I welcomed the comforting familiarity of my place in the apartment that was just above the woodstore. I double looked at the front door, and quickly dropped into the coach and started past the white- pink curtains. The view from my very own doors wasn't spectacular. But it was comforting. Situated on what was once the main Street. The building across from where I stayed was a movie studio, but downstairs. And an apartment with tightly drawn curtains upstairs. Until recently, it had been empty; however, it seemed that someone had just moved in a few weeks ago.
During the sleepless nights since Gregory's murder, I have always taken comfort in the glow of the window, which reminded me that, despite the nightmares, I wasn't really alone in the world.
I slowly turned back to my own small apartment, looked over the living room as if I had never seen it before. Two bookcases dominated the furnishings while the couch and a chair sat pressed against the wall, both splattered with creamy coloured flowers. A coffee table was stacked with various items, including books, knick-knacks, a bottle of nail polish, and a disused mug that had been a gift.
I scooped up the delicate glass piece and balanced its weight in my palm. I made a smile and had a thought of how impossible it would be to wash red marks from the cut mug. It had been something trivial and odd, a strange present from a strange person. Closing my eyes, I pictured Gregory and just as quickly, I pushed that image away. He'd been so delighted when he'd presented to me the stupid mug, proud that it matched the candy dish that sat on top of my television.
He had grinned, his breath sent sweet with alcohol, while his deep blue eyes always loved at some private joke. Gregory, with his blonde hair, his smile and dark moods...
Three weeks ago, I had found him in his apartment, the doors and windows locked, his throat torn out in a mess of gleaming gore. At first, I had a thought that maybe a wild animal had attacked him, but no! No! That wasn't really an animal; an animal would leave behind hair or saliva. However, the police didn't find any, nor did they discover any fingerprints or footprints out of the ordinary, not even a stray air or a flake of skin. I have been grilled relentlessly. The police could call my home, job, or even my parents, always wanting to know if my husband had told me anything that might be some kind of clue.
A strange smile flitted across my face, Gregory, husband to be, lover. Everyone had their own thoughts about what I might have done to him- except myself. In the year I had known him, we could sleep together off and on, call one another now and again, and we would go out sometimes. However, that wasn't really from inside me, for he was trying to make me accept the arranged marriage, which was to happen in a few weeks, although I had no choice but to accept getting married to this man. My father had instructed, and I surely had to abide by his words. It was already planned, and we were ready for it.
Gregory has always been good. He could take risks for me, he could do anything to protect our relationship. He worked all around the clock to see to it that things worked out with time. We only had a few days before our marriage, but unfortunately, he is gone and never to come back.
When we had exchanged Christmas presents, a month ago, my parents, especially my father, had gotten excited and started calling him my husband, no matter how many times I had denied it. Gregory appeared to be a lot of things: he was sweet, charming, special, moody and temperemental: most of all deep down he was a fragile as spun glass. But he was not my husband yet.
However, there was no denying that I had started having feelings for him. I had been very careful never to scratch their surface to find out how deep they really ran. I preferred to think they were shallow, but sometimes late at night, I wondered if that was true.
I dropped the mug to the table and sagged as the deep, warm voice replayed in my mind, "I know who killed your lover" It sounded like some cruel trick designed to embarrass me or take me to the middle of nowhere. Maybe so, the murderer could kill me too.
I grabbed the bottle of blue nail polish and repeated the ritual of touching up my chipped nails. The sharp smell brought me to the present. It left room for nothing but here and now _and right now I had left the work a few minutes early. They had docked me to pay for it, and the next day I had to face the wrath of our new manager. When the polish was dry, I turned on my phone, " Ensure to turn it off when you come in the door" was my new manager's words and policy.
Suddenly, the screen turned on, and there was a flash on my face as I looked down to check the notification; it was a message. I started to check it only to find out it was a voice note from my mother.
The moment I responded with a greeting, I could hung up, I wasn't ready for another lecture." when are you going to get married, he is gone. Will you now think of someone else? " marriage was the last thing I was interested in at the moment, or at a point I had to tell myself that I had plenty of time left.
I pedalled towards the kitchen and realised that the call might be about grave day, as I referred to it every year.
I stared blankly into the refrigerator that had empty drink cartons and while the jars dotted the back of the shelves, I had to do some shopping, but I have been so busy, I have had no chance to think about my own life. My stomach rumbled and I quickly checked the cupboards. They were equally empty. With a final resigned sigh, I rushed and dashed into the bedroom, changed into a sweatshirt and a dark blue sweater, and then grabbed my keys and headed out to the door.
I had to convince myself for a small trip to the mall or Cafe maybe, to find something to eat, then back to spend a relaxing evening at my apartment with my television watching movies. Or maybe to get lost together in mindless entertainment.
As I locked the door behind me, a strange sense of foreboding swept over me as though a dark cloud had crossed the sun and left me in the shadow. I looked back at my apartment's door at the tiny silvery numbers and the little wooden name plaque Layla had made for me. I laughed at myself with my dramatic mood.
"Don't worry " I assured the empty room "I'll be here soon"