Progression

Peaceful. That’s how I feel. I’m still half asleep but I can hear the gentle lull of the rain hitting the windows. I open my eyes just the tiniest bit and peek out from under my blankets. The rain clouds are casting the world in grey, making it seem like it’s earlier than it actually is. My clock shows 11:10. I lazily get out of bed and throw on my robe. It’s a little chilly for an April morning. I wash my face then head downstairs to make coffee and breakfast. What’ll it be today? Eggs with toast it is. The smell of freshly brewed coffee soon fills the air. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, taking it all in. The perks of living alone: no one to bother you. I love the quiet mornings and the quiet evenings. I like the quiet. 

It’s around noon when I finish my breakfast. I take time cleaning my dishes. It’s very soothing. I prefer washing over the dishwasher. It gives me more time to think about what I want to do for the day. I love working from home because of the freedom it gives me. Some days I get up at 9AM and work until 5PM. Some days I work 1PM to 6PM. And some days, when I’m really lazy, I don’t work at all. Today feels like a lazy day, but I do need to get some work done. I reluctantly finish putting away my dishes and head to the living room with a new cup of coffee.

I work on my book for hours. Sometimes I get so focused, I lose track of the time. I don’t even realize I’m hungry until I feel like throwing up. And even then, sometimes I continue working. All my senses are drowned out to allow my thoughts to expand and cover me like a veil. I really feel like throwing up now. I look at the clock, it reads 5:13. That's the longest I've gone without taking a break. I get up to make a big supper when all of a sudden, I’m filled with dread. 

I don’t remember leaving my coffee cup there. It should be on the desk. Not on the counter. I’m trying to remember if I really did leave it on the counter but no recollections come to mind. I thought I had brought the cup with me to the desk when I began writing. I thought I did, but I might have left it on the counter. I empty the cup and place it in the dishwasher.

I decide to not worry about it. I was just too focused on getting to work to notice where I placed my cup. I eat my supper in silence, still thinking about the cup. I try to focus on the food but the rain is coming down hard now and it muddles my mind. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I love the sound of rain. Usually it helps me focus better. I usually produce my best work when it’s raining. 

I come to the conclusion that I won’t  be able to work anymore today, so I hop on the couch to enjoy some TV. I put on a rerun of my favourite show. I’m not laughing at the parts I usually laugh at. It’s probably because I’ve watched it so many times. Thunder crashes and I jump. I look outside and notice it’s dark now. I stand up and stretch, hoping it will take some of the tension from me. I look over my shoulder at the counter. 

That feeling of dread immediately washes over me again. There’s no way that cup is on the counter. I swore I put it in the dishwasher.  I storm over and pick up the cup. It’s definitely the same cup. I’m so overcome with panic that I throw the cup against the wall. The sound of it shattering is drowned out by my own heartbeat. I go over and inspect it to make sure it’s really broke. I pick up a piece of the cup and accidentally cut my finger. The blood pooling on the ground indicates that the cup is indeed broken. I feel a bit calmer now that it’s broken. It can’t haunt me anymore. I clean up and bandage my wound then I sweep up the broken cup. I mop up the bit of coffee that was left in the mug and wipe down the wall. As I’m mopping, I become upset. This is the third cup I’ve broken this month. Or maybe it’s the fourth.

I decide I’ll get ready for bed, read a book for a while, to calm my nerves. I put my pajamas on and head to the bathroom to wash my face. I hate washing my face. It’s something I need to do though to maintain my youth. As I’m washing my face, I hear something behind me. I immediately turn around, soap getting in my eyes. Even though I’m squinting, I can see someone standing in the corner of my bedroom. I run to shut the bathroom door and lock it. I hurry to wipe the soap off my face. 

I don’t know what to do. There is someone in the bedroom, but my phone is in the bedroom. I can’t call for help. I lean against the door in despair. I can feel their body on the other side of the door so I jump away. 

“Get out!” I scream. No answer. 

I don’t know how long I sit on the edge of the tub, weeping,  feeling the presence on the other side of the door. After a while, my phone starts ringing. I press my body against the door trying to feel the presence. I can’t feel anything, but that doesn’t mean there’s nobody there. The phone stops ringing. I look under the door attempting to see into the room through the crack. There’s nobody standing in the corner. The phone starts ringing again. I open the door a crack and peek out. I don’t see anybody, so I rush to grab my phone, then run back into the bathroom and lock the door. 

“Hello?” I answer, frantically.

“Mom? You sound upset. Is everything okay?”

“Who is this!?” I yell, “There’s someone in the house!”

“Mom don’t move, I'll be right over!”

I’m just about to answer when I hear shuffling. Except the shuffling isn’t in the bedroom. It’s in the bathroom, with me. The shower curtain starts to draw back, but I don’t wait to see what’s on the other side. I drop the phone, and run. I run out of the house into the heavy rain, filled with dread.