Heart out of order

Chapter 3 (The Letter)

I awaken to a searing sensation in my chest, the unmistakable pang of heartburn.

Groggily, I try to recollect when I slept last night.

No idea,

However, all that surfaces from the depths of yesterday's memories is an overwhelming tide of heartache. It's as though every emotion I experienced was distilled into pain, sorrow, and aching grief, each sensation more excruciating than the last.

As the clock strikes noon, I realize with a sinking feeling that I've missed the morning lectures at university. Just my luck.Dragging myself out of bed, I find my legs heavy with weariness. Why am I so utterly drained? I ponder, making my way towards the charging port stationed next to the cumbersome television set in the lounge. It's a relic of a bygone era, given that nobody in the house bothers with it anymore; smartphones reign supreme.

Despite the mundane nature of my notifications, one set stands out: messages from Faith, my dearest friend from university.

Faith is a remarkable soul. Her integrity is unwavering, her honesty a beacon in a world often shrouded in deceit. She clings steadfastly to her morals, even when the tide of societal norms threatens to sweep her away. Yet, she grapples with her own demons, buried beneath a facade of strength—a peculiar anxiety that she skirts around rather than confronts. Still, it's from Faith that I've gleaned the true essence of friendship; her name, a testament to her character.

I unlock my phone and navigate towards her messages.

Where the hell are you? 8:00 am

Are you not coming? 8:10 am

Did you just ditch me to be miserable on my own in this shit hole? 8:25 am

Omg!!! You literally did ditch me you moron!!!! 8:30 am

Go to hell 9:00 am

Alright I'm over it, are you okay? 10:15 am

ARE YOU ALIVE? 11:10 am

Given Faith's history, she's likely assumed at least ten distinct personas by now. In response, I message her:

"Something came up, I'll definitely make it up to you tomorrow, promise xoxo." 12:15 pm

I trust she'll comprehend once I explain the challenges I've been facing.

A pang of hunger courses through me, prickling my senses. It's been a while since I last ate, ever since my encounter with Emma yesterday. But the thought of mustering the energy to whip up a proper meal seems daunting. With a heavy sigh, I drag myself towards the kitchen, fully aware of the chaos that awaits me, dishes piled high in the sink, crumbs scattered across the countertops, and a general air of disarray that speaks volumes about my lack of motivation. As I navigate through the stack of dirty dishes, swiftly depositing them into the dishwasher, I reach for my trusty countertop cleaning cloth and begin to diligently wipe down the surfaces. These dishes represent the accumulation of tasks postponed over several days, a testament to my tendency to procrastinate. If my mother were here, her disapproval would likely echo through my mind, chastising me for my perceived negligence and irresponsibility. However, as I complete the task at hand, I take a moment to reflect. With the dishes now cleaned and put away, it's finally time to tend to my own needs and prepare myself a breakfast.