Jane

The colour scheme was something he took notice of. Cetacean blue, deep violet, dark violet, electric purple, hot pink, paradise pink. It was a common colour-palette he's seen many times by now. His vision was quite blurred, the mix of alcohol and what seemed to be an endless amount of people made it hard for him to notice much. He tried to take note of anything he found interesting. The jet black D.J booth that produced an array of lights, the walnut coloured round table along with bar stools pretending to be chairs, the boysenberry lounges that had multiple women and multiple men currently drinking like there was no tomorrow, the colour-changing dancefloor and the revolting disco-lights that changed from the colours red to yellow to blue to purple then back to red. The smell started to sensationalize his nostrils in an off way. The place was dirty, not long before one ingests too many drinks and food and hurls at the walls. The man imagines a domino effect after that. He questions if he ought to throw up too with that sight. A sudden lump comes up to his throat and he looks down, exhausted. The dancefloor's coloured popped out more than anything in the place tonight -- it made his eyes strain. He can't remember how much he's had to drink before coming to the middle of the dancefloor. One too many, he believes. He now questions if he ought to be the man that starts The dancefloor starts getting more and more congested, seeing people from all around gather to the dancefloor as another song starts. It was a clear favourite for most. As the people jumped around him, the lump started getting bigger and bigger. He was restricted to the dancefloor. He looks around, trying to distract himself by detailing the people closest to him. It was all a blur still to him as he was pushed around. The world was still a blurred, dizzying place. The thought of going out into the cold winter breeze gave him some solace. He seems to have found it. In an instant he felt nothing, no lump in his throat or blur. The most distinguishing thing at the moment to him was the blood that oozed from his chest.

"Testing testing one, two, three." He speaks into his phone. He stops the recording and plays it over, thinking about how hoarse it was. He clears his throat. He deletes the test and starts recording again. "Testing testing, one, two, three." He speaks. Playing the recording and he deems it to be better. A glance at Jane and she's clearly peeved with how long he was taking.

He puts his phone down on the sage-coloured couch and adjusts himself for his body to face hers. She does the same and they both place their hands on their laps.

"Okay," Conroy starts. "I'm going to be asking you your name, your general address, your occupation, how you feel about it, what goes on on a daily basis, where you see yourself in five years and your goals in life -- something in that regard." He looks at her in an expectant manner. Her eyes widen and she loudly takes a breath before sighing. Her eyes lower and it takes her a moment before she looks back at him, holding her breath for a second. "Sure." she says with a small polite smile.

"But wait," before he could press record, she stopped him. "Do I actually have to say my name? And my address?" Conroy thinks about it for a little before saying "Aliases can be fine I guess. Plus I said general address. City is fine." He mimics the smile she gave him. She nods before relaxing a little. He slowly reaches out for the record, watching if she ought to stop him.

"Jean-Paul-" he clears his throat and stops for a little. "Jean-Paul Gray. Two-twenty in the afternoon, the thirteenth of May. I'm here with," Conroy looks at Jane, waiting for her to say something. She doesn't immediately get the cue and stumbles a little. "Jane- wait no." She takes it upon herself to stop the recording.

"Shouldn't say that." She says sheepishly with a grin. "I should come up with a fake name." She says decidingly. "An alias, if you will." Conroy remarks, making her roll her eyes in sarcasm. She rests herself on the couch and ponders in silence for a minute.

"Any name ideas?" She asks aloud. Her eyes shift towards him as he decides to slouch a little, waiting for her to come up with a name. He gives her a thumbs down. "Nope." He says getting comfortable on the couch.

"Jane...Jane…" She chants to herself. She puffs her cheeks and decides to stare at the ceiling. "Jane...Eyre?" Conroy's ears perk up and he looks at her, a little astounded. She must have noticed his stare and she stares back at him. "What?" she asks nonchalantly, "I've read Jane Eyre." His eyes softened a little and he nodded a little before stopping his stare. "Huh. Never would have thought to have met a bookworm." he says, copying the same tone she used. A small snort comes out from her. "More to than meets the eye, Jean-Paul." she slyly commented. "But to be fair, all the people I meet don't care much about that." the second comment was notably low toned, nearly whispery. He nods in agreement.

"Wait so are we sticking with Jane Eyre?"

"Just Eyre would be fine." She says in a faux formal tone. Conroy sits up straight, clearing his throat once again.

"Do you want water or something?" She asks him. He shifts his eyes to see her looking at him with narrowed eyes. "You seem to want water." She says with a slight attitude. The two stare at each other. "Sure." He concludes that she wasn't going to take no as an answer anyway.

Jane gets off the couch and walks to the kitchen behind them. He stares at the turned off television, watching her through the reflection.

"Hot, warm or cold?"

"Cold please." He sees her shrug and take a pitcher from the fridge. She brings up two glasses and walks back to him. She places everything on the coffee table before settling back into the couch. She looks at him expectantly; and with a small gesture she asks him to take a glass.

"Do you want a glass?" He asks as he pours the near frozen water onto his glass. He sees her nod from the corner of his eye and pours a glass for her too.

"Do you have a coaster?" Water started to drip and he was worried it wouldn't stop for a while. He holds the pitcher up and motions her to find one. She nods a little hastily and goes back to the kitchen.

He hears rummaging for a few seconds before a slightly loud closing of a drawer. Her footsteps were with slight celerity. She comes back and puts a large mat on the far side of the coffee table. She put the two nearly filled glasses on the floor, and moved the mat before putting the two glasses back. He puts the pitcher on the mat, a little surprised at how wet his hand was. He decides to ignore it for now and grabs his glass. The water was cold but refreshing. His gravel throat easing.

"Thank you." he says after finishing the glass completely. He turns back to her and sees her nod with a smile. "Welcome." She replies.

"So,"

"So, shall we start?" He asks. He clears his throat once again, this time he believes it to be better. "Sure." She responds, adjusting herself to look a little more interested and formal. He pours himself another glass.

"Okay," he starts off slowly. "Jean-Paul Gray. Thirteenth of May Two-twenty, or, a little over Two-twenty." his tone was cautious, eloquence trying to shine. "I'm here with" he says awaiting her response.

"Eyre." Jane says with a tone of confidence. Her face told him she was satisfied with her answer. He skips a beat before returning to the interview.

"Now Miss Eyre. That is E-Y-R-E, yes?" he asks her. "Yes." Her faux formal tone coming back.

The two stare at each other for a moment. "Okay. E-Y-R-E, Eyre, now this interview will be on a number of things: your job, aspirations, day to day life and overall thoughts on the things you have now. Is that alright?" He raises an eyebrow at her, waiting for her response. She nods at him before realizing her mistake. "Y-Yes. It's quite alright." She had a certain sheepish smile that Conroy took note of. He smiles a little before going back.

"Okay. But, before that. Eyre, tell me about yourself." The look of discomfiture made him elaborate. "Even if it's just general info. City, age, etcetera." Her bewilderment subsided in reply.

"Oh alright. My name is Eyre, I'm twenty-six, been living here for about five years now." She falls silent, out of things to say. He notices her play around with her fingers as she tries to come up with something to say. "Oh! I live on Kierkegaard Street with two other roommates. Or buildingmates." She falls silent again after that.

"Okay Miss Eyre," Conroy says, trying to ease her. "Now. What exactly is it that you do?" His inquisitive tone made her ears perk up.

"I'm," her words fall flat once again. He counts the seconds the room stays silent, watching the voice recording go on without anyone saying a word. As he watches the recording go on, he spots her continuing to fidget with her fingers. The room becomes so silent the microphone can't pick anything up.

"A worker." Conroy finishes. He stops the recording and looks at her, her looking back. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you didn't like the term." He says apologetically. He tilted his head a little bit as he observed her expression, it was uncomfortable with a hint of something else. "Oh no it's fine. I just," she pauses again. "Nevermind. Nevermind. Let's just move on." She says with a small smile asking him to be reassured. He gives her a small and slow nod, eyes silently asking her if she was okay to go on. Her eyes replied with a faint yes. He looks back onto the phone and resumes the recording.

"Eyre, are you okay?" The question seems to have caught her off-guard as she continues to stay silent. He focuses his attention back to her, his initial thought to give her an anticipative look but her look of disbelief and discontent turned it into a softer one. He gestured to her that it was fine, hoping to push her gently into an answer. "Uh, fine?" Her voice cracks. She clears her throat and gets her glass. She takes a sip. "Uh yeah. I'm doing fine. How about you?" She asks in a tone of courtesy. "I'm fine." He says in a soft one. She places the glass back onto the mat.

"You up to much?" Conroy asks, hoping to ease her into the interview. "Mm nothing much, just a normal day I guess." He raises an eyebrow in an attempt to humour her a little. Her raising an eyebrow of her own before realizing what he meant and rolling her eyes made him satisfied.

"Aside from this sudden interview," she says, body language gesturing at him, "It's been a normal day. Ah, normal week actually." She says, starting to slightly slouch.

"Well what constitutes a normal day?"

"Oh well you know." She slouches a little more. "Wake up," She takes a second. "Work," he takes note of her slight change of tone with the word. "Hang out with friends, work again, then go to bed. Routine." She finishes, tone now slightly casual.

"This routine, is it satisfactory?"

"Well," her eyes drifted off, focusing on nothing particular. "I guess you could say that. I don't necessarily know much else. I do what I need to do and then some."

"So you wake up, do work, be with friends then go to bed. Tell me about that."

"What's to tell? I mean it's routine. As I said."

"You being with your friends seems to be a daily occurrence. How do you find the time to do that?"

"Well they're my roommates. Or wait, apartmentmates if that's a word. And yeah. I spend practically every day with them."

"These friends," Conroy slows for a second in thought. "Are you close to them?"

"Pretty. We've been friends for about five or so years. Likely less than more."

"Interesting, how long have you been here again?"

"Five years. Yes. They were here when I came."

"It's nice to know that you guys formed a tight knit bond, yes?"

"Yes. Very much so."

There was a small period of silence between them. Conroy notes in his head that he now had more questions at this point. He looks at Jane, seeing her relaxed made him feel comfortable too.

"Tell me about who you were before coming here. The big city." Jane stops looking adrift and focuses her eyes on Conroy, who had a passive look. "Not much to tell. I was a small town girl. Then I moved to the big city. Anything much else is quite boring."

"Humour me." He says leaning into her a little, seemingly eager for her to clarify. She takes a look at him before shrugging.

"Typical story. Mom and dad. Lone child. They got divorced when I was about six. Deadbeat dad left and basically left zero fucking cash for mom and I. But she made it work. Worked her ass off for it but she got me through school and I got through community college. A few years later, did odd jobs here and there. When I mean odd I mean shifts at the local fast food chains and bars. Got enough money to move out of my mom's house because I was not going to turn twenty-two and still live with my mom. That's when I moved here."

"So, what was it like? Moving to the big city?"

"Normal. What do you mean? I found this apartment. Tried to get a few jobs and it was either that my community college degree wasn't enough or that I just rejected the job altogether. The thought of moving to the big city just to flip burgers at a bigger fast food restaurant made me, unwell."

"Why is that?"

"Because it defeats the purpose of moving in the first place. I moved because I thought I could get a corporate job. Hell, any job that wasn't doing what I was doing before. I didn't want to save up for eternity only for the only thing to change is that I moved away from my mom."

Conroy decided to stop talking for a little, seeing how worked up Jane was getting. She stopped slouching and spoke with a voice mixed with passion and contempt. Her gestures indicate to him she was overtly fervid on this topic. After a pause, she settled down again, sinking into the couch.

"That's basically how I ended up stuck here." She says glumly.

"Interesting." He mutters. Jane heard it and shoots a quizzical look at him. "I'm just curious as to the word you chose. Stuck." He puts emphasis on the word. Her response was a scoff. She stops sinking and sits up straight.

"You think I enjoy my line of work?" She asks rhetorically.

"Fucking disgusting men either too old or too young for me for petty cash? I mean come on. Like five minutes ago I couldn't even say the word. This line of work fucking sucks. Yes I do feel trapped."

"I didn't say trapped."

"I mean stuck. Or whatever word it is you found curiosity in."

Another instance of silence falls between them. She sinks into the couch again. The pause lasted longer, Conroy didn't want to start the conversation. He notices her glance at him before another moment of silence, followed by a sigh.

"Basically. Came from a nowhere town with a single mom. I worked my way through life, moved here and now, still here. That's it." She crosses her arms and rests on the couch.

"Well, are you happy?"

"Define happy." Conroy was a little aback from her question, but composed himself not a second after.

"Your standard of happy I guess. Whatever you deem to be happy. Are you?" She stays silent again, clearly in thought.

"I mean, I suppose so. It could be better, yes, but it could also be a million times worse."

"You're right."

A pause once again.

"So you told me who you were and who you are. Care to tell me who you will be?" Conroy asks in a lull tone. "Not here that's for sure." She says in an indifferent tone.

"What about your friends?"

"What about them?"

"You've been with them for five years now. Where will they be in five years if you're gone from this place?"

"I don't know. Patrick doesn't seem to care about moving up in the world and Elle just doesn't care in general. They're more go with the flow type people if anything."

"Do you think of them as any lesser for that?"

"What? No. What gave you that idea?"

"No reason. Just noting that you're clearly ambitious and they're not."

"So? Opposites attract."

"Do you think they share the same sentiment as you? In regards to wanting to leave here of course."

"I don't know. I mean, we have talked about moving out and about in the world but it never became anything."

"Do you think they also feel stuck in place?"

"Well they've been here longer than me. Patrick for nine and Elle for seven."

"So you reckon they don't want to move out then?"

"Again, talked about leaving before."

"Was this a conversation you started or they started?"

"Good question." She admits. She drifts off into thought again. "I guess I started that conversation." She says. Jane wasn't facing him, but it looked as if she had a small frown.

"Do you, want them to come with you?" Conroy asks in a quiet, somber voice. His tone changed from passive to curious. She looks at him again before shrugging. He looks at her and she realizes her mistake again. "Oh. I mean yeah. I don't know. I can't force them to come if they don't want to." Conroy refrains from another mutterance.

"J-Eyre, why do you do this?" He questions in an almost whispery tone. She glares at him, displeased that he almost revealed her true name; but she eases and disregards it. "I told you. No other job I guess."

The silence between them is now noticeable. The silence lasts for a minute, the microphone picking nothing up. He decides to stop the recording and turns his phone off. He slouches and sinks into the couch with her, a sigh of relief escaping his mouth.

"Is that it?" Jane asks, shifting her position to fully face him. He nods his head lazily. He sees her staring at her for a moment deemed to be a little longer than usual before nodding too and facing the front, mimicking his position. "Thank you, by the way." He says, moving his head to face her. She copies him before giving a smile. "You're welcome."