Two weeks of living under a cloud.
A cloud where I hadn't left my apartment in days (like a hamster on a wheel), where every sound made me jump, where I hadn't been outside for days (except for an occasional trip to the corner store for a few essentials), and where I hadn't even finished making the sandwiches for the next day—I had them wrapped and put back in the freezer, but I never got to finish them.
I was going mad.
Maybe it was because I was also going crazy.
Two weeks of coming home from a hard day's work only to tackle the housework before collapsing into bed.
And sleep.
Less and less sleep every night.
I was on my way back from the supermarket today—once again, where I was operating on autopilot, carrying the groceries out to the car with my keys at the ready, placing the bags in the boot as quickly as my fumbling hands could manage.
But I could still feel the knife hanging above me, just waiting for me to slip up so that it could plunge and slaughter me all over again.
I could still see the eyes of my ex fixed on me, just waiting for me to slip up so that it could tear me open.
It was a few moments before I realised that there was someone at the door.
I had been so intent on putting the groceries away that I didn't hear my front door open.
When I finally moved to see who it was, the person at the door was clearly just as startled by my sudden appearance.
I tried a smile, to try and ease the tension I was feeling. "Is Dan here?''
The person gave a step backwards, visibly shocked. "No, sorry, Ms. Wilson. Dan's not home. Is he expecting you?"
"He should be home in 15 minutes."
"Oh, cool. Um, I'll let you in then. Sorry to disturb you."
"No, it's fine." I unlocked the door, wanting to explain myself.
"Dan was going to come down later this afternoon, but he told me to tell you that he'd been called in to work," the voice continued, and I was spared the embarrassment of having my blundering words hung in the air by someone who knew I was lying.
"Oh, ok. Thank you."
I waited on the doorstep as the person said his goodbye and went about his way. He returned less than a minute later and opened the door for me.
He didn't ask. He knew not to.
I didn't ask I should come in. I knew that I shouldn't have to.
We stood there for a few seconds, before me saying, "You can go inside," and his retreating.
"I'm sorry if I've interrupted or …" he said after we had gone into the empty house.
"No, it's fine. I need to make some sandwiches for the lunch, anyway." It wasn't the excuse that I was going to use, but I had nothing else.
It was my work excuse for not leaving the house for my own sanity.
"Are you sure? I mean, if you want to call my son and tell him I'm really working from home, I won't be offended."
I tried not to show my surprise, but I couldn't hide my surprise.
This man, Dan, seemed a little too eager for even a casual meeting.
"I'll be quick," I reluctantly said, and tried to ignore his smile as I started the first stage of my to-do list.
As I made my sandwiches, I was aware of him in the kitchen for a few minutes, pretending to be doing something that didn't involve me.
After about two minutes, he disappeared.
I wrapped my sandwich, counted the rest of the food and felt slightly nervous about what I would have to do next.
Breakfast was spread out in front of me.
Conversation had not yet started.
I couldn't go home without talking to my neighbour.
The only topic that would help me was the topic that had almost brought us to a sad end.
I sat at the dining table, staring at the space where the other place should be, then couldn't help myself.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
We both looked away.
"So, what's your next week like?" I ask. "You busy?"
The words I really wanted were 'I'm sorry' or 'We could be friends'.
Yes, I could see it now.
He looked a little shocked that I had actually spoken to him.
I had seen him coming to do the same job as Dan, outside or inside, but I had always had a way out of it.
I didn't have that now.
He was a bit too happy to be an intruder on my pain. Despite pretending that he wasn't going to try to talk to me, it was clear that he was interested in knowing me for another reason than just being my neighbour.
And now, I had involved him.
I felt bad about it, but the whole thing had been Dan's fault in the first place.
"My boss is very understanding," I said, forcing a smile as I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall.
It was only half-past nine. "I'll go home now. I need some quiet."
"Will I see you again?"
"I don't think so. I've got a lot on my … on my mind."
"Maybe tomorrow then?"
I considered whether it had actually been him who had come to the door, or whether it was really my subconscious playing a cruel trick.
I don't know if his voice had been different, because I had been too distraught to notice.
But it was clear that he would return home, and I had no choice but to invite him in to talk to me.
I had staged this and I wasn't ready for it.
"I … You can come back, if you want," I said, and busied myself with packing up my dishes to be washed. "Dan's back at work tomorrow. We could …"
The sentence died away.
"We could try Netflix," I said, like the typical person who first comes up with a movie idea, and then regrets the idea when it turns out there isn't one.
