The coffee machine roared with a sudden madness. That morning it did its magic in an intolerably noisy way. Outside it was still dark and only a single window of the building was awake. It was four, and the city was sleeping. It was four and there was an invisible storm going on at its heart. It was four, and it was too late.
Ella stole the coffee from the machine and drained it into the sink. She had changed her mind. No one sane was to have coffee at such an awkward hour, she decided, and boiled some tea instead. She took out a coke from the fridge, poured it into a long glass and put a straw in it. It looked real fancy that way. The tea sang from the kettle that it was ready. She put it next to the coke and considered mixing them together. She still couldn’t decide if sane, how sane exactly she wanted to be that morning… night… whatever.
She poured them too to waste and started washing the cups and glasses. And some dishes along the way. Just to make sure everything was clean. Clean was nice. So she decided to take down her curtains and wash them as well. He liked smoking in her room, and the smoke left such a disgustingly distinctive smell on everything. She had got to rid herself from the smell.
It was four, and she was awake, and she didn’t know what to do. It was such an annoyingly awkward hour. She was sick of both sleeping and being awake, and there was nothing to do except for cleaning that empty place. She considered crying for a bit or taking a shower. Perhaps both would do. But then she decided she was fed up with that as well, and went back to being so thoroughly and utterly bored at the nothingness going on around her.
There was nothing happening at four o’clock.
She took out the little pills that resided in her purse always and thought of the daily dose. She wondered if she was to lock herself in that tiny apartment, if they would last a week having to take four of them daily. And what would happen if at one point she just didn’t.
She had actually considered that idea before. Stopping them. The pills. Those, the ones nobody knew about. The ones, which you don’t get with a prescription. The ‘happy pills’, as she imagined he would call them. She wondered why they didn’t work against that horrible boredom.
Ella counted them carefully three times and calculated the time she had left with them. If she was to lock herself right now and always took her daily dose precisely, they would last exactly nine and a half days. She didn’t know how much food she had or bottled water, but she had counted every pill and that made her happy.
Then she considered dropping them down the drain too, or in the toiler perhaps, one by one, counting them again. She imagined what life would be like now without them. Maybe she would fall into one of those so adorable on TV and terrible in real life little depressions that people worry about at first and then totally forget until one ended in a bathtub with slit wrists or a turned on hair dryer. And then everyone discusses how they could have never seen it coming. Or that they did but didn’t know what to do.
Maybe if she did that, if she got herself one of those nice little depressions, he would come to investigate too. Maybe he would sit on her sofa and light up a cigarette, and talk random nonsense until he felt out of place and at last left her alone. She didn’t like seeing him that way. Maybe he would ask her what was wrong, and then she was to tell him the truth or at least lie straight to his face. Maybe he would even hug her then, the way he used to back then.
Or maybe he was to knock on her door with his girlfriend hung at his hand. Good thing her door was to be locked then.
“It’s horrifying,” she thought and a cold shiver went down her spine. “One day I’ll die, and he’ll never know I loved him. There will be no one to tell him. It would be like it never happened.
“One day I’ll die… and he won't even know…”
No, she decided. A depression would not do. It could go either way.
She looked at the pills again. She emptied the box on the table and got them in a straight line like soldiers. Ready… Set…
Fire!
***
It was five in the morning, and a phone roared with a sudden madness.
“I’m sorry,” the message read, “it just felt like the right kind of day.”
Ella stole the coffee from the machine and drained it into the sink. She had changed her mind. No one sane was to have coffee at such an awkward hour, she decided, and boiled some tea instead. She took out a coke from the fridge, poured it into a long glass and put a straw in it. It looked real fancy that way. The tea sang from the kettle that it was ready. She put it next to the coke and considered mixing them together. She still couldn’t decide if sane, how sane exactly she wanted to be that morning… night… whatever.
She poured them too to waste and started washing the cups and glasses. And some dishes along the way. Just to make sure everything was clean. Clean was nice. So she decided to take down her curtains and wash them as well. He liked smoking in her room, and the smoke left such a disgustingly distinctive smell on everything. She had got to rid herself from the smell.
It was four, and she was awake, and she didn’t know what to do. It was such an annoyingly awkward hour. She was sick of both sleeping and being awake, and there was nothing to do except for cleaning that empty place. She considered crying for a bit or taking a shower. Perhaps both would do. But then she decided she was fed up with that as well, and went back to being so thoroughly and utterly bored at the nothingness going on around her.
There was nothing happening at four o’clock.
She took out the little pills that resided in her purse always and thought of the daily dose. She wondered if she was to lock herself in that tiny apartment, if they would last a week having to take four of them daily. And what would happen if at one point she just didn’t.
She had actually considered that idea before. Stopping them. The pills. Those, the ones nobody knew about. The ones, which you don’t get with a prescription. The ‘happy pills’, as she imagined he would call them. She wondered why they didn’t work against that horrible boredom.
Ella counted them carefully three times and calculated the time she had left with them. If she was to lock herself right now and always took her daily dose precisely, they would last exactly nine and a half days. She didn’t know how much food she had or bottled water, but she had counted every pill and that made her happy.
Then she considered dropping them down the drain too, or in the toiler perhaps, one by one, counting them again. She imagined what life would be like now without them. Maybe she would fall into one of those so adorable on TV and terrible in real life little depressions that people worry about at first and then totally forget until one ended in a bathtub with slit wrists or a turned on hair dryer. And then everyone discusses how they could have never seen it coming. Or that they did but didn’t know what to do.
Maybe if she did that, if she got herself one of those nice little depressions, he would come to investigate too. Maybe he would sit on her sofa and light up a cigarette, and talk random nonsense until he felt out of place and at last left her alone. She didn’t like seeing him that way. Maybe he would ask her what was wrong, and then she was to tell him the truth or at least lie straight to his face. Maybe he would even hug her then, the way he used to back then.
Or maybe he was to knock on her door with his girlfriend hung at his hand. Good thing her door was to be locked then.
“It’s horrifying,” she thought and a cold shiver went down her spine. “One day I’ll die, and he’ll never know I loved him. There will be no one to tell him. It would be like it never happened.
“One day I’ll die… and he won't even know…”
No, she decided. A depression would not do. It could go either way.
She looked at the pills again. She emptied the box on the table and got them in a straight line like soldiers. Ready… Set…
Fire!
***
It was five in the morning, and a phone roared with a sudden madness.
“I’m sorry,” the message read, “it just felt like the right kind of day.”