1. Normality

The camera sat on the coffee table, empty and cold. It hadn't been touched in hours and its owner wasn't planning to use it any time soon. It contained no film and hadn't for weeks already. Though it had been picked up and carried around, just to keep the pattern going. It was a filmmaker's possession and the filmmaker was intent on looking normal.

A half empty coffee cup hits the table, the contents splashing and spilling over the edge. The dark brown liquid hits the surface of the table and spreads like a shadow threatening to devour everything in its path.

A frustrated sigh is heard in the empty, cold loft.

Pale hands grab for crumpled paper towels to sop up the coffee that had been spilt. But they hesitate, flexing, joints hurting and muscles resisting. The cold was unbearable and gloves were more expensive than a starving artist could afford.

It's okay, the mantra is repeated over and over, It's okay. Because one would like to believe that things will be alright in the end. Optimism would have one believing that things will work out and that there are no such things as unhappy endings. It's okay. It's okay.

Used paper towels are used to sop up the mess of coffee on the table.


The filmmaker looks up and forces a smile as he picks up his cup, "Hey, Roger."

"What are you doing up this late?" Roger asked with a yawn, walking across the loft and sitting beside the other man.

"I'm not tired."

"You're drinking coffee."

"Is that supposed to be bad?"

"I don't think you need any more caffeine."

"But it makes me feel…" he couldn't find the right word.

"Warm?" Roger asked.

"Yeah. Warm."

The musician gently takes the cup from the filmmaker's hands and places it on the table, "Stop it."

"Okay, Roger."


Click. Click. Click. Click.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Mark looks up and stares at Mimi's hand, watching as her fingernails, one by one, descend on the metal tabletop.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

He went back to his camera and pretended to clean it, pretended to fiddle with the gears and hoped that it looked normal. He picked up a utility blade and carefully tried to scrap away a strip of adhesive that was left behind from a small sticker. The blade stuck and he pushed it along, biting his lip.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

He pushed the blade a little harder, frustrated by how difficult the task was becoming, the adhesive refusing to come off clean.

Click. Click. Click. Click.


The clicking stoped and Mark looked up at Mimi who suddenly looked very concerned.

"Mark, you're bleeding."

He looked down at his hand and realized that he had been the one that swore. A clean cut on his palm was dripping vibrant red. It doesn't even hurt, but from the way his blood was streaming down his palm he knew the cut was deep.

"Mark!" Mimi's suddenly right next to him, pressing a clean towel against the cut and he hissed, finally feeling the sting. "Jesus, are you alright?"

He tried to smile, "I was just startled, that's all."

Mimi lifted the towel slightly, wincing at the sight, "That's a deep cut, Mark. We should take you to a doctor."

"No," he shook his head, "We can't afford one."

"I'm not going to let your hand get infected."


The sound of the door opening caused them both to look up. Roger walked through the door, jacket zipped up and scarf wound tight, in his hand was a single, small bag of Chinese food. The musician looked from the filmmaker to his girlfriend.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Mark cut his hand," the dancer answered, "He doesn't want to see a doctor, even though he should."

"I told you, we can't afford a doctor," Mark reasoned, trying to sound calm. The cut was starting to hurt.

Roger sighed and put down the food, "Come on, we're going to take you to a doctor."



"We can't afford it."

"But-" Mimi's protest was cut off.

"No. I'll take care of it."

Getting up, Mark pulled his hand away from Mimi and walked to the bathroom where he closed the door and locked it. Slowly, he lifted the towel from his hand and winced at the sight. Shaking his head he went to the sink and rinsed it with cool water. The blood flow slowed and he realized that the cut really wasn't as deep as he thought it was.

Rummaging around the medicine cabinet, he found the first aid kit. He put a little anti-bacterial ointment on the cut. Then wrapped it up in cotton and gauze.

"Mark? Is everything alright?" Mimi's voice asked from behind the bathroom door.

"I'm fine, Meems." Mark answered as he opened the door with a smile. "Come on, let's go eat."


Author's Note: I don't know what is up with the editing, but it won't let me put in breaks for some reason. I'll fix that later I guess.

So, we meet once again readers. For those that are curious about Emotion Sickness, it's on hold for now. It's been such a big pain and lately I've gotten myself into a mess of trouble with money (thus the reason why I haven't updated in a long time). However, now I'm working on this and hopefully it'll inspire me to work more on ES. I hope you guys are enjoying this and I'll put up a new chapter soon. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think.