Fading Polaroids in Reverse
James Eddy
Copyright 2013 James Eddy
Bewilder
Heart over Head over Heels
Bonfire Blues
Lily Green
The Devil eats Coleslaw
The Graveyard
Hello, Emptiness
Revelations
The Ghosts Are Out Tonight
In Dreams
Diamonds
Cover by nasirkhan c/o Morguefile, Alvimann c/o Morguefile, Michael S. Richter, Lauren Bathurst
Publishers Notes
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Manufactured in the United Kingdom.
Fading Polaroids in Reverse
Scott Drake was woken by the noises coming from the room next door. The unknown lovers thumped out a regular rhythm through the wall, as he stared up at the pattern on the ceiling. He couldn't make out the names being moaned but it seemed safe to assume it was the same couple he heard every Tuesday morning.
The sky was dark that day. Grey light drained in through the window and hung heavily in the air, making the room even more dull and uninspiring than usual. For Scott, every hotel room had become almost interchangeable. Everything was white and reflective or antiseptic. The towels, the sheets and even the matching wooden desk and bedside tables.
When he first moved into this room he'd watched the way the sun shone into it. How it hit the west wall at an angle that revealed the pattern of brushstrokes left behind; a kind of fingerprint from years before. But that was months ago. And it felt like a lifetime. Those brushstrokes and the tiny beer bottle notches in the top of the wardrobe seemed like the only real signs of life in the room.
Scott lay on the bed looking at his feet. He was glad he'd at least managed to get his boots off. All he felt was an aching moan in his bones and every breath came with nausea rising and falling in his chest. A heady cocktail of guilt, too many late nights and too much time to think was still taking its toll on him. Staring at the other side of the bed, he couldn't forget the mornings when darkness had given way to regret. The mornings when he'd looked at whatever woman was next to him until he'd realised that he barely knew her. That was the time he’d first tried to stop himself feeling. To forget Rebecca he'd gone with women he knew he could never love. It didn't help. It just made it easier to say goodbye.
Back then, Scott took his detachment even further. New friendships had become little more than one night stands. Acquaintances that were friendly enough but still barely moved past the first “Hello”. The court jester made King, he'd created an image of what he thought was expected of him. He'd say, “I’m a drinker not a dancer and a lover not a fighter. But if you give me enough drink, I’ll dance and if you give me enough love, I’ll fight to the death”. It was the kind of posturing that hardly helped him.
As his neighbours moved towards their noisy crescendo, he reached over to the bedside table. That was when he noticed how much noise the woman next door was making. ‘She’s probably cheating,’ the cynic inside him silently declared.
That thought evaporated as soon as the music on his mp3 player found its way to his ears. ‘Perfect Circle,’ by R.E.M. always reminded him of the countryside where he grew up. It made him think of lying in a green field on a sunny summer evening with all his friends.
Just fourteen years old and peering up at a pattern of jet trails in the reddening sky. Fourteen years later, he still remembered the applause of running water and how the tentacled branches of the trees darkened against the dying light. Some days he missed those things. This wasn't one of them.
Despite the distance of miles and years, Scott couldn't think about the setting of the sun with any rose tinting. For a start, he no longer knew any of his friends from back then. Most had got married or had kids and still lived there. That was a completely different world. A world he believed he couldn’t ever call home.
The music faded and his neighbours muffled pleasure became audible barely long enough to be annoying. Another song began and drowned them out again. Once upon a time, any Replacements song could have put a smile on Scott's face. Of course, that was only when he understood that if he’d heard them as a teenager he'd have been more angst ridden but much happier about it. Unfortunately for Scott, by that point, all ‘Black Diamond’ made him think about was Sarah.
When they met, The Replacements were the first band they both loved. That was one of the reasons he liked her so much. Another was that Sarah was completely different to the women he'd known since his records started selling. She was real and that made her an exception to the boho posing and tragic gracelessness of almost everyone else. That was also what made missing her even more terrible. So, most of the time, he avoided thinking about her. It was much easier to silently destroy all the women who could never compare to her.
Even that didn't help and he wasn't really surprised. He'd known that loving her so much had put him out on a limb. That was the only place he'd wanted to be but it wasn't safe for a heart as fragile as his. When the cancer was diagnosed, she was strong and good humoured and even when she got worse she stayed graceful and lovely. But that was when Scott had fallen apart.
The instant he'd seen her red hair as it shone in the sun, outside Cambridge Corn Exchange, he'd wanted to feel again. Her china blue eyes had somehow brought back the beating of his heart. The months after they met were the closest he'd ever come to a completely calm life. And to something that was steady and purely good. For that, and maybe a million other things, he loved Sarah almost endlessly.
She was gone within a year. On Bonfire night, he watched fireworks light up the morphine sweetness of the dark. Her pain was eased as she was taken away and all he wanted was to not feel anything anymore.
He pulled the earphones from his ears before another song could begin. He reached down beside the bed for a half full bottle of vodka. The cold liquid ran down his throat and the familiar warmth travelled up his spine, briefly bringing peace to his mind. It was only afterwards that it occurred to him that he ought to stop doing this.
Tiredness was his problem that day and the drink was lying heavier on his soul than usual. He looked at his watch. It was twenty five past ten; there was still a couple of hours to wake up and pull himself together.
Scott deposited the bottle onto the bedside table and slid off the bed. He picked out clothes from his suitcase and, with a yawn, made his way to the bathroom. Mirror walls in front and beside him made his reflection difficult to avoid as he went to the shower cubicle and switched it on. He was tired and hoped the water would revive him. That was not going to be an easy task. He settled for using the sound and sensations to distract his mind while getting ready to meet Rebecca at one o’clock.
They'd been seeing each other for nearly a month and when they were together things were great. Scott was already digging on her pretty badly. There was something about Rebecca that soothed his heart. He smiled at how drunk he was when they'd met again and then at how quickly he'd sobered up when she came towards him. Shock was the obvious cause. Not only at seeing her but also because she was as beautiful as he remembered. In fact, for a few moments after looking into her eyes again he'd been lost.
A beautiful night, that was more beautiful for being unexpected. They went to a bar Scott owned called ‘Diamond’ and toasted “New beginnings,” with a first kiss, second time around. Guilt followed. After two years, he realised the pain of Sarah’s death had become bearable
and he hated himself for that. He still missed her and knowing he'd never see her again still hurt but somehow it was diminished; lacking the worst of the rawness that had once tortured him.
Scott undressed and stepped into the shower. The shock and step back was immediate and cold water remained on his prickled skin as he adjusted the heat. The second try was more successful and he soon warmed to the task of cleaning himself up.
With the shower off, he stepped onto a soft white linen towel on the floor. Steam and coma eyes obscured his reflection in the mirrors. He didn’t stop. Drying and dressing, he walked back into the bedroom, pausing only briefly to peer through the window. There was no sun in the sky but at least the couple next door seemed to have shut up. His mind only wandered again when he sat down on the