comfort of strangers // bastille

comfort of strangers

"We both did."

Dan talked to the narrator freely, because it was keeping him distracted from people and colours. People never took too kindly to those who talked with people they couldn't see. They would walk around him, and he could feel thick embarrassment and eyes averting as he went along. They would leave him alone if he acted odd, because that's what normal people were trained to do.

The store is up there on the right, stupid.

Dan raised his eyes. The store that the narrator had pointed out was not what he wanted. A liquor shop instead of a place where he could get actual food. "No, that's not it." He said, but then started to feel scared again. He actually had no idea where he was. The buildings were short and a bit dismal, not like where grandma lived. The streets were darkening and smelled like fried food. Dan kept close to any wall he could find, making a diagonal cross away from the liquor.

Why don't you want something to drink? You used to love to. Makes everything feel warm and happy, remember? Takes the edge off.

"Can't drink with my meds." Dan said firmly, weaving around a crowd of people and landing safely on the other side of the street.

Yeah, but you don't take those anymore, do you?

He ignored that ominous voice again. But the narrator had said his peace, and it was enough. Dan was misbehaving. He was a fuck up. But he was trying really hard to be functional. For god's sake he was buying his own food! With money that he had earned while working his job cleaning tables at a restaurant. Even when he did bad, he tried to do enough good to outweigh it.

The pills made everything too slow, and too numb. When he saw himself in the mirror he was covered in muted colours, and that scared him. He also had a hard time navigating sometimes without the narrator to tell him where to go and when. Dan's mind was far too broken to do that by himself. And worst of all, he was living in suspense on pills. Always wondering when something might leap out at him, or watch reality distort right in front of him. Normal was just too much waiting and worrying. Off of his meds, at least he would know to expect the crazy. If something scary happened when he was in his right mind, he wouldn't know what to do. But if it happened when he was broken, he would know it wasn't real. He would be scared at first, then it would go away. Sometimes he forgot that, but he usually could recall after a while. No big deal. Better off slightly unstable. Even the narrator could agree with that.

Down the street, Dan's eyes latched on to a sign. It was as run down as every other thing around this place. The neon sign blinked weakly with dying bulbs which illuminated a painted sign reading "Market!". The windows were plastered with homemade signs advertising discounted fruit and the price of milk.

Don't blow this, the narrator whispered as Dan carefully walked up the steps and pushed open the door.

A bell chimed when he entered. Dan flinched, but covered it up by adjusting his jacket. The store was fairly small, and empty of any other shoppers. Three employees were fathered at the front, two guys and a girl. They huddled around the blonde woman's phone, laughing at some noisy video playing. The woman glanced up at Dan passively. "Welcome."

"Hi." He responded softly, but their attention was already lost. Dan shuffled past them, looking at the two rows of packaged foods warily. At the other end of the store, fresh produce beckoned him. Grandma always said that he needed more fresh fruits and vegetables 'cos he ate too many crisps and candy. He liked sweet things best.

Dan inched along the bright bags and shiny wrappings, his eyes locked onto the display of apples and oranges. When he finally made it to the fruits, he paused, no idea what to do nest. He wasn't sure how many he could carry with the other things he needed.