Chapter Text
WHAT IS IT ABOUT WORK OR school that leaves us so tired? By the end of the day, my eyes are struggling to stay open. As I step through the front door of my apartment, I feel a wave of exhaustion wash over me. My legs ache, my feet hurting from walking from a cash register to a work-counter all day. I want nothing more than to sleep in my bed for ages. My keys jingle in my hand as I push the door closed behind me, the locks clicking into place. I mumble a soft hello to a small black cat that weaves its way around my legs, meowing for attention. “Hey, Max,” I murmur, leaning over to stroke his fur. I scratch him behind his ears as he leans into my touch.
“Gray! You’re home!”
I stand up, turning to see my girlfriend running from the kitchen, arms open wide for a hug. I grin, quickly accepting the hug, her warmth and flowery scent enveloping me, and a wave of calmness washes over me. “How was work?” Abbie’s voice comes from behind my head, both of us still clinging onto each other in a warm embrace. “Exhausting,” I mumble, burying my face in her shoulder and absorbing her hibiscus scent. “There was a huge rush at the cafe today. And it was just me and Charly most of the time.”
“I’m sorry, Raincloud,” Abbie reluctantly backs away from the hug, her eyes roaming over me as if to check if I’d been injured. “It’s okay, love,” I mumble, unable to meet Abbie’s searching eyes. She watches me for a few more moments, then says, “Gray, you look exhausted. Why don’t you lay down for a bit?”
I finally meet her gaze, green eyes melting into hazel. “Okay,” I say softly. I hang my bag up on the shabby coat-rack by the door, then make my way to our bedroom. It’s tiny, but me and Abbie have managed to make it comfortable.
A small twin mattress sits on a wiry bed frame, a soft weighted bedspread pouring over the edge of the bed. The pillows are old and used, but they’re soft and comfortable. Fairy-lights hang on the ceiling above the bed. A small wooden stool is used as a bedside table, a cheap charging station placed lopsided on the top. Old band posters decorate the walls, along with the little notes that Abbie and I write to each other. There’s a tiny window, with cheap blinds drawn, tiny streams of sunlight still peeping through the slats. A fan is squished in a corner by the door. A tiny closet is slightly ajar, shadows spilling out of the crack. On the wall next to the closet, a mirror hangs with tiny bits of sunlight glinting on its surface.
I plop down on the bed, the mattress squeaking slightly beneath my weight. My gaze falls on the mirror. Abbie was right, I think to myself. I do look exhausted. My eyes have dark circles underneath them, my hair a mess of tangled curls. My face seems to droop with tiredness, my pale skin accentuating the bags that are forming underneath my eyes.
Footsteps stop in front of the bedroom door, and a pretty head pops through the crack. "Don't forget to take your binder off before you sleep, love," Abbie reminds me.
I glance down at my chest, flattened by my chest binder. I look up to see that Abbie's ducked out of the doorway and her footsteps fading down the hall to the kitchen. I quickly remove my shirt and binder, replacing them with an oversized faded band t-shirt from the closet. I sigh, wishing I never had to take off the binder that keeps my breasts from poking out of me —— two mounds strapped haphazardly onto my chest. But then my ribs would ache and swell —— I learned that the hard way.
Grumbling softly to myself, I move the covers aside and slip into the bed. As I turn on my side to face the mirror, I begin to notice something off about the reflection. Where there should be posters on the wall in the mirror, there are none. I notice that everywhere the sun does not touch is slightly different than the actual reflection of the room. Instead of walls scattered with scraps of paper, love-notes and posters, the walls are bare, covered in peeling paint. Through the darker parts of the mirror, I see a completely different room, one that looks like it hasn’t been used in years. An antique light fixture hangs from the ceiling, no lightbulbs in sight. Cobwebs in the corners. It looks like a child’s bedroom, but one that has been long abandoned.
It reminds me of the patchwork quilt I tried to make in my senior year of high school, which is probably tucked away in my parents’ closet. Or maybe they threw it out after I cut contact with them. I have no idea what happened to it, but memories from my time with my parents swim in my mind. The yelling. The screaming. The crying. The disappointed looks. And most importantly, the silence. I shake my head, trying to force the thoughts of my past away. I’m so tired, I think, hoping to distract myself from the unpleasant memories now forming in my mind. Yeah, that’s it, I try to assure myself, I’m just tired. The mirror is probably fine. I’m just exhausted.
I finally manage to coax myself enough to relax into a fitful sleep. The apartment is hot, despite the fact that all of the fans in the apartment are on full blast. But I’m used to the heat. I’m used to my swirling thoughts and countless emotions. I’m used to this. There’s nothing I can do.