Optic

           Henry Kirbstone, who had lost his wife three years back and who had always had an indescribable hatred for children, never expected to have found himself stuck with a small child. But that was exactly what happened… though this child wasn’t his, nor was it supposed to have been with him for as long as it was, but it was, so he fathered the damn thing (as well as a childless man could) until he was allowed a break and, as promised, a thick wad of cash.

Money was Henry’s much loved acquaintance, he rarely spent time with it but when it was around it provided Henry with a gateway to his best friend: cocaine. So when the Matthews presented to him a blonde-haired, snot-nosed, smiling demon from hell, he pushed it aside and shook the hand of the bank that stood behind it – Mr Harrison Matthews. Mr Matthews was a cardigan wearing, gelled haired, 31 year old “self-made” man (as he liked to put it) whose smile and ‘success’ had landed him a part in a few Colgate advertisements and a silver spoon seated far up his arse. Shannon, his trophy wife, shared the same interest in money as Henry, though on what they spent it set them far apart and in the first ten minutes of meeting her Henry decided that they could not be friends, but it was okay, her obnoxiously blonde hair and headache-inducing voice and perfume pissed him off anyway. 

The Matthews, in short, were a rich, idyllic family, who, making the move from Maryland to Chicago just two weeks back, had already made themselves known to the entire apartment building. They called it their “cosy living”: a place they were staying only until Mr Matthews had got the deal with the director for another shitty advertisement (Oral-B this time) and then they would move straight back home and their lives would resume, they told Henry, but until then, Room B, Floor 9 was to be their new home! Henry’s apartment (not cosy living, but very much his permanent dwelling), much to his joy, happened to be placed directly opposite.

He had been sleeping when he was awoken at 1:34pm by a persistent pounding on his front door. A late night consisting of cheap cider was written in the whites of his eyes and the stench of his sleepshirt. He sat up, head spinning, and picked up his glass from his bedside table. Avoiding the mountains of clothes and shoes and papers, he wandered over to the window and pulled it upwards, before it became stuck halfway.

Piece of shit. For $940 per month, they could have at least fixed the fucking windows.

Tipping the remains of his Strongbow out of the window, he made his way towards his modest kitchen where the banging loudened and began to feel as though whoever needed him so desperately was inside of his skull, kicking the fuck out of his frontal lobe.

“Alright, alright I’m coming”
Fucking Christ, I’m coming.
He part filled his glass with water, popped an aspirin, and made his way towards what would be the start of a bone-crushing week; in retrospect, the banging in his skull didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Mr Kirbstone! Good afternoon, I’ve got Hayley here.” Shannon gestured to the small child by her legs and then crouched down to her eye level, softening her voice.

 “Say hello to Henry dear.” The child said nothing and shifted its feet, holding on to its mother’s skirt as she stood and regained eye contact with Henry.

“We’re going out of town for the week, Harrison’s idea, and need someone to watch our angel”. Her voice was loud and sharp and she spoke as though she were being timed, desperate to get every word out before the last grain of sand fell. Henry still hadn’t made it past “Good afternoon” and was too concerned with getting back into bed to follow what the bloody woman was saying.

“Shannon,” he began, but the eager woman’s husband appeared behind the child and began to talk over him.

“Henry! It’s so great to see you, champ. Listen, what’s your week like?” his cardigan was draped over his shoulders, his hair slicked back against his scalp, that one greased strand hanging down by his right eyebrow, his Colgate smile beaming.

Busy as fuck. I’ll be spending most of tomorrow wanking I think, then I’ll take a shit, do you want to come in?

Henry stared at the greased strand in silence, but the man ran his hand through his hair, breaking his gaze.

“Not much… I mean, nothing planned”, his words fell out of his mouth as though Harrison’s hair-combing was a threatening gesture, tell me what your week is like, Henry, and tell me you’re not busy, champ.

“Wonderful! Listen I’ve got a meeting at 9 tomorrow, then at 12 we’ll be catching a plane, Hayley really won’t be much trouble, she’s with flu right now so I’ll give you her meds and there’ll be money in it, what do you say, champ?” His gaze was now on the small child, crusted snot accumulated around her nostrils, her nose was red and her eyes tired as she remained latched onto her mother’s skirt.

She’s with flu right now, Henry thought, ‘champ’. The condescending tone Harrison adopted irked him, but the promise of money awoke him from his conscious slumber and his head stopped spinning. He wanted to call the man ‘champ’ back, but instead shook his hand and collected his words.

“Sounds like a busy week ahead of you, yeah sure I mean how much trouble could one little tyke be?” Henry crouched down and, through gritted teeth, ruffled Hayley’s golden head. She smiled up at him, snot running into her mouth.

Nice, at least I won’t have to feed it now.

“Great! Mind if I come in and check out the quarters? See where Hay will be staying whilst Daddy and Mommy are away?” Not waiting for a response, Harrison swiped the child up past Henry who, still crouching, was very much against the idea of two brown noses sticking their noses into his shit. After you, go right in, make yourself at home. He stood up, jettisoned past the couple, kicked his bong underneath the sofa, causing it to make a loud crash and roll about slightly against the laminate flooring, Harrison and Shannon exchanged glances, their eyebrows raising. It better not have fucking smashed.

“I’ve not done my shopping, I’ll order some food in, and you’ve caught my place in a very, uh… untidy state.” The look of his apartment building was enough to, at times, make Henry himself feel like leaving, but the couple must have been desperate. After all, they were coming to him for help.

“Nonsense, I think it’s cute!” Shannon said, lips pursed. “What do you think, Hayley? Sleepover at Henry’s place?” The child, who had never met Henry before in her life, responded with a cough, which to Shannon was evidently comedic gold as she let out a fake roar of laughter, “She says she’s very excited!”

Henry forced a laugh and rubbed his eyes, realising the shit he’d do for a fix, he disguised his real laugh behind Shannon’s terrible joke. I’m using a child to get cocaine. It doesn’t get lower than this Henry, boy.

“Brilliant, I’ll leave her here with you tonight, then, and tomorrow we’ll be by with her meds before we set off, she’s relatively quiet when she’s ill so you don’t have to worry about her trashing the place” Harrison’s eyes glanced around the trashed apartment building, not that she could make it look any worse, “and Henry, thank you.” They shook hands again and made their way towards the front door, where they shook hands one last time before leaving him alone with their ‘little angel’, who had made herself comfortable on the couch.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

“Right I’m off to shower, how do you feel about cartoons? Power Rangers? Or are you more of a Powerpuff Girl?” Henry, trying all he could to make the child laugh, or at least smile, stretched one hand out in front of him and ‘flew’ towards the tv set. Hayley looked at him blankly, a snot bubble forming over her left nostril, even she thinks I’m a dick.

“Power Rangers.” She said, her voice was robotic and her skin was much paler than it was when Henry had ruffled her hair in the corridor just twenty minutes before, but taking this as a change in lighting, he clicked on the tv and obeyed her evidently dyer command.

“Power Rangers it is.” He dropped his shoulders and slouched, his forced smile fading from his lips, she fucking hates me.

Leaving her to her cartoons and judging stare, which still made him feel like a bit of a twat, Henry made his way towards the bathroom. His head began to spin again, much worse this time, and the clicking on of the hallway light rang through his brain, the light itself blinding him. He may as well have had lightbulbs for eye sockets. Fuck, I can’t fucking see. He stumbled towards the bathroom, turned on that light and near blew his optical lobe, he’d been hungover before- light sensitivity was nothing strange to him- but fuck, what the fuck was this? Water, he needed water, he couldn’t see a thing but he needed to splash his face and wake the hell up. He staggered over to the sink and twisted the faucet, water began to splatter out. He cupped his hands underneath and brought them to his face, drinking some, drenching himself with the rest. His forehead was burning up and his legs weakened, I can’t stand, I need a hit. Was it cold turkey? It couldn’t have been, he took a hit last night, for sure he was all good, and he absolutely wasn’t about to pass the fuck out on his bathroom floor with his neighbour’s sick daughter watching cartoons in the next room. Henry swayed, his head first meeting the medicine cabinet, and then again with the sink basin, before falling to the floor where his head collided with the bathroom tile in finality.

Four hours later Henry came to. His head was bleeding and he had apparently been sick down his nightshirt, but he could see again.  The tap continued to pour out water and had drenched the bathroom floor where Henry had laid, unconscious, late into the evening. His ears continued to ring, and he could make out muffled music in the distance;

 Hayley’s cartoons.

“Shit!” suddenly remembering the responsibility he had, he sat up abruptly, holding onto the side of the bath to support himself, and hit his head against the sink basin a second time, as if in some sort of sick joke, God had thought it funny to have him hit his head for a fourth time. The poor shit hasn’t had enough yet, concuss the fucker. Rising to his feet, Henry staggered towards the door, his senses failing him. The doorframe undulated and multiplied before his eyes and he could have sworn he heard voices. He’d had bad trips before, but whatever this was needed to be over, and soon.

“Hayley,” he could see the tip of her head poking up over the back of the sofa. Thank fuck she’s alright. “Can you pass me my phone? I-” his head span wilder, and, grabbing onto either side of the hallway walls to support himself, he threw up for the second time down his cider and vomit fragranced shirt.

The young girl was sat in the exact same position as before, her skin remained as pale as it had been four hours ago, but through the deliriousness, Henry realised that it wasn’t the change in lighting that induced the colourlessness, the girl was white as a fucking sheet. She turned her head to meet his eyes, her expression blank and lifeless, layers of dried and wet vomit down the front of her dress.

“Hayley, I- are you alright, I-”, lights flashed across his retina as they had before, he fell to the ground, pain searing through his blinded pupils. The young girl vomited once more.

“Henry, why is the room spinning?”