Bastille Imagines

The Man on the Porch

There's nothing more heartbreaking than seeing someone you love hurt you, betrayal itself stabbing a dagger into your already shattered heart; so weak you're barely able to go on with life, barely able to think that things will be normal again. But they won't be. You're lost in a maze where deception leads you in a continuous cycle of dead ends, trapped in the middle with no way out. There's nothing to be gained from this, after years of devotion and commitment all to be wiped away as easily as you wipe your tears. The sickening feeling in your stomach is back however this time you're not actually sick, it's devastation more than anything else.

His heart is set on someone else and it tears you apart, leaves your mind mentally disturbed and questioning whether it was ever your fault. Was it something you done? Something you said? The person you see standing in your reflection is fragile, to be handled with care and certainly not to be toyed with. You've fallen over and there's no one to carry you home, no one to support you with your weakened body and mind.

You're left to roam the empty streets bare foot, face far from being ridden of makeup and soaked head to toe in rain, or maybe tears, you can't tell anymore. There's nothing more you want than to release the aching cries of desolation out into the dead of night hoping that maybe, just maybe, someone will hear you. If only you were in a similar state only 2 hours ago your boyfriend would come riding on his noble steed, glistening in silver armour tending to your needs, if it wasn't for some other desperate girl begging for his attention.

Well, she certainly got it.

Your blisters have taken a toll on you and you have to stop. Perching yourself on a couple of concrete stairs outside the entrance of a block of flats, you sink your face into your palms and re-think everything that you saw, re-feel everything that you felt earlier on in this disconcerting night. Numbness gradually metastasises through your fingers but it isn't your main concern. A few sobs manage to burst their way out and it's now noticeable to anyone passing by but you're at that level of feeling emotionally confused that you just don't care anymore.

"Erm, excuse me? Are you alright?" A soft voice comes from behind. You twist your body around to see a man standing in the doorway looking innocently down onto your tear drenched face. He looks as though he's trying to squeeze past without stepping on you, so you automatically push yourself against the wall allowing him enough room to pass. Instead of walking straight out and away from you, he sits beside you, an exasperating sigh escaping his lips.

"Tough night?"

"That's an understatement." You bluntly snigger, trying your best to wipe away the melting mascara painted on your face. The man chuckles softly before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, he gently inhales and exhales releasing the puff of smoke that so elegantly floats through the air. He offers you one, but you refuse it.

"So what happened?" He calmly, but bluntly, asks. The way he's talking to you like someone he's known for years settles your unnerving mind, there's no bullshit about sympathy or pity, just straight up blatancy. There's nothing from stopping you telling him about your troubles, so you explain to him all the while he's listening just as eagerly as you are telling your story.

"So...yeah. Boyfriend no more." You conclude, slapping your hands down in exasperation. He nods his head and leans his elbows against the step behind with the lit cigarette still hanging from his mouth. He looks relatively suave with his voluminously styled hair and the facade of looking debonair, his sufficient worldly-wise attitude wishes that you could almost be like him; unfazed to life's punishments and the sadistic idea of a joke that is love. You take note of his washed out denim jacket, the faded blue exaggerates the icy cerulean of his eyes, even in the darkness at 3 o'clock at night the luminosity still strikes you as breathtaking.

"That's shit. Disrespectful even." He comments muttering a tut. There's a brief moment of silence and immediately you scrutinise your mind for something to say.

"It's half 3 in the morning." You mention. "What are you doing up?"

"Oh, some poor, mistreated girl was crying on my doorstep." He smirks, taking the cigarette between his two long fingers and taking a long drag. You really hope that you're not blushing now because, god, does he look attractive. Out of embarrassment you mumble an apology repositioning yourself to hide the clear show of humiliation. "Besides, three o'clock is a prime time for a cigarette." Once again you see the swirl of a cloud dancing in front of you, followed by a ring of smoke flowing through the air. You jokingly destroy it by obliterating it with your hand which grants you a playful nudge from the man beside you. By now your last tear has fallen and it feels like eternity before it eventually reaches your cheek. You jump slightly when his hand collides with your cheek simultaneously discarding the tear.

"Heeeeey come on now. Not got time for tears. Get back out there, show them what you're made of, show that bastard you don't need any of his bullshit. You could wow any guy if you wanted to. Now, where's that smile?" He motivates. On demand, a smile stretches across your face, maybe a giggle escapes as well.

The tears and memories of tonight are long gone and your optimism has certainly had the boost it needed. You wish you always had him to talk to, you can confidently say that you've had your fair share of depressing moments in the past, if only he'd been there to liven you up things would've been dandy. But that would've been too fair wouldn't it? You sigh, feeling rather sunken about the fact that maybe you won't see this man again, well at least you know where he lives. You know that you should probably be heading home, tucked into your bed and fast asleep but you just don't want to leave. Defeated by the opposing thoughts of staying here, you stand up and brush yourself off, saying a quick 'goodbye' to the man on the porch.

"Well, I should probably be heading home. I really appreciate the talk Porch Man, it's made me realise a few things. Sorry if I kept you up." You awkwardly mumble.

"Nah, it's not a problem. And hey, if you need any more words of wisdom..." He gestures to the block of flats that you assume he lives in. "You know where I am." He gleams. You give a brief nod of the head and away you go, walking through the night without a disturbance whatsoever.

You're glad to say that Porch Man's offer did not go to waste. You've been visiting him for a good few months, therapeutically talking through your problems and finding some sort of solution to them. But the best thing about it; he doesn't mind at all, nor does he despise the fact that your erratic visits catch him out unsurprisingly. He's always there. Despite not knowing his name, it's never made itself convenient: you liked that sense of mystery to him, he's just...Porch Man; you're personal therapist.

No matter how downhearted you feel, no matter how alone you are or lost you find yourself; you will always be able to find your way back to that porch step. You will always have that last resort to turn to when you have nothing and most importantly...

You will always have the man on the porch.

(P. S. I know Dan doesn't smoke, well at least as far as I'm aware of, but I just thought it maybe be better for the story.) Oh yeah, I'm needing ideas so if you have any or any starters, fire away. Thanks.