Insomniac, part 5
Insomniac: Whole story, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5
Tariq’s alarm was an insistent buzz. The sound was shrill and terrified. He batted at the clock and it went silent. Outside the window, Tariq could hear the sputtering of a bus and the chatter of school children.
Blue light seeped around the window shade and through its tears. The room was too bright and Tariq’s eyes felt very dry. He forced his eyelids open. He watched the clock until its red numbers came into focus. 6:31.
His body ached. The tendons in his arms felt too long. The muscles in his legs felt too short. He didn’t want to challenge his back with movement. He groaned. He felt like he had slept for about ten minutes.
The morning would be rough. He could imagine his dead voice on the phone with clients. He could picture a meeting in the conference room about layoffs. He would need to force some humanity into his voice to commiserate with Brad- to tell him everything would get better.
Tariq pressed with both arms and forced his body to a sitting position. Someone’s hand rolled off his chest and into his lap. The sleeper’s fingers stroked Tariq’s leg. He could see the abrasions from where the wood of the sword had dug into his skin. He had tweezers in the bathroom, but wasn’t sure he had a good way to sterilize them. He thought about how important it had been to him the night before to return the fake sword.
“What nonsense,” he thought.
He looked across the bed to where Flynn lay. His mouth hung open slightly, but twitched up into a smile like he was enjoying pleasant dreams. His chest rose and fell evenly and smoothly.
“It’s like his breaths were assembled in a factory.”
Tariq thought back to end of the night. He could still feel the hard stone of the plaza against his spine as they rolled back and forth, tongues struggling in each other’s mouths. He remembered how they had carried each other home, like they were drunk and giddy and nineteen. How they had paused at every street corner to make out. How they had fallen, groping, against trash cans, too eager to touch each other, to press against one another. How they had fucked on the hallway floor with the apartment door wide open and their clothes half on. How they had limped to the bedroom in search of lube. Tariq wasn’t exactly sure whether he had fallen asleep mid penetration.
He could smell coffee now, wafting in from the kitchen. The pot was set to be finished brewing when he got out of the shower. He would need to hurry to leave on time.
“This day will require lots of coffee.”
He watched Flynn. Tariq would need to wake him before he left. He felt bad at the thought of kicking him out. Tariq wondered what had happened to the sword or the bull mask. He vaguely remembered realizing en route home that they forgotten them and Flynn saying, “Fuck it. I can make new ones.”
Tariq figured he could give Flynn a few more minutes to sleep. He stumbled to his feet and looked out the window. Crowds passed on the street below. They wore heavy coats and avoided eye contact. Everyone walked with determination and purpose. Tariq wandered towards the kitchen.
Santa and the old woman lay asleep together on his couch. They had the black sheet from Flynn’s performance tucked around them. Their clothes were scattered across the floor. Tariq was surprised that with Santa’s ample frame they could fit on the couch so snugly.
The bruise on Santa’s temple was swollen. The skin was deep purple like a sunset. Tariq examined the wound and Santa opened his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” asked Tariq.
Santa yawned and Tariq could see his missing teeth.
“I’ve had worse,” said Santa.
“Can I get you anything?” asked Tariq.
The old woman exhaled a snore. She shook her head from side to side without waking.
“Quiet,” said Santa. “Beatrice could use some sleep.”
Santa leaned down and kissed Beatrice. She cooed. Tariq went into the kitchen. He normally loved the smell of coffee, but now it made him feel queasy. He turned off the coffee pot. The clock ticked on the wall. He watched the second hand. He imagined it as the finger of a nervous accountant, overzealously double checking inventory. The clock read 6:44.
He walked back past Santa. Beatrice stroked Santa’s beard with one hand. Santa’s feet were out at the bottom of the sheet. His toenails were large and yellow and Tariq wondered at how his toes could be so hairy.
Inside his bedroom, Flynn’s hand was moving back and forth like it was searching for Tariq and couldn’t believe he wasn’t in the bed. Cars honked their horns outside the window. Flynn opened his eyes. He smiled at Tariq and his eyes sank closed again.
“What’s the matter?” asked Flynn. “Trouble sleeping?”
Tariq walked over to the bed and sat. He didn’t respond. Flynn’s hand stroked his thigh. Tariq located his phone on the nightstand. He figured it would be about an hour before anyone at work decided to call. He turned off the phone and pulled up the sheets on the bed. He crawled in and wrapped himself around Flynn. Within seconds, he was asleep.
