Overwritten

03 | Familial

I awoke from hunger the next morning.

Dazed and confused, I sat up from the bed, blankets falling away. As I scanned the room, I believed for a brief moment that I was at home, in the extended room across from their bedroom. It was easy to think something like that when every room is a carbon copy of another.

I remembered my place, however, as I looked at the date on my watch: March 4th, Friday.

According to my schedule, I did not have work today. Jake must have, as I noticed the space where he had been. Whether he had refrained from waking me due to not wanting to talk to me, or out of kindness, I gratefully sighed. I was anything but a morning person.

I just sat like that for a while, staring at the blank closet door, slumping over, just thinking. Was it always this hard for people to get up in the morning? I would never understand how people could feel so awake after mere minutes. Nevertheless, as I had to face my reality eventually, I also had to face getting up.

When I finally coaxed myself to get up, I dressed in clothes that had already been transported into the apartment. I wasn't ready to call it my apartment quite yet. Trying to ignore his clothes which hung beside mine, I chose a white buttoned shirt, jeans, and a synthetic wool sweater. After inspecting my satchel which had also been stored in the closet, I was relieved to find the contents still remaining.

Making my way to the kitchen for something to eat, I was surprised to see a plate of toast resting on the counter, beside it, was a note. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I walked over. Reading the letter, I took a bite out of the now cold, slightly burnt toast.

I'm sorry we got off to a bad start. I had to go to work early – sorry it's a bit burnt :)

The genuine words hurt. A small part of me had hoped he wouldn't be like this. Hoped that he would be cold, mean, and not even care about me. Because maybe then it would be easier to accept that he couldn't be mine.

After finishing the toast, I placed the plate into the sink, giving it a quick rinse before resting it on the drying rack. Searching around for a bit, I found the glasses on one of the high-up shelves. It was in the same place as every other apartment, yet I must've searched every other cupboard before it.

I hoped that this day would be better.

About an hour later, I was on the train, reading the news on my smartwatch. Specifically, the first and second-hand offence section. I had a habit of checking it, reading the names to check to see if there was one I recognized.

I closed the page as the train came to a slow stop. A soothing female voice announced that the train had arrived at the outer city stop. Stepping onto the platform, my nose was stung with rotting fruit. I furrowed my brow, the rush of wind on my back as the train glided away.

Nobody had gotten off at this stop. I hadn't really expected them to, after all, it was the city outskirts, and it was miserable. The sign which usually blinked the time until the next train arrived was cracked, the red light faded, and the hour number stuck constantly on two. It had been this way for a few years now at least, I even doubted that anybody knew of it.

The cement platform had to be at least a hundred years old, with cracks almost everywhere you step. Advertisements for out-of-date technology still played through the speakers on loop. Plastic wrappers were scattered around the area like autumn leaves.

I walked through squeaky gates, smelling urine and fecal matter a few feet from where I was. I avoided it and turned into the Lower city region.

Here, the Lowers lived. Thrown out and expected to find somewhere to inhabit. They slept in the shells of broken buildings, eaten food scraps, and tried to stay silent as the sewage pipes leaked onto them as they slept.