Asylum City Read Free Page B

her way to trigger my sense of guilt, he reminded himself, to make me feel I’m not doing enough. He knew that tomorrow she’d find some reason to read him the riot act in any case.
    Ronny was right. He deserved a night off every now and then. If he picked up, they’d just argue and it would ruin his mood.
    Deep in thought, he didn’t notice the woman approaching.
    â€œHi,” she said, extending her hand. “Ayelet.” Her skin was warm and smooth. He felt his body respond to the scent of her delicate perfume and her tight black dress.
    â€œHi. I’m Itai,” he answered. “I heard there’s a great pub around the corner.”
    Yes, tonight he was going to take a little time off from himself. The phone in his pocket was still ringing. He ignored it.

Chapter 3
    THE winter sunlight streaming in through the window was making Yariv Ninio’s eyes sting. He reached out automatically to the other side of the bed. It was empty. His bladder was full. He started to get up, but a stabbing pain in his head forced him back down.
    He wanted to call out for Inbar, but his mouth was too dry. His tongue felt like rubber.
    He lay in bed, weary from a night of restless sleep. His temples were throbbing. Suddenly he remembered that Inbar had left on Thursday to spend a few days in Eilat with her girlfriends. An early bachelorette party. He didn’t get it. The wedding was two months away but she was already frantic. He didn’t have the strength to deal with all the drama.
    Again he tried to sit up but was hit by a wave of nausea. Last night he’d gone out to a bar with Kobi. He shouldn’t drink so much. He always regretted it the next morning.
    The pressure in his bladder became intense. Yariv pushed himself up into a sitting position. Dizzy and headachy or not, he had to get to the bathroom before he burst.
    When he was finally on his feet, he found it hard to breathe. He realized he had a stuffy nose. He looked down and a shiver ran through his body: he was fully dressed. He’d slept in his clothes, his shoes still on his feet and ugly brown stains on his shirt.
    A fragment of memory from last night suddenly flashed through Yariv’s mind: he’s standing outside Michal’s building shouting profanities at her. Then he’s knocking on her door, calling out to her, waiting to tell her to her face what he thinks of her complaint, what he thinks of her in general.
    He made his way as quickly as possible to the bathroom, struggling for breath.
    â€œGo away, Yariv. Go home. You’re drunk.” Michal’s voice resounded in his head.
    He gaped in surprise when he saw his face in the mirror. His nose was swollen and his nostrils were clogged with dried blood. Under his eyes were dark blue bruises that were already turning black. What the hell had happened to him? More to the point, what the hell had he done?

Chapter 4
    WITH a few quick strokes of his pencil, Gabriel Takela was trying to capture the arc of the pigeon’s wing as it perched on a power line looking down at the street below. He was getting soaked by the rain, but he ignored it, just as he ignored the stench from the large green Dumpsters filling the space behind the restaurant. When he was drawing, he was totally absorbed in the emerging picture, even if it was no more than a pencil sketch in a small pad. It helped him escape. At such times he didn’t think about the present, the future, or the fact that nothing was likely to happen anytime soon that would change his life for the better.
    He sketched trees, animals, buildings, children, occasionally adults—Israelis he saw in the street. He felt compelled to. Forms and colors accosted him everywhere, begging to be captured on paper. But he never drew anything from home. Or women. It aroused too much emotion and longing.
    Yesterday Itai had brought him watercolors and brushes. Gabriel could barely contain his excitement. He desperately