Lennon.
Despite being ridiculed by Nia about the awful hangover I was sporting, Monday was dull and tedious. The cake orders seemed never ending and headache only worsened. The little sleep I had managed to get the night before wasn’t helping. My eyes were burning from the lack of sleep. My head was spinning and not just from the alcohol.
I hated to sound like one of those cliché dramas, but I spent most of Monday morning eyeing the front door and sliding across the kitchen every time the doorbell chimed. I wasn’t waiting for a prince to come a whisk me away off my feet… that’s what I told myself anyway. Although my inner conscious knew that wasn’t true.
My thoughts had been distracted ever since last night. I couldn’t comprehend what happened nor why, but I wanted it to happen again. Was it his mysterious demeanour that intrigued me? His annoyingly good looks? Or his charming persona? I digress, it was all three.
Dom either didn’t notice, or didn’t say anything about my change in personality last night. But I’m sure as soon as another drop of liquor touched my lips any thoughts of Harry had soon be drowned, until later when I was lying in bed replaying everything in my head.
My arms were heavy from aching and tiredness. I was tired from lack of sleep and general tiredness of life. Harry was the only bit of spontaneity in my life, which would explain why I was holding on to the tiny tether he held on my life. I wake up, I go to work, I go home ready to do it again the next day. This wasn’t how I pictured the last years of my teens.
I was starting to wonder what I would have been doing at university. Would I have an amazingly gorgeous boyfriend, with the perfect music taste and an adorable personality? Would I be top of the class with an internship laid out on the table for me? Would my roommate and me learnt to get along? Or would that still have me dragged back into the gang circle somehow?
It wasn’t that I regretted dropping out; it was always the what if part. What if I had stayed there, how different would me life be? I wouldn’t know unless I actually went back and I wasn’t sure that was what I actually wanted. I blamed it on S.A.D, seasonal affective disorder, which I hadn’t been diagnosed with but I wanted to blame it on something other than regret.
Monday was even more mind numbing than normal. Dom wasn’t home, he had been dragged to the pub by his work colleagues, much to his displeasure. Dom didn’t mind the pub, it was the people he worked with that he minded. And I couldn’t blame him, they were like vulchers on a dead carcass. They would flirt with anyone of the female gender that got within ten feet of them. It was painful to watch. I had met them once and that was enough.
Jason and Emma weren’t home, which I thanked the lord for. I was too grumpy to have to hear them bickering or worse. Of course they couldn’t actually leave the house without eating half my food first. I had no cereal, milk or bread. The pot noodle in the cupboard was there before we even moved in and the block of cheese in the fridge was beginning to grow its own city.
After rummaging around the cupboards and several sneezing attacks from the vast amount of dust, I finally came across a tin of soup that was still in date. I sat down in front of the tv, on the worn out sofa and watched The Great British Bake Off, and drooled over the amazing cakes they made. The fact I was eating lentil flavoured soup sunk my mood even more.
I didn’t know what else to do with myself. I wasn’t used to have the house alone, it was quiet, but I liked it. I found myself ascending the stairs to my bedroom. After powering up my laptop, the only piece of equipment that actually strayed away from the typical student income. I splashed out on a MacBook before heading to university; fair to say it didn’t see the light of day very often. Nowadays I used it mainly for listening to music.
I turned on one of the music radio stations sites and relaxed on my bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. I lied there for almost a full twenty minutes before I got bored. I tried sleeping but I was still clothed and my laptop was still blaring out some top forty song.
I rolled off the mattress and slumped my way towards my desk that was covered in everything and anything, ranging from notebooks to dirty clothes to a half smashed iPod. The iPod wasn’t my fault, or maybe it was. I was dancing away in the kitchen at work when Floyd made me jump and I slung it half way across the kitchen. He wasn’t happy but neither was I.
After moving the pile of clothes which had grown accustomed to living on my desk chair, I finally sat down and pulled the notebook out of my bag which I had been using recently. I had managed to remember not to leave it anywhere, I didn’t want to end up in any sticky situations again anytime soon.
The first page was filled with doodles, in fact the first ten pages were filled with random drawings and sketches I had done. They were mainly of the characters I created. I drew from memory so some of them looked a bit odd or unfinished.
I flipped through the book, landing on the most recent drawing. It was actually a page filled with drawings. All of Harry. Which could be classed as slightly worrying or creepy. But after every occurrence, I noticed something new or different about him, it changed the way I drew him. I noticed each time the sketches got more intense, as if I had been studying him even harder. I pressed down harder, making bolder, darker lines when I was angry or annoyed with him.
I flicked past the drawings to a fresh page and did what I did best, for hours until I was almost content with the words scribbled on the page for no one but me to see.
Tuesday was no different than Monday, long, boring and I still hadn’t been whisked off my feet. I was starting to create weird fantasies in my mind as I kneaded the dough and iced the cakes. Half the time I’d imagine myself to be some slender, tall, long haired beauty, with the looks and the personality which had Harry drooling at my feet. And then I snapped back to reality and realised how weird I was being. The only thing different about Tuesday was that Floyd was more stressed than unusual. It was ‘delivery’ day, and not for baked goods. I shouldn’t have known this, but I did. I knew what was beneath my feet in the basement and it did make me nervous, but I was nowhere near as tensed as Floyd.
Wednesday passed by, slowly but surely. Nothing exciting happened. I watched the new series of American Horror Story before going to bed, which was the highlight of my days now apparently. I was promised horror, I was disappointed with the lack of.
Thursday was probably the worst day of the week. The weather was awful, it was like a monsoon outside. The rain and wind was unbearable. I was soaked through by the time I reached the bakery so I had to stand next to the oven for half an hour in attempt to dry off. It didn’t work great, but it was better than nothing. The bakery was almost completely empty, there had been at most ten customers. And then I realised why Floyd did extra business on the side. This place wasn’t taking enough to stay open on its own.
Friday morning, my alarm 'forgot' to go off. I was running late as it was but I dawdled in the shower. I took extra time washing my hair and exfoliating my face. I needed to wake up so I thought scratching my face with tiny beads would do the trick. It didn’t, I was still just as tired as I was when I got in, when I got out.
Dripping wet, with just a towel draped around me I sauntered down stairs. Fixed myself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal after I remembered to buy some the other night. There wasn’t a lot of milk so my coffee was black and my cereal was mostly dry. I waddled back up stairs with my hands full and trying to avoid flashing any unsuspecting visitors in the morning.
I sat down on my bed, watching the morning weather forecast on my laptop as I munched my way through the cereal. By the time I was done getting ready and changed, my hair was pretty much dry, luckily.
I checked the time just before leaving again and I cringed when I saw I should have been at work forty-five minutes ago. What really surprised me though was the lack of contact from Floyd. The only thing he hated more than burnt bread was tardiness. I shrugged my shoulders at my blank messages and proceeding in putting my coat and shoes on. I wasn’t risking another instalment of yesterday so I remembered to grab my umbrella on the way out of my room.
I made sure I stomped down the stairs in order to wake Emma and Jason up, like they had woken me up when they stormed through the house completely drunk in the early hours of the morning. I was hoping this would make their hangovers ten times worse. I guess karma really is a bitch, and apparently so was I.
I nodded my head along to the music playing through my headphones as I sat on the tube participating in my favourite hobby; people watching. Sometimes little kids would notice I was staring at certain people and then they’d asked their parents ‘Mummy, why is that girl staring at that man?’. Cue the odd looks and the awkward shuffles away from me.
Luckily no one called me out on my obscure staring and allowed me to travel without an awkward encounter. Typically it wasn’t raining, in fact the sun was shining and I looked stupid wearing a coat, let alone carrying an umbrella.
I crossed the road from the tube station over to the bakery, playing chicken with the traffic. Something every kid was taught not to do as a child. I guess I was one of those rebel children. In my defence the nearest crossing was half a mile down the road and I was already over an hour late.
Once I stood outside the bakery I didn’t comprehend all the lights being switched off and I failed to notice the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door until I tried to get inside. The door was still locked. I checked my watch, it was past ten, why wasn’t it open? I checked my phone, still nothing. I was perplexed beyond belief. I couldn’t recall neither Nia nor Floyd telling me it was closed today.
I peered through the window and noticed someone walk across the hallway into the kitchen. It looked like a man, so I assumed Floyd. After knocking on the door and getting no response I started to feel paranoid. I looked around, everything looked normal. After deciding I should see what’s going on, I didn’t want to go home to find out there was a logical explanation and getting a lecture from Floyd on Monday. So I rummaged in my bag for the set of keys I had. The door opened with ease after that.
“Hello?” I called out. No reply.
There were no footsteps, no voices, no noises.
“Floyd?” Nothing.
“Nia?” Nothing. Again.
The only odd thing was a smell which I couldn't quite put my finger on, it wasn't pleasant but it was somewhat familiar.
I had butterflies in my stomach, the feeling of nervousness but not the kind where you know why you’re nervous but the horrible feeling of not knowing why. I felt the need to feel anxious and scared and I had no clue why.
My inner instinct was telling me to run, go home and just sleep the day away. But I had to know what was going or else I’d be meddled with unfilled questions.
Going against my instinct I slowly and quietly crept towards the counter so I could go into the kitchen. I tiptoed without knowing why. Should I be quiet? Should I be hiding? I slithered round the counter and peered into the hallway. Floyd’s office door was closed and the light that normally shone underneath was nowhere to be seen.
The kitchen was still pitch black, but I knew I wasn’t alone. I could hear breathing and I had seen someone only minutes before. The breathing wasn’t loud or heavy. Who ever it was, wasn’t near me. In fact they sounded like they were in the staffroom or near the staircase that led to the padlocked room down below.
I held my breath as I crept across into the kitchen. I cursed the fact the light switch was in the middle of the room. I had to creep across half the kitchen until I managed to find my way to the switch after feeling up the wall in some odd manner. I had my back to the kitchen as I flicked the light on. The brightness temporarily blinding me as my eyes grew accustom to the light.
Once I could finally see again I spun on my heels and almost fainted at the sight in front of me. My feet were drenched in blood, I had left footsteps all the way across the kitchen. My heart was beating so fast I could feel the blood rushing around my head. The thought of the blood I was now wearing was beginning to make me feel sick.
I stumbled towards the centre counter in the kitchen and screamed ear piercingly loud as soon as I leant forward and saw what was on the other side. My hands were shaking uncontrollably and I was defiant I was going to be sick in a minute. The tears pouring down my face were unreal as the screaming still ignited from my body.
It was only when I heard the footsteps again did I stop screaming and turn to look towards the doorway. I stopped screaming, crying and shaking. I felt numb, rendering this as the end as an unfamiliar man stood in the doorway gripping a bloody knife in one hand and pointed a gun directly at my head with the other.