Somewhere in the humid night, the cold howl of a siren rises and fades, low and muffled, but audible enough to peck into the restless mind of the young woman amid the rumpled sheets of her bed. The muted absence of the sound following the siren's passing seems even more intrusive, peppered with the softest murmurs of the apartment. The hum of air conditioning, the barely perceptible tic of appliances beyond the bedroom, a hushed chorus of sounds too low to identify, but as common to her ears as her own voice.
Opening her eyes, she sees the phantasmal blue of her clock illuminating the room dimly, providing a spectral cast to the space. She looks about aimlessly, searching for some clue as to where sleep hides. Her gaze casts from place to place, with specific purpose. A small dresser next to a taller cabinet, a cramped little writing desk littered with papers, a standing mirror dully reflecting hinted details of a young woman in wadded linens in the low light.
One in the morning. Too late to be lying awake in her bed alone. Somewhere in the apartment the click and hum of the refrigerator engaging reaches her ears and it might as well be a roaring thunder. With a deep sigh, she pries herself loose from the bedclothes, defying the pull to try and sleep, and swings herself into a seated position on the edge of the bed. The mild chill of the apartment air tickles her underclad body, producing a spread of gooseflesh, where the blankets had previously been almost too warm.
Rising from the bed completely, she stretches herself, peering absently at herself in the mirror. Within it, she appears as little more than a shade, a ghost of herself half-hidden in darkness. Her thick hair wild from her hours of tossing, the form-fitting little tee-shirt twisted about her torso, her panties slightly askew across her hips, drooping slightly. Dismissing the sight, she pads mindlessly into the tiny bathroom, turning on the small tap-light on the wall.
In the soft radiance emitted she peers at her slightly better lit face in the mirror, she ruffles her unruly brown-sugar colored hair with her hand, failing to tame it. For a moment, she considers the large wooden hairbrush on the counter, but turns her attention instead back to her reflection. Mechanically, she runs water from the tap, letting it warm, and then lightly splashes a shallow handful into her face. Looking back to the mirror she meets the gaze of the girl staring back. A pretty girl lost in restlessness. Amber eyes underlined in dark shadow, clear and sharp usually, but now dull and cloudy. The tiredness is there in her eyes, but the will to sleep is just not.
Turning off the tap-light, she slips from the bathroom and out of the bedroom into the rest of her compact apartment, hiking her panties back into place and straightening her clingy shirt. Her stocking feet makes soft sounds on the carpet of the brief hallway as she drifts into the living room, her way lit by the muffled light of neon and arc sodium seeping through thin blinds concealing tall windows and the glass balcony door. It creates an iridescent orange glow about everything, strong enough to reveal the living room and kitchenette beyond it.
Slipping into the kitchenette, she opens the refrigerator, a bright white glare spilling out into the dimmer space. She fetches a glass and fills it with milk, returning to the dark living room as she begins sipping. She pulls aside the tall drape of vertical blinds over the balcony entrance, bathing everything in a bright dawn of tinted light from the streets below. For a long moment, she stands before the glass door, milk glass in hand, peering out at the lonely balcony beyond it. A thin sheet of perspiration frosts the outside of the glass, obscuring her view, the night humid beyond her chilled apartment.
Setting down her glass for a moment to snatch up a thin cardigan from the arm of the couch, she slips into it, pulling it closed over her immodest attire. Retrieving her drink, she unlocks and steps out through the door. A low din of cars and city noises washes about her in the warm night air, reduced to background sound by more than a dozen stories between her and their origins. Despite the humid heat of the evening, a pleasant breeze at this height flutters her loose hair. The scent in the brisk air is tangy from pollution and the rank scents of the city, but seems refreshing anyways, natural and appealing.
She leans against the rail, sipping at the milk and watching the flow of the world below, an ambiguous riot of lights and shadows so high up. After a moment, she turns her gaze upwards, scanning the skyline of the city. The misty night sky appears opaque, reflecting the light from the multitudes of street lamps into a dingy orange over black that erases any chance of viewing stars. The city beneath it appears like a dark silhouette, punctuated by points and lines of light from signs and beacons. It seems to stretch on like an urban ocean of bleakness.
Though her gaze carries no purpose, merely skating across the void where sky meets rooftops, it becomes caught by something in the lower corners of her vision. Across the wide streets, she spies a man standing on his own balcony, much like herself, peering with as little aim as she into the city night. Though distance obscures the finer details, she can tell his is naked to the waist. He seems fit of shape, possibly handsome. His own apartment is dark, same as hers, making him more visible in the neon bright of the evening.
For a long moment, she considers the distant man, her eyes straining to define him more. As she watches him, he seems to register her gaze and looks towards her in return. For a long moment, they stare across at each other, two strangers in the night, but together in their restlessness. Akin in their solitude.
After a moment, she raises her glass towards him slightly, as though in a toast of greeting. Though his hands are empty, he returns the gesture with a raised hand, obviously sensing their connection as well. After a moment, both return to their meaningless scans of the city below and above. However, she finds her attention coming back to him, finding him to have returned his gaze to her as well. For a second, something seems to pass between them, a strange notion tickling at her mind, but quickly being thrown away.
She retreats again into her small, cold apartment, her glass now empty, and a thin sheen of moisture about her from the humidity and heat of the summer night. She deposits the glass in the kitchen sink, moving to her sofa and falling onto it. For a long moment, she sits and stares at nothing, eyes shifting about the room and falling upon objects, the television, the coffee table, the large photography piece of a bridge and pier that she'd found at a flea market. She sees none of these things, not really, just regards them absently while her mind spins fruitlessly.
She considers again the man across the void of streets, wondering if he was still upon his own balcony. Without really thinking about it, she finds herself once more at the condensation-frosted glass, squinting through the obscuring fog of moisture. She can barely make out the shape of the building across from her, displaced colors offering up suggestions of detail. She believes that she can make out the pale shape of him against the darker grays and silvers of the steel and glass façade.
Retreating again into her apartment, she moves now with a bit of purpose, actively seeking something instead of mindlessly wandering. She finds the binoculars in her hall closet and returns to the living room, adjusting the blinds aside only enough that she can slightly open the door and look through the gap. Through the binoculars, she finds the man, still standing in the same place against his balcony railing.
Now better able to see him, she takes in his bare torso, finding it to be quite appealing. While he is not bulky with muscle, there is a pleasant definition to his body. His face is handsome enough, with a strong jawline covered in a shadow of stubble. He seems about the same age as herself, perhaps a little older. The better view of him returns the lurid impulse she'd previously felt, but quickly dismissed away as ridiculous.
For a moment, she continues to regard him, mind thinking impertinent things. A strange wave of sensation tickles up through her and she realizes that, without thinking about it, her free hand has migrated to her panties, slipping within the front as is now absently fingering the small nob of flesh buried in the pink folds there. She lets herself run with the thoughtless choice, returning her focus to the man across the way, her fingers slowly turning circles around her clitoris. After a few minutes, her eyes flutter as a particularly high wave of arousal washes across the shores of her body.
Again, she considers the insane notion, but pushes once more aside, thinking to herself how crazy it is, and closes the door again, quitting her attentions to herself. Tossing aside her field glasses, she silently chides herself for her restless lack of inhibition. Looking back down the hallway towards her bedroom, she removes the cardigan and reminds herself that she needs to try and sleep. Going back into her bedroom, she enters the bathroom, once more turning on the tap light and looks at her hair.
She takes up the hairbrush and vigorously uses it to tame her wild locks, smoothing them into shape, painfully separating the snaggles and tangles from her hours of shifting about the bed. She splashes more water on her face, looking at her now more clear and sharp eyes in the mirror. Several minutes of work and those eyes are accented subtly with make-up, her lips darkened with a deep purplish gloss.
