The Tens Vanessa Jones (historical books to read TXT) 📖

her skin but didn't feel its dampness or coolness. Her skin was aflame with purpose when her eyes travelled upwards to her chosen building. She remembered visiting the rooftop bar many times, years ago. The fake plants held in concrete planters lining the balcony desecrated with countless cigarette butts. The Friday evenings she would visit would be awash with mid-tier corporate dickheads, with tight suit pants, pointy brown brogues and shirts all the shades of a bruise: lilac, blue and violet.

As she travelled up the clunking, smelly elevator she felt elated at the possibilities of who she was becoming. Or, rather, who she’d missed that she’d been all along. The elevator doors pulled open and presented her with the empty bar and the wide balcony. A bartender had his back to her as he contemplated the rows and rows of bottles lining glass shelves and one bored waiter slowly laid out one knife at a time on the perfectly set tables. The balcony doors were open, despite the threat of the sunshower and the white curtains billowed inwards, an invitation from the angels.

Sophie stepped out onto the balcony, alone, as the curtains whipped around her like she was in a music video. She placed her handbag underneath one of the curtains' hem and stepped towards the balcony rail. The planters were still there, possibly would always be there and she lifted herself onto one, balancing on the thick edge on the balls of her feet. Once she felt the slight rain, only then did she truly feel it— every single sprinkle that touched her skin. She didn't even know that you could feel so much sensation at one time, yet distinguish every tiny pinprick. Her hair whipped back behind her and her navy dress tightened around her thighs as if they were thick horse reins being pulled on. Sophie leant her torso forward and was relieved that she had finally learnt something so obvious. Yanking her earbuds from her ears, she took the fullest breath she felt she ever had and look upwards. She could fly.

'Ahh no, you don't.' A firm but jovial voice commanded her from behind. Sophie felt her dress pull tight against her as someone grabbed hold of it and pulled. She pushed one hand into the railing and leveraged it to turn around and see who was tugging at it. Lemon juice and musk hit her nostrils as a rigid arm shot around her waist and pulled her backwards, a shoe falling off to the side of the planter box. Instinctively, Sophie sucked in her stomach and she felt another arm snake around her, clamping her in between them. Her earbuds toggled around her neck, jostling together.

'I got you. You don't want to do that.' Her skin had lost its tingle and her tongue had lost its words. Confused, she looked at where her shoe had fallen and the clamping arms awkwardly shuttled her towards the otherwise of billowing curtains, where an empty Chesterfield lounge awaited her.

Blink, she told herself. You must remember to blink. Otherwise, they will suspect something. All her efforts were focused on trying to blink naturally, normally. But it felt like she was relearning to blink again.

'What's your name?' The arms released from her waist and a man with blonde curls appeared in front of her face. She noticed his hand was clamped down firmly on her forearms, though.

Blink.

He cocked his head and Sophie could see he almost wanted to smile at her.

Blink.

'Come over there to the bar with me? I need someone to try my new cocktail.' He pointed to the marble bar with his chin.

'Soph... ie.' Blink. Her words were soft and she yearned for the startling lucidity that she just had. He nodded like her name was no surprise. Now that the electrifying clarity had left her, Sophie's shoulders hunched forward, her chest collapsing with despair. She looked down to her lap, then her feet; one shoe on, one foot bare. Her heart ached for that fleeting invigoration to come back and her mind flashed to the absence of her husband.

'Come and have a drink, yeah?' His hands slid to cup the underside of her forearms and he lifted her and she felt weightless, like the curtains that still danced behind her. The waitress sidled up to them and presented her shoe as if she were Cinderella. 'Here you go!' she said proudly, tugging at her waistcoat with one hand. Sophie didn't say anything but did let her place the shoe in front of her foot, whilst the bartender didn't break his grip on her arms. She slid into her shoe and followed him meekly to the barstool he pointed towards.

Gratefully, she sucked up the syrupy orange drink he unhurriedly prepared for her. Three sips were all it took before she was crushed under the weight of her dismay. Her eyes prickled and filled with tears. 'What do I owe you?' Sophie asked politely after she moved the third drink towards her crestfallen chest.

'Absolutely nothing. Pull out your phone.'

Sophie shook her head, fearing he was going to ask her out.

'Just do it. I want you to call a friend in front of me to come pick you up.'

The relief of avoiding being asked out made her willingly call Bree to come collect her.

Bree answered almost immediately. ‘Soph! So sorry that I have missed your calls. It’s late… everything okay?’

‘Yeah. No. Hey listen, I know it’s an inconvenience but is there any chance you can come pick me up?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Err… Hotel…’ Sophie looked around her as the bartender mouthed the hotel’s name at her. ‘...Richton.’

‘I’m not far away. Be there in a few minutes.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

'Have you ever been to therapy before Sophie?' Carla was just the right shrink for her and Sophie was captivated by her from the very first moment. Bree had picked her up, no questions asked and as she