When Droplets Collide

Six

Fighting off sleep, I slouch back in my seat and continue to drum my fingers against the ceramic surface of the mug.

The coffee in it is just as dark as my surroundings. The only light is provided by the white pieces of cloth covering the furniture behind me, but even they’re dimmed in the abyss that surrounds me.

My eyes stay locked on the table cloth as I let my guilt pile up with every tap of my finger against the side of the cup. The clock on the wall ticks along in perfect synchronism with my index finger. My thoughts are all jumbled together, but I don’t need to sort through them to know that what I'm about to do is wrong.

But what other choice do I have?

The funny thing is, a few years ago I was dead set on helping my mom fight her battles against my dad. And now I'm on his side. Maybe if I'd known how my future would pan out, I wouldn't have allowed myself to become this person—this empty shell of who I once was.

A single ray of light extends across the linen. I watch the bright light extend even further until it covers the tips of my fingers. I detach my eyes from the table to scan for the opening the ray of sunlight snuck through. When they land on the gap between the curtains, I turn in my seat, my hand gripping onto the back of the chair for support, and follow the light until my eyes land on the spotlight it creates onto the empty space on the wall of the living room.

It might just be a coincidence, but it's a reminder nonetheless—a reminder that my days in this apartment are numbered.

My heart clenches painfully in my chest. So I look away from the wall.

My eyes land on the watch around my wrist. The seconds tick by as the light shining through the crack in the curtain reaches for the closed door of the master bedroom. Both remind me that if I'm going to go through with what I came here for, it has to be now.

So I force myself to push away from the table and stride towards the cupboard above the sink. I can feel my adrenaline spike as my fingers delve into the pockets of my jeans and close around the small plastic cylinder. The rhythmic ticking on the wall behind me gets louder as it joins in on the countdown. Looking over my shoulder, I see that the rays of light haven't knocked on her door yet.

Good. I don’t want to find out what she'll do if she catches me.

My hand won’t stop shaking when I withdraw the orange cylinder from the depths of my pocket. The tremors running through my fingers worsen when my other hand grabs hold of the small clear cylinder perched innocently on the shelf.

With a heavy heart, I pop open the lid and make my way over to the sink. I stand over it and watch the contents of the clear container disappear down the drain and out of sight. I barely have time to replace them with the identically coloured pills when the handle starts to jiggle. I quickly slam the overhead cupboard shut and take a step towards the kettle just as the bedroom door across the open apartment swings open.

Her hands are tangled up in the messy blonde streaks of her hair as she attempts to contain them in a bun atop her head. Her humming stops when her eyes land on me. They widen in pleasant surprise before a small smile graces her face.

“When you told me you'd be visiting today, I didn’t expect you to arrive this soon,” she jests while confidently walking out of her room.

She has the ghost of a smile plastered on her face and I find myself begging and pleading to whatever higher power above that her smile doesn’t disappear anytime soon.

“I have an early class,” I say, careful to keep the orange cylinder wedged between my back and the drawer—far away from her line of sight. “And since I’m busy this afternoon, I figured the best way to keep my promise is by visiting before classes start.”
She turns her attention away from the contents of the fridge to flash me a fond smile over her shoulder. “Kevin, you've proven your point more than enough already. All my doubts that you’re going to perform your disappearing act again are completely gone.”