NEUROTIC. CHAOTIC. ANTI-PROBLEMATIC. P S Y C H O S O M A T I C.
The line between make-believe and real life must finally have snapped for me. Like really snapped. Was this how crazy people felt when they finally realised that they'd gone crazy?
Do crazy people even know when they've gone crazy?
Because if I knew that I was going crazy and crazy people didn't know that they'd gone crazy then that'd mean that I wasn't crazy after all... which I dearly hoped.
There was a resounding smack as the last box of my things hit the floorboards of my new living room. I stood and cracked my back, eying the mountain of cardboard boxes distastefully.
“That everything?” My dad poked his head in through the door. An aging Englishman, still chivalrous enough to take a day off from work to help me move into my new apartment in North Strathfield. He was wearing his 'baggy olds', though I couldn't really tell much of a difference from his normal faded denim jeans and white bonds t-shirt.
“Yeah,” I said, casting my eyes in one final sweep around the room, “That should be it.”
“You sure you don't want a hand setting up?”
I saw soft concern in his eyes. His little girl moving out of home... and so far away! I smiled and gave him a hug,
“I'll be right dad.”
“Ok then, wingnut.” He kissed me on the cheek; a prickly kiss from his 'Dorian Gray'-style goatee. “Give me a ring if you need anything.”
“I'll be fine! Honest!” I started gently shoving him out of the door, “Now bugger off and let me set up.”
After he had left I stood in the center of the room for a moment. It was funny how my life could get packed into a series of 8 boxes, a couch, fridge and computer. How depressing.
I decided to set up my computer first, unpacking the Macintosh and throwing the plug in the socket was simple enough. The speakers would take a little more work to position around the room, but for the moment they were fine sitting on the little Ikea desk my dad had supplied me. I loaded iTunes and chucked a playlist together. Something to fill the emptiness of the room until I'd unpacked.
With Devin Townsend pounding out of the speakers I felt more energised. My bedroom had already more or less been unpacked... I'd get to the other boxes after a cigarette.
Sliding the glass door to the patio open, I pulled a bent and abused box of Benson and Hedges Smooth from my back pocket and lit a cigarette, breathing in deeply to savor the nicotine hit with a sigh as I leant on the brick wall that fenced off the patio from the 4-story drop.
I'd finally decided to leave home for the sake of my own sanity. I had books to finish! I was one of those people with way too overactive imaginations; I usually found it useful to write whatever my brain dreamed up from one day to the next in book form. The only problem with being in a dead-boring graveyard shift job like mine was that I'd be driven to the edge of insanity in my little white room with 4 white walls and navy blue carpet 4 days a week.
So I daydreamed, but this is where the overactive imagination separates itself from the active imagination. Lately it had felt like I had a movie cinema in my head; too many people, too many places, too many creatures... I was going insane!
A friend had suggested that I spend a little more time writing. The only problem was that after living so far from work, I got very little time to sit down in front of my computer and 'put pen to paper'... at least figuratively speaking. This is when I had decided to make the big move out of home – closer to work and alone.
Of course my mother had been a little upset, my father had given me the lecture on how expensive and hard it was moving out of home but my mind had been made up. As loving as my mother and fathers intentions had been, I really needed a chance to clear my head – literally – or I'd end up getting myself committed!
In particular was my lack of a leading male in my Magnum Opus. I mean, I hadn't exactly been the most popular girl in school, and coming off the back of a nasty breakup barely a few weeks ago (that may or may not have contributed to my new found desire for independence...) I had very little inspiration for male characters in my stories. They usually ended up being a loosely based plagiarism of Legolas from Lord of the Rings or Allanon from Terry Brooks Shannara series. I was officially the worst authority for male figures in literature in the world.
Okay so there was one. He was kind of my secret; whilst other girls was fantasizing about their favourite movie star or singer I was writing my little books. I actually started a trilogy with this character... but I'd quickly outgrown that once I left high school and attempted to live life in the 'real world'.
I had hoped that moving out into a new social circle would force me into a different male demographic... as opposed to the rev-head loving, car-kissing twerps that I'd been to high school with.
I sighed deeply, watching the people walk below me like ants. A vague idea to write a random short about how tough it is to be a writer in a position like mine passed through my head, but I waved it off as a blunt waste of time.
The sound of another glass door opening dragged my mind back to the present – rather regretfully. I liked my long daydreaming sessions in solitude. I looked to my right, where someone was stepping out of their apartment.
It was a man 3 or 4 years older than me. Black jeans, grey t-shirt... and pure white hair. Like... anime-style blonde. No halves... it just hit your eyes with the full force of the spectrum.
He pulled a cigarette packet from the back pocket of his jeans and sparked up, taking a long drag with doubtlessly the same look that I must have had barely 2 minutes ago as the nicotine sank into his lungs.
He looked over, seeing me and gave a slight nod of his head in greeting. I caught a glimpse of his eyes and had to catch my jaw before it hit the floor. Deep honey gold.
Shit.
I flicked my cigarette over the balcony with trembling fingers and hurried back inside the door, shutting it behind me soundly. I leant against it, letting myself slide gently down the glass.
I wasn't stricken. I had seen plenty of attractive males in my life, none of them had the ability to make me fall to my knees.
Well maybe one. The one standing outside.
“Fuck no.” I argued with myself. I had to have mistaken something. It was overcast outside... had I confused shadows with the small spiderweb-thin scar trailing across the left side of his jaw?
No. I knew that face. I knew it all too well.
I leapt to my feet, grabbing the nearest box labeled 'Writing stuff' and started pulling papers out, letting them pile on the floor. I had to have forgotten something; because I swear to god I knew that mans entire life story.
I knew because I had created him.
Which was insane. I knew it was insane. I mean who the hell has the ability to randomly create people out of thin air? God? Was I going through some kind of God-hallucination? I paused for a moment, half-hoping that I was just daydreaming again and I'd snap back to myself; standing on the balcony with a cigarette in hand.
Nope. Nothing.
I suppressed a sigh and shoved my hand as far down into the 'Logitech' box as I could reach. I felt the familiar touch of spiral-bound sketchbooks beneath my fingertips.
“Ah ha!”
I grabbed as many as I could with one hand (which turned out to be four) and ripped them out of the box, sending papers and school exercise books spilling out onto the floor. Which one? How long ago had it been?
I flipped through the first sketchbook; elves, a mage... no, too old. From my 'sword and board' fantasy days. I tossed it to the side and grabbed the next one; Demon, anime girl... this was the right one.... now where...
There.
I flipped a page and stared, dumbstruck, at a perfect portrait of the man I had seen standing on the balcony barely two meters from me. Underneath was a roughly scrawled note; 25+ or something... Daemon.
Daemon.
“Impossible.” I whispered to myself, “You've finally cracked.”
The line between make-believe and real life must finally have snapped for me. Like really snapped. Was this how crazy people felt when they finally realised that they'd gone crazy?
Do crazy people even know when they've gone crazy?
Because if I knew that I was going crazy and crazy people didn't know that they'd gone crazy then that'd mean that I wasn't crazy after all... which I dearly hoped. If I wasn't crazy and by some sheer miracle of the powers that be I had brought this man into creation, then I was now living next to the man of my dreams. Literally.
I clutched the sketchbook in a deathgrip and got to my feet, moving back towards the balcony. The song on my computer faded and changed; the first bars of Lady Gaga echoed around the room.
Monster.
Firstly I expect you to judge me on this. Yes. I have the Lady-G on my computer. Secondly, the fact that Genius had decided to flick THIS particular song on at THIS particular moment... I was almost as creeped out as I had been when I saw the oh-so-familiar face next door. The significance of this? My Daemon was... well a demon. Half-demon, half-succubus to be exact.
I shook my head, sliding the door open again. He cast a quick glance in the direction of my balcony as I stepped out. After a quick thought I dropped the sketchbook onto the floor, trying to avoid any sort of awkward exchange having him see the sketch may have started.
“I don't usually scare girls away that fast until I've at least opened my mouth.”
My heart galloped and did the final 200 meters of the Melbourne Cup around my chest. His mouth broke into a perfectly rehearsed smile – not revealing too much teeth.
I knew why he didn't show too much teeth. It's how all of his kind smiled; fangs can freak out even the most steadfast Twilight groupie.
I blinked rapidly, speechless. This was impossible... and fantastic! What would you say to someone who you'd spent so many late nights up with, saved from countless instances of death and worked with through his messy too-young-and-too-fast marriage breakdown?
“Hi.”
Hi? That was it? Faced with someone you'd known for almost 9 years, and the most you could manage was a weak 'Hi'?
Inwardly I defended myself. What else could I say? 'Hi! Have you managed to divorce your ex-wife yet? How's the Underworld going lately?
He flicked his cigarette butt over the balcony and cracked his shoulders. I swallowed and gripped the brick balcony under clawed fingertips,
“Sorry, You startled me for a sec. I was daydreaming.”
See? That's not too bad.
“You looked like you'd seen a ghost.”
I laughed, a little too high pitched to be anything other than slightly manic.
“It happens a lot. Sometimes I think I'm going a little too crazy.”
“Too crazy?” He raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged, getting used to the feeling of my heart beating like a hammer in my chest.
“Craziness is just another way of looking at the world.” I whispered, taking in every little detail of his face. Was it my own craftmanship? Or had I simply caught a glimpse of his in some place long ago and not remembered?
Slight arrogant amusement flickered through his amber eyes,
“I didn't introduce myself. My name's Daemon.”
I knew that! I SO knew that! I crowed triumphantly in my head. Aloud I said,
“Jacqueline.”
He grinned and leant against the balcony,
“Jacqueline? That's very...”
“Long?” I offered.
“Old school.” He finished, “Not many refined European names around these days.”
In that split second I loved my name. I loved it.
“Daemon is old.” I replied, “Very... demonic.”
His face darkened a little,
“My parents had a sense of humor.”
Did they ever...
His phone rang; the ringtone from the movie Crank. I inwardly did a little excited jig. Who was it? Nidal? Carmilla? Sidney? I went through the list of his associates like a menu in my head.
“Yes? Sidney?”
Bingo.
I suddenly remembered a little detail I'd written about Sidney years ago; she was a double-crossing Witch. Literally. I made a mental note to discreetly drop warning signs in the future. That was assuming that he suddenly didn't drop from the face of the earth as soon as he walked back into his apartment and I woke up in a padded room with lovely men in white coats.
He pushed the phone from his mouth to speak to me,
“Sorry, I should leave you to your daydreaming.”
“I understand.”
Oh boy did I understand.
“Cya.” He turned back to his door, sliding it open. I had a sudden idea,
“Daemon!”
He stopped and turned back to me. I clenched the balcony in my hands again,
“Um, I got a bottle of Canadian Club black label with your name on it if you feel like a chat when your not... busy. Being... neighbours after all...”
Well, aren't we being the captain of the obvious? I closed my eyes in embarrassment, catching the soft humor in his voice,
“Sure thing, neighbour... I just have a small... problem ...I need to deal with first.” He emphasized the word as he said it.
Demon? Vampire? Ghoul? Marius? Was it Carmilla, trying to lure you out for a bounty or had the Left Hand killed again?
I nodded and tried to mask any excitement I felt as I slid my own door open again.
“Sure... be careful.” I spoke over my shoulder, casting one last glance in the direction of the impossible creature standing on the balcony next to me. He grinned, a cocky grin.
“Always, princess.”
EEP!
I almost tripped into my doorway, falling against the glass as I slid the door shut. That was my little girl giggly moment. Princess!? Any boy who knew me knows that I liked being called princess – what girl doesn't like the idea of being a princess? – but only he had the ability to make me fall through a door with that one word.
I rushed over to my computer, activating the broadband wireless and hastily opening my email. I drafted one to my dad, grinning like an idiot as I began;
Dad!
You'll never guess who I met today...
