The vintage bed could only be described as a collage of splinters with the sole intention of making Ethan's "state of rest" a nightmare. A day of sleeping in the wrong posture would end with him having to endure prolonged back pain.
The bed even had one of its supports broken, and it lay on the ground, replaced by a brick that threw the entire frame off balance.
His attempts to get some rest were instantly thrown out the window as the constant creaking sounds were unpleasant. Well, that was only possible if his window wasn't only slightly larger than his hand.
And oh, he just saw a rat run across the room. Maybe he'd name the rat Jerry.
With a pensive mood, he stared at the damp ceiling with his arm covering his head as he wondered about yesterday's rather undesirable outcome for the meeting.
He had been recalling the entire ordeal, still stuck on the faces Ruben had made and how Caia had been castigating him the entire way as Ethan retaliated and justified himself.
He only did what was right; it was only fair that he would bring it up; it was a matter of his sanctity, after all, and it did not mean that he was an entitled imbecile who only cared about himself.
"Can't even get a wink of sleep, can I?" For a second, he felt as if the ceiling was staring back.
Just as he became comfortable and began to drift to sleep against the hardened frame of the bed that would leave his body sore, someone rushed in and slammed the door open.
"Hey dumbass, would you mind getting up and doing something worthwhile?"
"Get the hell out Caia. I'm on my break let me rest for a damn second."
"You've been on your break for 2 hours, you lazy asshole. I've been toiling away since yesterday and YOU can't even get up after lifting a heavy box for half an hour".
"Shut up, will you? I'm not in the mood to be arguing with deranged losers!"
"If that mouth of yours can be so shitty how about you actually get up and put it to use? Oh wait, the only way you can communicate is through blaring screams, ain't I right, the human incarnate of a fucking delusional loudspeaker?"
"I SAID SHUT THE HELL UP!". In his rage, Ethan picked up and hurled the detached wooden support towards Caia. Fortunately, she flinched at the right time, avoiding impact with it.
The sudden animosity had thrown her off guard, she balanced herself against the railing outside the door. What the hell was this jerk thinking? If that had hit, it could have seriously injured her. She regretted ever stepping foot into his room, she thought about refraining from ever reminding him again as a whole, and to let him reap the consequences of his own ignorance.
Realizing what he had just done, Ethan hastily and begrudgingly got up from the bed and murmured profanities at Caia as he moved out of the constricted apartment, making creaking noises with each step he took.
A brief encounter with Alkeid later, and Ethan was on the way to deliver a gunny bag full of different gardening supplies and seeds. What was a textile merchant doing with such commodities, he wondered.
"Alright so..... A left from here, then a right, then straight ahead..."
As he moved forward, he dictated the direction on the small map he was provided by Alkeid. He took a right turn from the apartment, heading straight through a colony before taking a left towards the town square, and he intended on heading straight forward even further but,
"Wait, why is the tavern marked on the map in this area? What the hell was Alkeid thinking?" Ethan scoffed and ridiculed the map, which was mislabeled, and he even laughed internally.
He tried to head back and berate Alkeid for the wrong information he had provided Ethan, well, that was until he inspected the map closely, and choosing to flip it, he discovered a completely different alignment that was also sensible.
Choosing to turn it in numerous directions, he eventually got frustrated and gave up. Returning for the time being, "Wait, which direction did I enter from?". Brilliant.
Running up a few pathways, Ethan came to a halt as he sat upon a low wall, his palms covering his face which was engulfed by an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment.
Ethan sighed as he lamented over his own blunders, irritation flooded him as he swung his legs with force,
"AAH! I can't do this anymore. What the hell did I get myself into?"
The best, no, the only solution currently would be to ask around and hope he finds a way back. He intended to do just that until a small red ball approached and stopped at his feet.
A young child with an impish face sprinted in his direction.
Being the benevolent and altruistic individual he was, he decided against throwing the ball in the opposite direction and bolting away. He picked up the ball and handed it back to the kid,
"Thank you, random uncle!" A grin, an adorable, sheepish, and bona fide smile, one that Ethan could never make himself. He would have praised the kid until he heard her words.
"OK, wait for a second, do I look that old??"
"Hmmmm, I don't know. You looked older than me, hehe"
"Oh, well, you'll be surprised to learn that I am only 19 years old! Much younger than you think."
"19? She stood and stared at the ground for a hot minute before replying further, "Will you have that white hair too?"
"Oh you little-"
The little girl burst into laughter, and Ethan followed soon enough. Thanking Ethan again, the little girl bowed slightly, and in the process her eyes stumbled upon the bag that lay slumped on the street. And she obviously asked about it.
"What's that?" the little girl asked.
"Oh, nothing, just delivering some seeds and stuff for a random weirdo." Ethan dismissively remarked.
"Must be something from Uncle Ruben." The little girl murmured under her breath.
"I saw Uncle Ruben carry the same bag before! He said he had some 'weird things' for one of his ma- mai? may- mayts, yes for one of his mayts!"
"Mates, you mean." Ethan chuckled.
"Anyways, do you...know where he used to take the 'weird things'?"
"Yes! he takes it there." She pointed to a house about 50 yards to their left, "and and! The man living there, we see him looking at the sky at night every day!"
"That hunk really has some weird accomplices, I mean, I swear to god if I find anymore of these irritating shi-" Ethan trailed off on his words for some apparent reason.
"Wha- were you just about to say something bad?"
"Oh no, no, no, you see that was uhh just a slip of the tongue. Sometimes it happens with adults you know! Ya just, just a little mistake." His desperate attempt to dismiss the prior fumble really did not succeed as the little girl gradually narrowed her eyes.
"No, you were definitely going to say something bad." The girl quickly forgot about it as she continued with her ramblings.
"He also gives us random seeds at times! But he has not given us any for a long time now." Ethan noticed the girl's gloomy expression.
He smiled, a real and genuine smile this time. He lifted his arm and ruffled her short hair, She squirmed playfully, "Heyyy!!"
"Oh wait, I never asked you what your name was."
"You did not."
"Sooo, mind telling me?"
"Ellie." The girl answered with a swaggering expression.
"I'll just stick to calling you a cheeky brat, my name is Ethan, by the way."
As Ethan finished talking, he heard kids yelling out Ellie's name, asking for her to return as she had been taking too long finding the ball. Turning away, Ellie waved at Ethan before letting out a,
"It was nice meeting you! Uncle Ethan!"
"I'M NOT THAT OLD!"
Picking up what was left of his crumbling reputation after the disastrous encounter with the Expert of Mischief herself, he grabbed the gunny bag as he headed down the street towards the large house that stood out among the others.
Its appearance mimicked that of the typical haunted houses you'd see in a movie.
When he reached it, his hand instinctively darted for the doorbell but all he was met with was the withered and damp texture of the wood on his fingertips.
He finally decided to knock on the door, bracing himself for any strange personalities he may have to confront.
He knocked on the door twice, there was no reply, and a few minutes later, he tried again. He knocked again, harsher this time. There were no signs of any movement from the inside.
"What the hell?" Turning to the window on his left he peered inside the house. He would have considered it abandoned had he not seen a man slumped over on a chair.
Ethan returned to his original position and planned to knock again. But he couldn't. His hands were quivering and shaking.
He was overwhelmed with extreme malaise.
He was hesitating, his heartbeat increasing as he grew more anxious, until he decided to give in and, for the third and final time, knocked on the door. To drown his own fear, he doubled down as he knocked on the door repeatedly and only stopped because he felt it loosen.
"Who's there banging on the door like a buffoon?!" Came a stern shout.
There was still time, he could still save face and sprint away. But he froze and stood firmly outside the door.
The door opened shortly after and revealed to Ethan an imposing individual that not only met, but far exceeded his own expectations of the kind of person he might encounter.
"Who are you?" The harsh voice demanded an answer.
What stood before Ethan was a bear of a man, intimidating would be considered an understatement.
He was bald and had a large beard that hid his neck; he was obese, and the left side of his face sagged wearily.
Ethan felt imminent danger emanating from him. But he just stood there, unable to run away.
"Uhm, Sir, I was here to make a delivery of this," Ethan exclaimed as he carefully lifted and opened the bag, allowing the man to inspect its contents.
In his mind, Ethan never made any sudden movements. Each step was precise and steady.
Ethan's mind and heart were wailing at him; his intuition yelled at him to yield and turn back.
"They hired a new guy?" his voice was coarse and his tone direct. His delayed reactions only made Ethan further anxious.
"Come in. Take a seat." He ordered.
"Oh, actually, sir, I have a lot of work to do, so I do appreciate the gesture, I really do! But sadly I have to go."
"Just come inside," Cold and demanding. That was the only words Ethan would have used to describe his tone.
Against his better judgment, Ethan stepped into the house.
As he stepped inside the house where the air reeked of Alcohol and smoke, he only hoped that what he was doing was correct. He abstained from looking around, but he couldn't help stealing a few glances.
Horrendous, that was the only word that could accurately describe the condition of this house.
What unnerved Ethan the most was not the abhorrently large pile of trash and litter, but the acute absence of it.
The curtains that had been torn to shreds by rats, gaping holes in the walls along with the floor that felt as if it would collapse if he stepped on it too hard.
There was nothing notable in the house besides a few bottles of liquor that the man kept close to himself. Except for one thing. There was a singular framed photograph that remained on the wall.
It depicted a family, a small one of three, a mother who stood with her hands tightly wrapped around a little girl, whom he assumed to be her daughter. They were smiling heartily, just like the man who stood beside the woman. The person Ethan was seeing now was the same man in the picture, but drastically different in appearance and maybe even actions.
It was frightening, not just the unusual environment but the atmosphere that lacked any form of hospitality or normality, for that matter.
This didn't feel like a house; it felt more like a trap. For Ethan, it was horrifying, especially when he noticed the shade of dark red that had been splattered on the wall.
They were seated opposite each other, on the dining table which was a minimalistic assortment of random chairs and a barely sustaining table.
He promptly grabbed two glasses as he sat on the chair.
"Say, when did they hire a new recruit?" The words came out gradually, word by word.
"Yeah, you won't really expect a newcomer this early, huh?" His speech was faltering, hesitant.
The man coldly stared at the table, seeming uninterested in their preposterous banter, "Oh, I see. I do hope you are telling the truth". His voice never carried any doubt or concern. It was stern and mildly malevolent.
"Once had one of those swindlers pass by me a few months ago. Poor lad was screaming and begging for his life by the time I let him go. Those guys, a few fingers and they get back on track."
"Oh...? Is that so? Well, I was only here for a small delivery you know?" Shit. Ethan's mind was in utter pandemonium.
"Why state the obvious?" Those uncaring eyes glared directly into his soul.
"What's there to be this scared about? I won't hurt you. I haven't hit anyone in a long time, let alone a stranger who was only out to do his job and earn his wages."
Was he saying what he meant? Ethan didn't know, he couldn't understand the true intention behind the man's words. He was racing against time.
He needed to escape, and he had to find a reason for doing so. If he were to abruptly get up and run, there was no saying what the man would do.
He was dragged out of his thoughts with a sudden groan before he had to make sense of the incorrigible words he had just heard.
"Here, have a drink." That was what the man had said.
"No, sir, I don't drink." Came the delayed reply.
Each minute Ethan spent here felt like an eternity. His anxiousness had reached a new high as the man slid the glass, partially filled with alcohol, towards him and just told him to drink. He was at a loss for words, unable to respond or do anything. The man sitting in front of him could very well be the last person he meets; if so, he thought he would rather take his chances and do what was necessary to flee.
He believed at that very moment that obeying the man would be the only option that could provide him with such an opportunity.
He braced himself and, in a second, picked up the glass and chugged the drink.
Immediately after he yelped and screamed, his throat was burning as if it had been lit on fire. He grimaced, and his eyes teared up. The taste according to him was absolutely atrocious. He had never drunk alcohol in his life, and his first experience drinking it was due to the pressure from the man who weighed on him and had effectively cornered them.
Strangely enough, in reaction to this, the man broke out laughing, "You young folks cannot even drink a sip! You yelped like a child being forced to take medicine."
The laughter had indeed lightened the mood, but it was still far off from being palpable. Upon finally calming himself, the man quickly asked another question.
"Say, you sweet summer child, you got a family?". The peculiar question echoed through Ethan's head. He didn't know how to properly reply to such a question. Why would he care about his family?
He had himself not seen them in a long time, he had no idea whether they are still alive or not and to put it bluntly, he did not want to be reminded of his shortcomings or the shortcomings of the mother and father that never stood by his side, that were absent for the majority of his life.
The sister who argued with him, fought with him and ultimately felt safe with him. He did not want to be flooded with these fleeting memories again.
After a while, he spoke up, "I did, but I'm no longer in contact with them. I have no idea where they are."
"Do you love them?"
"..."
"..."
"Yes", he answered affirmatively, "Yes, I do."
He looked at the man again, but this time looked him in the eye.
"What are you smiling for?". Ethan never realized the light smile that formed on his face. He apologized before looking down again.
The silence between them was broken once again when the man turned his gaze to the picture on the wall. "I have a family too."
"Are they...alright?" The question escaped from him instinctively; he regretted his decision and was about to apologize until the man replied in a bittersweet tone.
"I am sure they are, even if they are not with me."
Ethan was simply astounded. He spoke nothing but felt a sharp, lingering emotion that had been brought forward by the man's words.
What was happening to him? He thought he had left these feelings behind. The same redundant, excruciating, embarrassing, asinine, infuriating yet comforting sentiments that hovered over him, remaining as a constant reminder of his own failures; his own ignorance.
He did not want to be reminded, to be in agony again. To be reminiscent about the same repetitive cycle of love and attention that he never received.
"I'm sorry I need to go." He was verbose, and the crack in his voice was ostensible.
He rapidly got up from the chair and bolted towards the door. He stumbled before immediately getting up and running forward.
"Hold on, where are you going?". The door slammed shut with not a trace of Ethan.
"Sweet summer child, indeed."
He was scampering, dashing without a second thought. His pace fastened further. He had run away once again, run away from himself. He did not want to be reminded, did not want to be reminiscent, he could never be nostalgic about it.
He was simply fearful.
His stomach curled, and his eyes wavered; he just ran faster. How far could he go? How far would he run? He did not know, but he kept on running regardless.
In his hysteria, he eventually crashed into someone else, and he fell to the ground. He got up. He meant to run again, but he was stopped, and his arm was tugged back.
He retaliated, pulling his arm out of grasp, and he turned.
"Ethan, are you alright?"
That same voice that stung him, but it felt different this time, it seemed reassuring. Alkeid had his eyes on Ethan, asking him what had happened to him. Sensing from Ethan's expression that something was very wrong, he grabbed Ethan by his shoulders, telling him to breathe.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Ethan repeatedly took long breaths, and came back to reality, and all he was met with was a concerned Alkeid, and a man on his knees trying to rummage through whatever was left of the gold-plated medallion that had broken into two by Ethan's frenzy.