  “That’s right.”

  “My uncle lives in London. Where in London did you live?”

  Kane was quiet again as he thought. “Downtown.”

  “Where downtown?”

  Kane starred at Connor. “Why are you so interested?”

  “Just making small talk—shooting the shit, you know?”

  There was something about Kane that was really bugging Connor, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  “I put her drink in a shorter glass this time, so it shouldn’t spill so easily,” Eric said as he returned with Brittany’s replacement drink.

  “Thanks,” Connor said, taking the drink. He turned to Kane.

  “I’ll see you later,” Kane said.

  “See you.”

  EIGHT

  Charlotte Genevieve Reneux

  Connor returned to the table where Andrew was sitting alone.

  “Where’d Brittany go?” Connor asked.

  “She went to use the bathroom. Some of that drink got on her pants.”

  Connor placed the replacement drink down on the table and sat down.

  “Is that your phone?” Andrew asked, motioning to a cellphone that was left on the table.

  “Yeah—it is. Why?”

  “It rang a couple of times while you were at the bar.”

  Connor picked up the phone and looked down at it. “Shit,” he muttered as he read through his missed messages. “I’ve got to take off.”

  “Everything okay?” Andrew asked.

  “Yeah—I just lost track of time. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “See you later,” Andrew said.

  Connor put his coat on and quickly made his way out of the little college bar. He hurried down the snow-covered streets, with his coat zipped up to his face, and his hands buried deep in his pockets. The cold snowflakes felt like pellets of ice against his cheeks as the wind howled in the cold winter night.

  Running the whole way, Connor arrived at his house, and hurried inside.

  Connor’s house was your typical single-family bungalow. There was a nice white picket fence in the yard. The siding was clean and recently painted, and and the roof had been recently replaced.

  On the walls inside of the little home were photos of relatives, and the house was kept nicely cleaned.

  As Connor rushed in, he kicked off his snowy boots and made his way into the living room, where his mother was laying on the couch.

  “Sorry mom,” Connor said as he unzipped his coat.

  “It’s past midnight—where have you been?”

  “I was at my English class,” Connor said. “I kind of lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

  Connor’s mother, Charlotte, looked much older than she was. She had heavy bags under her eyes and deep wrinkles throughout her face. She appeared old, worn out, and tired, despite only being in her early-fifties. Her hair was beginning to grey and thin, and there there deep lines under her tired eyes. She was a short woman—and also very thin, weighing no more than ninety pounds at most.

  She suffered from a very bad case of Multiple Sclerosis—an unfortunate disease of the nervous system. She suffered from terrible episodes of pain throughout different parts of her body, and debilitating spasms in her muscles that would render her paralysed for extended periods of time. Sometimes her vision would cease to work—and sometimes her hearing would fail. Her condition made life especially difficult to survive. It didn’t help that her husband left shortly after Connor was born, leaving Charlotte with all of the child caring responsibilities.

  She couldn’t clean, or do yard work safely. There was always the risk that she would be overtaken by a paralysing episode, and fall down, which meant minimal walking, and no driving—leaving Connor with a lot of responsibility around the house.

  Her disease was particularly unfortunate given her past life as a professional dancer. She was incredible. Before she had Connor—Before she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, she travelled the world, performing at only the most prestigious theatres—performing the most infamous ballets.

  Charlotte Genevieve Reneux was her name before she adopted Knight, her husband’s which she kept after the separation.

  She was the top of her class as the Bolshoi Ballet Academy in Moscow, Russia. She was considered the next Anna Pavlova among ballet enthusiasts.

  A tragically unexpected stage fall put a swift end to the beautiful Charlotte Genevieve Reneux’s bright, promising career.

  “Your class ended hours ago.”

  “I’m sorry—People went out for a drink, and I lost track of the time. Are you okay?”

  “No—my left leg’s been out all day. I’ve been stuck on this damn couch since nine this morning.”

  “Do you want to go to bed?” Connor asked.

  “I need to get out of these clothes and take a shower.”

  Another terribly unfortunate side effect of Charlotte’s condition was incontinence.

  Connor walked over to his mother and put her arm around his shoulder. He helped her up and brought her through the house to the bathroom. He helped her out of her dirty clothes, and into the bathtub.

  While most people would cringe at the idea of undressing their mother, it was just a part of life for Connor and Charlotte.

  “I’m tired, Connor.”

  “I know, mom.”

  “No—I’m tired of living like this.”

  “I know, mom. It will get better.”

  “When?”

  “Your doctor wants to try that new treatment—they’ve had a lot of success with it.”

  “We can’t afford that.”

  “I think we can make it work. Jeremy is giving me his shift at work tomorrow morning—he just started this new gym regimen, and he told me he could give me all the shifts that he can’t take for the next little while.”

  Charlotte smiled. “You’re a real sweetheart, you know that?”

  “I’m sorry I was late, mom.”

  Connor helped Charlotte run the bath, and then he went to put the dirtied clothes into the washing machine. Leaving the door open to ensure his mother was okay, Connor began to clean the couch. It took a long time, but the stains were very slowly coming out.

  He looked over at a clock that hung on the wall. He had four hours until his morning shift started.

  NINE

  BRITTANY BRUCHEVESKYJ

  Brittany stood alone, in front of the bathroom mirror. The bass from the music in the bar penetrated the thin bathroom walls, masking the sound of Brittany’s sniffling.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  Someone was at the door outside of the bathroom.

  “Why is this door locked?” the girl called out.

  “It’s occupied!” Brittany called out.

  Brittany used a piece of paper towel to wipe the running makeup off of her cheek.

  “Open the door! I’ve gotta go!” the person outside yelled.

  Brittany turned to the door. “Just use the men’s bathroom!” she yelled.

  “The bathrooms aren’t for screwing!” the person yelled.

  “Go away!” Brittany yelled.

  The person caved, and went to go
use the men’s bathroom. Brittany looked back at herself in the mirror.

  “You’re so pathetic,” she muttered to herself.

  You would assume that Brittany was crying because she wasn’t used to being rejected. You would be surprised to learn that the reason was quite the opposite—Brittany was painfully used to being rejected, and it never got easier.

  It didn’t seem to matter how hard she tried—no matter how she did her hair, no matter how carefully she assembled her wardrobe, no matter how much makeup she put on her face—she was never anyone’s first choice. Nor was she their second, or third, or even fourth choice. There was something she just couldn’t figure out about herself that made her invisible to men.

  Occasionally, she would get some attention—men who assumed she would put out—men who wanted nothing more than some easy action. People assumed that she was “easy” and a “slut”.

  In reality, Brittany was anything but. As a matter of fact, she’d never slept with anyone—ever.

  Brittany was a virgin.

  She was never interested in “a little bit of action”. She’d always wanted something more, but that something never found her.

  To rub salt in her wounds, the guys that she fell for always ended up with the weird girls—the quiet ones—the ones who didn’t wear makeup, or wear nice clothes.

  But that wasn’t to call Brittany shallow, because she honestly wasn’t.

  The chosen girls were mean, spoiled and complacent. They would always make a point of rubbing their men in Brittany’s face. They constantly bragged about how they were “treated like a princess”, but never did they give anything back.

  Brittany didn’t want that—she always thought that, if a nice guy would take her out, she would treat him like a king. She didn’t want somebody to “treat her like a princess”. She just wanted to make someone happy.

  Sure—like anyone, Brittany had her shortcomings, and she knew about them. She had a history of falling for the class heartthrobs. She too was guilty for overlooking certain men because of physical attributes. She was human after all, and she couldn’t help whom she fell for.

  But when Brittany fell, she fell hard. With Connor, she fell really hard.