Haven't A Clue

I walked in the front door and turned on a light. "Hey, thanks for everything tonight."

"Yeah, well... it was nothing. You know..."

"I know."

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yep. Good night." I closed and locked the door behind Mickey as he left. I turned the light off and went upstairs to my room.

Rather than see the horrible mess that was my face, I went to the bathroom with the lights off. Brushing my teeth wasn't exactly easy - I'm sure there was at least one broken tooth, but I'm afraid of dentists so until it gives me major problems, I wasn't going to investigate it any further.

I went into my room and got ready for bed. I threw the worn-out sweats I'd had for years on and climbed into my twin-sized bed. I sometimes wonder if I keep such a small bed as some kind of punishment - it's the perfect size for one, but completely uncomfortable for two. I hadn't really dated anyone since Jayme, but it wasn't like I had taken myself totally off the market. Sure, I was a little afraid of going through the hassle of a relationship only to see it fail, but I'm sure if the situation presented itself, I'd be willing to try.

I nestled into my usual sleeping position - flat on my back with my arms behind my head - and tried to sleep. I remember seeing the clock as I got into bed - 1:24 am - and looked at it again. Almost two-thirty. I don't remember sleeping, but I definitely wasn't awake.

It was going to be another one of those nights.

Since my parents divorced when I was five, I've had problems sleeping. I don't have nightmares, but there were a lot of nights where I woke up from a sound sleep, soaked in sweat, convinced that someone was trying to hurt me. My older sisters told me that they remember hearing me kick the walls - like I was running away from something - and moaning a lot. Once my dad got remarried - he had custody of us - he took me to a specialist. They told my dad there was nothing wrong and that maybe I should see a psychiatrist instead.

I was nine when I started going to Dr. Ian Woon. He was a nice enough guy, but really strange. I'm pretty sure I was his first child patient - all that meant to him was that I was smaller than most of his clientele. He asked me all sorts of questions about my childhood and the divorce. He seemed really suspicious of my sisters, which I never really understood, and helped to convince me that the divorce was not my fault.

Before the divorce, things were not good between my parents - hence the divorce. They yelled a lot, threw things at each other and slammed a lot of doors. There was one time, a few weeks before my mom moved out, I remember quite clearly. I was sitting in my room, playing with my building blocks. I could hear my parents downstairs yelling at each other about how they didn't love each other and how it was a mistake to get married and have kids.

"Especially Nicolas!" Mom slammed a plate on the counter.

"Anita, don't say that." Dad said quietly.

"Dan, you know that we should have stopped after Theresa. It was hard enough for us to feed two children. Another mouth was just going to be a burden."

"But... there's nothing we can do about it now."

"No, but there was a lot we could do about it then."

"Anita, please... he can hear you."

"Good. That boy deserves to hear the truth."

By that point, I had my hands in little fists, covering my ears. I was crying quietly and didn't move from my spot on the floor until my sister Theresa walked by my room. "Nicky, what's the matter?" She picked me up and took me over to my bed.

I couldn't speak. I just kept crying. Theresa held me and rocked me back and forth, something a mother should do - not an eight year-old. "Shush. It's going to be alright."

After a while, I stopped crying and got off her lap. "Theresa, does mommy hate me?"

"Oh, no, Nicky. Mommy and daddy are just going through some problems." She pushed my hair back from my face and gave me a hug.

"Okay. I believe you."

After hearing my parents that day, I couldn't be in the same room as my mother. I'm sure that any five year-old overhearing that fight would have thought the same thing as I did - that your parents hated you. I was convinced of that until Dr. Woon told me that my parents were not meant to be together.

What Dr. Woon couldn't fix was my sleep problems. He sent me to more specialists and the results were the same every time - there was nothing wrong. He knows everything about me - and has helped me through a lot of the rough spots all teenage boys go through, which is more than I can say about my dad.

He remarried and quickly had three three more kids - Greg, Philip and Tony. They were the apples of his eye. I feel sorry more fo my sisters than myself. At least I still had some attention and you always needed an extra kid to play a sport. Marcia and Theresa were shunned by both my dad and step-mom. We had absolutely no contact with our mother - her demand, not ours - so my sisters had to rely on each other. I tried to help as much as I could, but I was two years younger and a boy. There are some things I have no business helping with.

I was hoping that when I started university and moved out my sleeping habits would improve, but no. They only seemed to get worse. I thought that living the typical university-student lifestyle would help - late nights, lots of partying and studying - but I only got more tired. I tried to exhaust myself but the only thing that happened was I got really sick and ended up in the hospital for a few days. Sleeping pills did nothing and abstaining from coffee was useless.

So I learned to live with it. I used the time that I wasn't fully sleeping to do other things, even if that meant cleaning my house at 3am. Lately, I've been sleeping for an hour or so at a time, but waking up suddenly and feeling like I haven't slept at all. It's enough to drive you mad.

I sat up in bed and looked around my dark room. A light from the street was coming through the window, enough to allow me to see a little bit. There's my dresser, my bookcase, my closet, a pile of clothes I should was in the morning... and there's the painting that Jayme did for my twenty-first birthday.

Jayme was a decent artist, but not one to ever have her art shown in a gallery - no matter how small and desperate. She told me once that she painted because she had these pictures in her head that had to come out. The painting she did for me is a jumble of reds, blues and greens... it looks like someone took a bunch of Christmas lights and smashed them up and then glued them all together on a piece of paper. It's not pretty, but it's at least original.

I laid back down on my bed and tried to will myself to sleep. My usual technique was to imagine my body falling asleep, from my feet to my head. I gave it a try again and found that my head was in too much pain to fall asleep. I got up and went into the bathroom, not turning the light on.

The benefit of living in a house you can call your own is that you can put your stuff wherever you want it. I could find almost anything in my house blindfolded. I reached into the drawer on the right side of the vanity and took out my painkillers. I took a few out of the bottle and swallowed them down with some water. Even though I didn't turn the light on, I could still see my reflection in the mirror. I could tell that there was something wrong with the left side - it looked darker than the right. I leaned in to get a better look and it only appeared darker. I put my hand up to my face and felt the swelling. It was worse than any injury I'd gotten in high school. It felt cold and warm all at the same time; tough and soft. I had a sudden feeling of invincibility - if some fucker could only do that much damage, how tough am I? The feeling left as quickly as it came.

I was a chicken-shit, no doubts about it.

I crawled back into bed and tried to relax. It had been a rough six or seven hours and I needed to get some rest before I have to get up in the morning.

--------

I woke up, feeling fully rested for a change, at 8:00 am. I slapped the alarm off and stared at the ceiling. I didn't have to get up, I could have stayed there under the warm covers all day. Guilt soon came over me and I got up. I walked downstairs and put some coffee. I could already hear Mickey's truck running. He had to start it and let it run for 15 minutes every morning before he left or else it'd stall on him.

I was putting toast in the toaster when I heard the back door open and Mickey walk in.

"Hey, buddy. Joe's on?" He took off his hat and sat at the table.

"Yep."

"Sleep well? You look a little better than yesterday."

I poured us each a cup of coffee and sat down across from him. I scratched my stubble and stretched. "I guess. I had a short sleep and then took some painkillers around three. Fell back to sleep after that till eight."

"That's better, right?" Mickey knew all about my sleeping habits. We lived together after Jayme and I broke up and he was quite used to me getting up in the middle of the night.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Look, man... about last night."

"Mm-hmm?" I took a sip of my coffee and lit a cigarette.

"What were you trying to prove to Jayme?"

"Prove to Jayme?"

"Yeah, you said that you apologized for everything. What the hell was that about?"

"I don't know. I guess I've been waiting a while for an opportunity to say it and it finally came."

"Well, my man, you couldn't have picked a better time." Mickey slurped down the rest of his coffee and got up. "You gonna be around later?"

"Where else would I be?"

"I don't know. Over at Jayme's?"

"Um, no. That's probably the last place I'd be today."

"I'll pop by after work. Later." He went out the door and I got up and cleared the table.

I'm never sure who's side Mickey's on when it comes to Jayme and I. One minute, he's telling me that I'm a fucking bastard, the next he's telling me she's a fucking bitch. It runs hot and cold with him. Sometimes I wonder if he's the one who broke up with her, he's so involved in our relationship.

I went back upstairs and jumped in the shower, careful to not look at myself in the mirror. I knew the time would come when I'd have to see the damage, but I really didn't want to. If I could go through the next few days without looking at myself, I'd be perfectly happy.

I turned the water off and opened the shower door. With my eyes closed, I grabbed my towel off the rack beside the sink. I stepped out and gingerly wiped my face off. Then I opened my eyes.

Well, by the look of my face, my aspirations of being discovered as the next male supermodel in the near future was out the window. I turned the light on over the mirror and leaned in to get a better look. The entire left side of my face was bruised - yellow, green, blue, purple, and quite possibly black bruises went from above my eyebrow to my jawline. There was a cut from just above my ear to the middle of my cheekbone. My eye was bloodshot, but that wasn't a surprise - I woke up more often than not with bloodshot eyes. I pressed on my jaw and it felt sturdy, definitely not broken.

Shaving was going to be a challenge, and I wasn't prepared to only shave half my face, so I left it. I work from home, so it's not like I'm going to be going against the dress code or anything.

I went into my room and changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Working from home also meant I didn't have to spend money on suits and stuff like that. I went into my office down the hall from my bedroom and turned my computer on.

A degree in general studies means shit. It really does. I thought that getting one would open up all sorts of cool career possibilities, but no... I could have become a teacher. That's it. And I'm not teacher material. So I took an online course for a year and got my diploma in accounting, and now I'm an accountant. Oh, the excitement.

I worked in an office for six months after I got my diploma and hated it. I hated the ultra-competitve atmosphere and the boringness, so I decided to leave and start my own business. I did some research and found that if I based it in my home, I could write off some of the expense of my house and some utilities. I'd just bought this house with money I got from my grandparents (on my mother's side - I think they feel a little guilty for raising such a cold-hearted bitch) so I figured I'd give it a go.

I don't touch business accounts. I only do personal accounting. When I started up, I managed to hit tax season and put up posters all over the place - at the grocery store, the senior's centre, the gym. I was getting more calls than I could handle and had to turn a lot of them away. Over the last few years, I've built up a bit of a client base and I've learned to deal with people a lot better.

Jayme couldn't understand why I went into accounting rather than becoming a teacher. I like the control I have over people as an accountant - I can tell them how to spend their money (or not) and I can tell them how to live their lives within their means (or not). Money is at the heart of everything these days and I like to have control over some of it.

After a few hours of working on how to get Mrs. Fibriani a better tax break, I stood up from my desk and went to the kitchen. After I opened all the cupboards, I decided to go out for lunch. Another benefit of working from home - lunch breaks were unlimited.

I drove downtown to my favourite diner - The Village - and pulled into a parking spot across the street. I got out of my car, went in to the restaurant, and sat down at my usual table.

"Hey, Nicky, what are you having today?" Gladys was the typical diner waitress - bitchy, friendly and fun. She'd been working here for almost 30 years and ran the place like it was her own. She never gave you a chance to look at a menu, so you had to know what you were going to have the minute you walked in the door.

"Um, I'll have the special. And a coffee."

"Okay, honey. Be right back." She turned and went up to the window between the kitchen and the dining room. "Nicky's having his usual, Jim. And make it snappy." She came back to my table and looked at me intently.

"I, uh, got into a fight last night." I put my head down slightly so she couldn't stare at the mess.

"Oh, honey, let me look at that." She grabbed my jaw and tilted my head towards the flourescent lights above. "Oh, dear. That looks nasty. Have you been to a doctor?"

"No. I had a friend look at it last night."

"This friend a doctor?"

"No, she's not."

"Oh, she?" Gladys had been trying to fix me up with one of her granddaughters since Jayme and I broke up. I like Gladys and all, but I think I'm going to have to pass.

"Yeah. Mickey was with me and he called Jayme to see if she could clean me up." I wrenched my head from her hand and looked out the window.

"Jayme, eh? Are you two...?" She looked at me expectantly.

"No, we're definitely not back together. She was the closest person that Mickey could call. She cleaned me up and I went home." I shrugged as if it was all nothing

"Well, it better be. I'll be right back with your lunch, honey." She clapped my shoulder lightly as she walked past.

I liked living in a small town sometimes, but other times, it was way too confining. Everyone knew everyone else's business. You couldn't sneeze without half the town knowing about it. When Jayme and I broke up, I'm surprised it didn't make front page news in the paper with the reaction we were getting from people around town.

Gladys came back with my lunch - a toasted bacon, lettuce, tomato and swiss sandwich on sourdough with a side of fries. She put it down in front of me and put her hand on my back. "Nicky, you know, I have just the granddaughter for you..."

"Gladys, I appreciate the concern, but..."

"No buts, you should meet her. Come in for coffee on Thursday and I'll introduce you." Gladys looked at me, her hands tightly clenched in front of her. There weren't any other prospects on the horizon and I didn't really have anything to do on Thursday. Ah, who would it hurt if I went for coffee with this girl?

"Sure. What's her name?"

"Brianne. Bri for short."

"Okay. Well, I guess I'll meet her on Thursday."

"Yes. Come in around 3:00 pm. She'll be in here after class." Gladys looked at my plate and then at me. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to eat your lunch." She leaned closer to me. "Dessert's on the house today. Don't let those guys know." She pointed to the regulars sitting on their stools at the counter.

"Um, thanks." I picked up my sandwich and took a bite.