Deal

"Shit. I think I did it this time. Fuck."

Elly struggled to roll herself onto her side, her arms and legs heavy like bags of wet concrete pushing into the foam mattress further and further as if she had become a part of the bed. Inanimate. Lifeless.

On the bedside table, dirty glasses of various liquids half-drunk, some with visible bacteria floating, growing on the surface creating tiny ecosystems for fly larvae, and fruit flies dancing around two bottles of over-the-counter sleeping pills, one empty, one with only a few left in it, and even more empty prescription bottles scattered on and around the mountain of filth that was the area beside her bed. She couldn't swallow. Through strained gasps, she tried to gain control of her bodily functions and undo the damage she had done.

This wasn't the first time Elly had tried too hard to put herself to sleep so she could escape the pain of heartbreak. Once again, she'd allowed herself to become too invested in some man that decided to throw her away like garbage, and she had gotten to the point of feeling that she WAS garbage. The pain was too heavy to carry and she had nothing left within herself to fight through it and move on with her life.

Her life felt over, so she was ready for it to end.

In a strange moment of clarity, while she fought her own body in an effort to catch just one full breath and swallow, trying to reset her dying heart, she thought of the day her baby brother was born. She remembered walking to school in the rain with the biggest smile she'd ever smiled, singing and skipping, excited for the miracle of his birth and hopeful for the life he would live, that she would get to see. He was all grown up now. A fine young man, a hard worker, smart, kind, and engaged to the girl next door in the process of planning their wedding. The love between them was tangible and radiated around them like some kind of magic spell in a fairy tale where you could almost see pink and purple sparkles swirling in their midst. Elly decided to rally her pathetic broken soul and pull herself out of this cold, dark pit she'd gotten herself into and managed to roll onto her side and vomit onto the floor beside the bed following what seemed like hours of dry heaving. It felt like giving birth to death itself, oozing out of her until she finally lost consciousness and was able to rest. She almost did it this time, but once again, she chose to push the restart button on her life instead.

It took a few days for Elly to recuperate from the overdose of pills and alcohol. When she could compose herself enough, she decided to explore other ways to cope with her depression. She still didn't really want to exist anymore, but she did want to be able to support and encourage the people that she loved, so she decided to stay. But that meant she was going to have to make some changes. She was going to have to face her demons in some way that channeled her pain into some sort of life rather than try to dance with death under the influence of drugs and alcohol.

As a child, she loved reading which soon led to a full-blown passion for expressing herself through writing poetry and songs and plays. She was obsessed with the English language, the way words sounded, their origins, saying her favorite words out loud over and over with varying emphasis, trying desperately to learn to weave them into sentences, paragraphs, prose to share with others. She was the pet of all her English teachers, head of her school paper, and darling of all those who heard her read or sing or perform her works.

At some point, she stopped focusing on developing her craft and started obsessing over boys. Her favorite outlet for self-expression had turned to pages-long diatribes of pleas for them to love her, and half-written journal entries she would give up on when her emotions would take charge and she was too depleted to continue. Spiraling, she would send text message after text message to numbers that had blocked her, begging for reconciliation, affection, acceptance. No one was listening. She knew they were gone, and yet she persisted.

Finally, Elly was ready to stop giving in to this, the very definition of insanity, and get back to that darling girl that would give performances on the end table in her childhood living room. She pulled out her laptop and started to type.

What could she write about? She wasn't inspired to write poetry or songs like when she was a kid. There were no cute little quips running through her mind to write in a journal. She wanted to tell a story. A story she would like to read. A story that would play like a movie in her mind and help her escape whatever else was running through it.

Elly scoured the internet for inspiration. Social media is creepy when it stalks you with its algorithms and ad placements, but sometimes it can be helpful if you're actually looking for something. Instead of only trying to escape the life in the world she was in, she wanted to create a world of her own.

A world that SHE controlled, instead of feeling like an unwanted passerby in a world of others she watched live their lives and leave her behind.

After hours of digging deep into the realm of possibilities and opportunities smacking her in the face with offer after offer, endless ads claiming all of her dreams could come true for the low, low price of $19.99, she remembered an e-mail she got from a site she'd looked at months ago that was simply a platform for writers who wanted to share their work, that had ongoing challenges one could participate in to win prizes. She clicked the link in the old e-mail, and it led her to a challenge with a simple requirement that seemed like just enough of what she needed to spark inspiration.

Although she was sure of the story she needed to tell, she didn't want to tell the same old story she'd lived over and over again in the same way. As she started to type, it was coming out just like what had happened to her and her brain, unable to reconcile the memory from the present time, began to trigger her emotions and she started to lose control again.

"No! This isn't it. This isn't what I want. I can't keep going through this, especially when I'm not actually going through it right now. It's too much. Too much."

Elly was about to give up and close it all out, lowering the laptop to close it, when she had an idea. She opened the laptop back up and started typing again, only applying the parameters of the current challenge on the website to her story instead. Now seemingly possessed, she worked furiously for hours on something different than she'd ever written before. She felt renewed, refreshed, powerful.

It was only a short story and she didn't win any prizes, but a person of influence in the publishing community had read what she'd written and reached out to her. It took a few e-mails and a phone call for her to respond because she assumed that the person was just another scammer of some kind she'd almost fallen for before, but eventually, she and this 'big-wig' connected and she was offered a book deal by a prominent publishing house.

This girl was on fire. Elly's life changed dramatically almost instantly. Suddenly, she was a bestselling author, traveling the country, giving interviews on t.v., speaking on panels at writer's conferences. She went from living in a tiny studio apartment working a series of mundane dead-end jobs to paying off her debt, buying her parents a new home, and working regularly doing something she loved doing more than anything else.

She made it. She really did it. She created a life for herself that she truly felt in control of. A life where she didn't feel like a supporting character in everyone else's stories.

It was glorious.

There was only one thing missing. Often, late at night when she couldn't sleep, Elly would feel lonely. She was meeting a lot of new people, but no one seemed very interested in her for anything more than signing books or discussing the subject matter and/or inspiration for the book she'd already written. The book was filled with short stories inspired by a series of heartbreaks she'd endured throughout her life, each of them relating to specific people and trauma she'd experienced, but carefully woven into a tapestry of riveting fiction in different genres. Essentially, the stories were all fairy tales with dark turns that people couldn't get enough of. But the excitement was waning in the public and she soon realized that those experiences were the only thing that really made up her life to that point. She'd given so much of herself away in those stories that she wasn't sure how to move on to a new journey. She felt healed from her past, confident in her present, but woefully uncertain about her future. And in the middle of all of this, she still had not found real love in her life. At one point, unready for it, she now yearned for someone else to share all of this with. Someone she could talk to just as herself. She still had so much love to give and wanted to be loved intimately in return as well.

In the last leg of the book tour, Elly managed to sneak away to a little diner on the corner she'd seen that had a sign that claimed that the best peach pie in the United States could be found there. Elly loved peaches and thought it would be nice to get away and grab a treat for herself before the reading scheduled in the evening. The door stuck a little as she opened it, and there was a bell that only half rang because it was caught on something. She felt like she had walked into another decade as she scouted out a spot for herself at the counter, the place deserted at this time of the day except for an average-looking guy sitting in the corner rolling silverware.

"I'll be right with you," he said not looking up from his task.

"Take your time. I know I want to try the peach pie and a cup of coffee, but I'm in no rush," she replied, wiping the area in front of her with a napkin from a sticky holder. It was a bit dingey in there but had a sort of charm and realness to it that Elly very much appreciated.

The guy in the corner came to a stopping place in his rolling, wiped his hands on his apron, stood up, and went to the counter, his back facing it to the kitchen, looking for something.

"Shit," he said, throwing his hands up and back down on his waist. "I'm sorry, but it looks like I'm out of the pie."

Disappointed, Elly replied, "Well, that sucks. Ok, well just the coffee is fine."

He went over to the coffee pot, which had apparently been off for some time because the pot was cold, so he said, "I'll make a fresh pot just for you!"

Elly noticed the pot looked off at that point as well and half smiled before responding with a little, "Why, thank you, kind sir!"

There was a sweet energy between the two of them as they struck up a chat while the coffee was brewing. The guy's name was Deacon, and he was actually the owner of the diner. He had inherited it from his father a few years back and, even though it wasn't really the career path he'd saw himself taking, he couldn't seem to let it go. He also wasn't terribly good at owning or running a diner.

Time slipped quickly with each drip and sip of coffee that both Elly and Deacon shared while enjoying each other's company. It turned out that they had a lot of similar interests and Deacon, who wasn't much of a reader, had no clue who Elly was, so she liked that. Before too long, Elly was starting to get texts from her assistant beckoning her to return to her obligation to the book reading that was now only about an hour away from starting. She didn't want to go. What she really wanted to do was stay there in that diner for the rest of the day and help Deacon clean it up and maybe bake a fresh peach pie he'd boasted as 'The Best in the U.S.' She reluctantly acquiesced to the request of her anxious assistant and left her phone number with Deacon, hoping he would call her and they could meet again soon. He smiled and refused to take payment for her coffee, and promised he'd have the pie if she wanted to come back.

Just before the door closed behind her, Deacon said, "I close up at 8."

Elly looked back, smiling, and replied, "Good to know," before heading to her engagement.

The reading went on as scheduled. Aside from being a little hungry from missing lunch and high-strung from all the coffee, she delighted the audience with one of the stories from her book. She chose the one titled "Blue Box," which was the tale of a young woman held prisoner by a sadistic sociopath for six years, ending with the villain in the tale becoming the hero after accusing his victim of kidnapping him. The twists and turns poetically performed in an almost sing-song style by the author herself.

After the last question was answered and the final autograph penned, Elly's thoughts all went to Deacon. It was 8:45 and she wondered if he was still in the corner of that diner rolling silverware or playing a game on his phone he had mentioned he was obsessed with, in which the player has to solve a series of puzzles in a limited amount of time. She looked down at her phone to see if she had any texts or missed calls.

Nothing.

Still, she decided to take the chance that he might be there and packed up her things, ready to return to her hotel the long way around so she could swing by. As she bundled up all she had into a rolling suitcase, her eyes turned to a hard copy of her book displayed on a table in the bookstore where the reading was held. She didn't have any of the hardbacks on hand, so she hailed the store clerk's attention to see if she might purchase that one to give to Deacon, hoping he might be interested in seeing her work. The clerk was a little confused, thinking it odd that she didn't have her own copy, but happy to oblige fulfilling the author's request. The book was purchased and packed tightly amongst the rest of her things, and Elly was ready to make her way to something that made her feel hope and inspiration rise up within her once again.

The exterior lights of the diner were all turned off, and the interior was black except for a tiny glimmer of light shining from the back corner of where she remembered the kitchen was. Elly sat for a moment in the car her assistant had rented for her and took a deep breath.

All this time she'd been so blessed with success and opportunities she never imagined when she was laying in her bed straining to pull herself together enough to throw up the pills and alcohol she'd abused that night so long ago when she felt her life was completely over. She thought of Michael, Glen, Jack, Alfie, Bryce, Richard...

She thought of the countless men who had used her and abused her, accused her of taking advantage of them by simply speaking to them and opening up her heart. She thought of every unanswered call for help, every broken promise, every unexplained abrupt departure, every time someone spit in her face, threw things at her, punched the wall beside her head while screaming hurtful insults. She thought of how stupid she felt for trusting any of them. For any reason. She remembered feeling like she really was garbage. That she deserved the hand she'd been dealt for some karmic reason she would never know or understand. Maybe sins from a past life. Punishment from the Universe coupled with the curse of never knowing why.

She had to let it go.

So she created a world, an alternate reality in which all of these people, places, experiences, traumas could be shared and purged from her. Instead of her having to kill herself to kill the stories that made up her life, she managed to channel them into something new and brilliant and more alive than she'd ever felt before.

These thoughts welled up in her tired dark eyes, tears she was able to quickly wipe away and look up into the mirror above the steering wheel to fix her smudged makeup.

"Finally," she whispered to herself.

"I can do it. I can release it. I don't need it anymore. It's not me anymore."

Secure in her renewed perspective, she closed the mirror, tidied her flowery dress, and set her hair just right so she would look as confident and strong as she now felt.

"I'm not garbage," she whispered again before opening the door to exit the car.

Beaming with hope, a first-edition hardback version of her very own book in hand, she approached the side door of the diner where it looked like the light was coming from. There was a small window beside the door and she could just make out Deacon sitting there looking at his phone. She grinned, guessing that he must be playing that game he was telling her about.

She gathered her courage and just as she was about to knock on the door, she heard a woman's voice calling from outside of the back office where he was seated. She couldn't make out what the woman said, but she heard Deacon reply, "Yeah, honey, give me just a few more minutes. I'm about to finish this level."

Elly's hopeful fist dropped, limp, to her side, and her heart fell along with it. She tried to remember if she'd seen a wedding ring or if he'd alluded to a wife or girlfriend in any way at all. She went over their hours of conversation in her mind wondering if she'd misunderstood somehow or read into the situation.

She looked down at the book in her hand, the back cover with her picture and the "About the Author" blurb underneath. That was HER picture. That was the picture of the woman who turned her nightmares into engaging entertainment for the whole world to witness. That was the Warrior Queen who defeated her demons with life instead of death. The deity of her own universe, powerful and merciful to all of her creation.

She was stronger than this feeling. She was more powerful than the emotions trying to pull her back down into the pit again. She took charge of her past to create the most beautiful future.

This would not defeat her.

After one more deep breath and wiping away the tears that tried to stain her countenance now transforming into goddess-like confidence, she decided to overcome the urge to walk away and went ahead and knocked on the door. Just a few taps. Just to say 'hi,' 'bye,' and 'thank you for the coffee' before leaving town for the next stop on the tour.

"Yes?" Deacon looked out into the shadowy alley, his head turned in the opposite direction of Elly who stood at his back, barely breathing, unable to utter the words she'd planned to say.

Then, with the force of every punch, every emotional gutting, every ear-ringing screamed insult, every unanswered plea for affection, attention, every real or perceived abandonment, neglect, abuse, unfounded accusation, and pure careless and callous rejection, Elly bashed Deacon in the back of his head and the neck with the corner of the formidable and deceptively heavy first-edition hardback copy of the book she'd put her whole heart and soul, her life, into, breaking the skin and hitting an artery, blood spurting like a pierced garden hose painting the dark desolate alley with the remnants of her vengeful and righteous rage.

Immediately rendered unconscious by the blow to his head before uttering a sound, Deacon fell out of the doorway, hitting his head again on the edge of the metal garbage bin just there by the door.

Still quiet, her composure unhindered and still holding the book tightly, the picture on the back spattered with Deacon's blood, Elly walked back to her car, looked into the mirror again to adjust her hair and makeup, then drove away, back to her hotel to get a good night's rest before her early flight in the morning to the next stop on the tour.

"I am not garbage," she whispered as she stared at the road ahead of her.

The morning came fast, and Elly, fresh and focused, ready to move on to her next destination, opened her laptop to catch up on e-mail before it was time to depart. There was a message from her editor inquiring if she had any pages ready for the new book. She'd been a bit stuck for some time, so the pressure had been causing anxiety, to say the least, but she'd dreamt of an idea that finally seemed to have solidified in her mind. A cleansing deep breath and a sip of fresh, hot black coffee with just a pinch of sugar preempted this reply,

Dear Karen,

I've got it! Pages to come after I land in Chicago. Thanks for keeping me on task! Talk soon!

Elly