Curious

Chapter 4: Insanity Rising

Note: this chapter is still in its editing stages. Feel free to skim this chapter as I don't currently have time to go back and fix it. The beginning is boring, the middle is revealing, and the ending of the chapter is definitely worth noting. 

CHAPTER FOUR: Insanity Rising

Curiosity is distracting.

This is what Simon learned in the days following the door’s initial appearance. Curiosity dragged you from otherwise appealing conversations and into a dark corner where you couldn’t avoid the questions that lurked in the back of your mind, questions that needed answers the weren’t readily given, that you couldn’t search up with the click of a button.

This curiosity was all consuming. Simon found that he was unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few moments before his mind once again turned to the set of doors and the mystery that surrounded it. The door loomed all day and all night in the back of his mind, casting a shadow over every thought Simon had. Curiosity was like a magnet of the most powerful kind; once attracted, you were unable to demagnetize yourself.

Simon was relieved that he had successful driven Adam to shortening his trip. The latter had left without further incident the morning after. Simon felt a pinch of guilt at deceiving his friend by leading him to believe he was the reason for Simon’s foul mood, but he found it easy to push those feelings aside. He was already mortified enough. Simon had spent the last seven years putting as much distance as possible between his past and himself and when he’d finally regained full control of his mind, his friend had to visit and witness his horrifying relapse. It certainly wasn’t the best of pictures though Simon would be lying if he said he didn’t see the irony in it.

Simon thought about the doors all the time. He thought about them as he performed his daily ablutions in the morning. He thought about them as he sipped at his coffee. He thought about them as he rang up yet another one of Ms. Finch’s pathetically trashy novels. He even positioned his stool behind the bookstore’s counter so that he had a clear, uncluttered view of the palace door, its golden filigree so often reflecting off the afternoon sunlight.

Every day, Simon would approach the doors before opening the Booktique. This was quickly becoming a ritual. Simon would first pause on the sidewalk and casually glance around the street to make sure no one was about. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he would hurriedly walk up to the door and jiggle the knob. He tried everything to pry the door open: bodily force, wrenches, bobby pins yet the door remained persistently still. He hoped to find the door open one day though that day seemed to be far, far away. Nevertheless, Simon did not lose faith; it looked as if the door was looser than it was that first day. It made some, however small, movement when he rammed at the door. His budging was making a difference.

It was too tiny of a difference though because every day Simon would finally lose his patience after two long minutes of frantic shoving and return to the Booktique, his mood set for the entire day.

It was always the door that skulked in his mind. In the often slow business hours, Simon mulled over the questions that always followed the door. What was it doing there? Why was it torturing him? Why was he the only one who could see them? How could he be relapsing after all this time? Why?

It was becoming a bad habit—this curiosity. It made him neglect his bills, his store’s bills, his car’s bills. Because of this curiosity, Simon’s usually meticulous grooming had been abandoned in favor of a cave man in a wrinkled suit.

Curiosity. He laughed bitterly at the euphemism. It was more like an obsession. Of course something like this would happen to him. His sullen being simply attracted the worst.