Passion for Perfection | Open Novella Contest 2019

8. Rising from the Ashes

My symptoms escalated to the point where I couldn't ignore them anymore. The amnesia was too much and my brain had finally started to accept the fact that maybe someone was in control of my body sometimes. Since I never remembered mornings, I left a note on the bedside table before I went to bed. It was on a simple post-it note, written in black pen: "Who are you? What's your name?".

When I had regained consciousness the next morning in the kitchen, I found a note scribbled back beside me. The writing was small and neat and said "My name is Mel. I speak to you sometimes". At first, this scared me, but I soon found myself smiling whenever I'd find a note around my apartment. I found out that Mel was like a protector. She would take over my body to look after me, like make sure I eat food and take a bath. Everything started to finally make sense.

However, it wasn't all good news.

I spent almost a year in and out of the bar. Every evening I would head down the street. end up sitting at the bar and drinking like there was no tomorrow, absentmindedly watching as the dancer on stage weaved herself around the pole like a snake hypnotising its prey. Men stopped whistling at me every time I entered. The regulars knew they wouldn't get a response out of me. Liz, the bartender, knew exactly what I needed when she saw me. Sometimes it was just some beer, other times it was vodka.

Despite my sudden depressive state, I maintained a high standard at work. No matter how bad my personal life got, I had to succeed at something. It was the only part of my life I had under control.

One Saturday evening, I was on my way to the bar again; the days had been getting longer and the sun was only starting to set. It cast long dark shadows along the street and the only thing that cut through them was the bright neon sign that had mesmerised me that first night. Now I didn't even look up at it as I walked through the rickety wooden door.

I sat in my usual place at the very edge of the bar and waited for Liz to hand me a glass.

"Good evening ma'am. What would you like?" A male voice asked and I looked up in confusion. Behind the bar stood a man in his late twenties, with dirty blond hair and chiselled features which made him seem older than he was.

"Where's Liz?" I immediately asked. I wasn't in a mood to start explaining how exactly I wanted my drink.

"She's not here at the moment, I'm afraid. Just me." He sent me a smile that made me take a second look at him.

He's nice looking.

So what?

You should flirt.

I don't know how to.

"Well then call her over and tell her that I'm here." I wasn't a fan of talking to strangers. "My name's Jane," I added when I remembered he doesn't know me.

"Sorry, she's not at work today. She's taken a day off. That's why I'm here." He shrugged and pulled out two shot glasses. "You'll be happy to know she told me to expect you, so I know what you usually get." He winked and pulled out a bottle of vodka. "On the house."

"She's never off," I said as if I hadn't heard the rest of what he'd said. Nevertheless, I gazed as he poured the liquid perfectly into the small glasses, not spilling a drop.

"She's at a funeral, Jane." The way he said my name made my heart do a cartwheel and my mind got confused. What was I doing? "Her mother passed away. So you're stuck with me for now."

"I don't mind that." I blurted out and mentally kicked Mel. That was definitely her talking.

"That's good." He laughed and passed me a glass. "Cheers." He lifted his and I did the same.