Open Heart {Under Revision}

Chapter 7- Down Jamaica Plain

Smell of smoke broke me from my short slumber.

Goddamn it.

I was in my bedroom (thankfully), not on staircase like I had been last night, moping on mould stained walls and substituting screams of junkies as lullabies. My eyes were heavy as elephants and my limbs were sore. My neck, uh, my neck was another story just like my head. Both of them competed on their increasing intensities of pain. It was difficult to crane my head without biting on my lips due to the flare of white short-lived agony that struck on nape of my spine and headed straight to my dear mind.

Goddamn it.

It took me almost three minutes to realise that I was not paralysed. Or dead. Or possibly just empty as wooden planks of this apartment. It also took me three minutes three seconds more to realise that I woke up impeccably late. Very late. Because when my elephantine eyes traversed in direction of my purple alarm clock sitting gleefully upon the only table in this apartment— I found out that it was 8 am in freaking morning.

"Goddamn it!!!!" I shot up in my bed like a bullet, almost falling down on floor where bedevils from last night had taken their last stand. The battle was won by me but...I now have a war to win—if even I was allowed to fight in first place.

Holding my head with desperation, I just sat as a dumbstruck kid—unable to deduce any strategies to think for future which was dangerously close on becoming non-existence. Late on the third day of duty. Apollo, what an impression was that going to make? I overslept on my destruction for sure and my brain gave some possible outcomes due to that.

They were: Either Edenbrook was calmly going to remove me or Chief Harper Emery was going to land my head on spike (my mother would actually hate that) to solidify her example or maybe Dr. Ramsey could just shove me into his incinerating sky-blue eyes and burn me to little ashes.

Either way, mind my words—I was epically screwed.

Goddamn it.

My nose prickled and upon sniffing, I smelt the scent of smoke drifting inside my room from the only window of this apartment. There surely wasn't any friendly soul around who could cook barbecue this early or ever which made me wade out of bed in jittery steps—my eyes verily noticing that my PJs were completely drenched with tears and sweat. Tears of desperation and sweat of perspiration. Billows of smoky air was coming from outside, and when I paned my ears, I could hear shouts cutting through an otherwise calm morning. As if someone was giving orders and was being loudly accepted.

I grabbed on my windows and looked out.

"What the heck?!" my mouth yawed open at the display—or rather what was being displayed.

There was a freaking gathering of strangely dressed human beings outside this building, blocking whole of Carolina Avenue as far as my eyes could see—including the area surrounding T station. Jeers and curses were fluidly hurled out, making my ears bleed with people carrying placards and blow-horns and some weird plastic-pistol thingy and...wait, was that a flamethrower?!

On entrance of this lane, a line of police squadron had erected blockades to prevent the crowd from engaging in mitosis—prevent protesters to protest further but bodies contained in the crowd jumped and threw whatever they could at the police. Their shields were up, gleaming from reflection of fresh morning and clear sunlight, and in their hands were batons held tightly. Protesters jabbed angry fingers and bellowed boos—also couple of them in front began performing obscene gestures including semi-flashing themselves. Mon dieu, and I still have no idea what was the reason for this rally, eh—protest?