Day 4 (15:20)

The world is falling off into darkness around my feet. There’s only my shoes and the concrete beneath them, the floor of the bus – is there a word for that? – when I somehow step into it without tripping. And then, I step out into the air, the key trembling in my fingers and – and then I’m back. Back in the silence, the empty space I used to hate.

At first, they moved very slowly, as if searching where they fit into all of this, setting their bag down as if afraid to set off a bomb, even washed their hands so quietly there might have been no water running at all. Walked into the kitchen on tiptoes, freezing again with their hands wrapped around their gone-cold cup of tea. I don’t feel like eating. No, that’s not it. I don’t feel like food.

Open the fridge, close it, opening it again as if the contents might’ve changed. Leaving only to come back and start over. Almost hesitantly, I take the jar of jam, weighing it in my hands as I contemplate until the imagined taste on my tongue first turns stale, then sour and I put it back. The memory flickered; the fridge flickered back.

My laptop’s waiting for me where I left it, purring in my lap like a kitten when I crawl to join it on the bed, finally making my heart descend from where it had been sitting in my throat all day, the clicking of the keys slowing my thoughts until they’re dragging infinitely, and I can breathe. And then, I do what I’m best at: I stare. Lose myself in people’s explanations, in the lines of that story that’s always open in a separate tab and still know that I will go back to it every single day. I’m good at that.

The woman sighed in front of the door, already feeling it all crash down again. The hallway, everything about that tiny flat was a reminder of better times and worse, her chest tightening until it was hard to breathe. Still, she turned the key, the sound making them both wince. The clock is ticking. All I can do is turn the volume down and wait, listening for the movement in the other rooms.

Then, she’s there and I have to put my laptop to the side. They pulled their legs to their chest, eyes slowly emptying as they watched her cry. There’s nothing to say. Nothing I can say. There are only so many times a piece of advice can leave your lips before it starts to taste dull. And so, I wait. Nod. Look apologetic. Sigh.

“Why don’t you have anything to say about this?”

“I don’t know what to say any longer.”

“Fine.”

They pulled their laptop close again, searching for comfort between words so familiar they might’ve been their own. Listened for the heavier footsteps to come up the staircase, for a clumsy key against the lock just like the woman was. Tense. In some way, this is a routine too.