The Locked Door

She didn't know that day would be the one. There was no food left in the fridge, and just some old oranges dusting out on the counter. Plus, she ran out of coffee the morning before and was going to buy more on her way to work. And now she couldn't leave anymore.

Her reflection stared back at her in the dusted mirror while she wiped a section of it and opened her mouth. Looking deep at her throat, she could only see the darkness and the shade of her uvula. She felt something back there was mildly swollen, but besides that, her biggest problem was still the supermarket.

Her favorite groceries shop could only deliver on Saturday, five days ahead, and either she would starve or spend thousands of euros in delivery food every day. Obviously, the new delivery start-ups could also be an option, but she didn't want to support unfair working conditions. A girl only needs her caffeine, for Christs' sake.

She paced around her twenty-five squared meters apartment, her eyes scanning through it but avoiding landing on her desk. She was gonna call a friend, they would bring her food, and she would be back to life in a couple of days.

While searching for her phone, her eyes were immediately drawn to her desk. She approached it, somehow still in fear. It was there, lying innocently like it didn't destroy all her plans. Her positive result. The second one.

She obviously thought the first one was a false positive. She couldn't have it; there was no way she could have it. She was feeling great the day before, and her sore throat was probably just a result of talking too much in the work meetings. While waiting for the second one, she was already getting ready for work. She got her purse, keys and wallet, looked again in the mirror, put a curl back in place and the alarm rang. Fifteen minutes, time to check the result.

The two straight lines were there, almost laughing at her fancy new suit.

Now she needed to decide which friend to call and ask for food and cancel all her in-presence meetings and dinner with the girls from school.

After all was said and done, she sat down in her bed and blankly stared at the wall in front of her, refusing to be scared. She could try to work, but her focus seemed to be gone. So she kept starring at her phone, hoping for her friend to call and announce that the food was almost there.

When it arrived, she opened the door expecting a concerned-looking friend but only found two lonely boxes of food. From the stairs, a voice shouted, 'I'm sorry, darling, but I can't catch this.' 'Me neither,' she thought in response but yelled back a thank you and got inside again.

When she locked her door behind herself, the loneliness hit her like a full-speed truck. The door was locked, she was stuck there, and there was no going back. A prisoner in her own house. So she decided to cook.

She cooked, baked, and saw videos of ten new recipes that she would finally have the time to try. She called in sick and enjoyed all the beautiful YouTube content that was on her watch list for months. Documentaries, make-up videos, and how to sew your own medieval dress. She did everything and didn't look at the locked door for a second.

'It's gonna be over soon,' she repeated to herself. And she was lucky, no symptoms whatsoever. She was feeling energetic. So she cleaned all the 25 square meters, washed all her dishes and put a new washing machine. Even the windows weren't spared from cleaning.

She did everything except looking at that door.

Around sunset, she was convinced it would be as easy and smooth as possible. Even though her throat was hurting a bit more than that morning, and swallowing was getting a bit hard. Fear wasn't allowed on that side of the locked door. No fear. No freaking out.

So she decided to do some yoga, clear her mind, and all of that. Midway through the sun salutation, she felt slightly dizzy, but nothing she couldn't handle. It was probably just hunger. So she cooked again, made some really nice red sauced spaghetti, and watched a movie while eating.

She slept a sleepless night. Cold and sweaty, full of half-dreams. At 5 in the morning, she walked to the bathroom but stopped in front of the door, the locked door, feeling like a sick, contagious prisoner.

Everything entered a loop from that moment on. Eat, rest, sleep, shower, eat, sleep. In all the breaks there was the door. On her way to the bathroom or the kitchen, or when entering her room, she looked to the side, and there it was.

On Saturday, a sound came from the door. By then, she felt so sick that, at first, she thought it was part of a dream. The sound came again. Someone was knocking. They were calling her name. Without considering how she might look in her old sweated pajamas, she just took a mask and unlocked the door. Freedom?

A delivery boy looked at her, slightly surprised by the abrupt opening.

'Your delivery is here, Ms. Doe. Green Goods thanks you for your choice and wishes you a great day!' He left, increasing the delirium aura of the whole thing. 'Thank you,' she said to no one in particular, noticing how rusty her voice sounded.

Then she looked right and then left. The hallway was free. For a fraction of a second, she thought of running. No one would know. She just wanted to see people, you know, not on her screen or through the window. Real people. Maybe even hug someone.

She smiled at the thought but knew she would never risk contaminating anyone. So she entered her house again. Closed the door. And locked it.