THE CALL OF HER

1

Friday, your last day to work this week and then you're free...for at least two days.

You wash your hands as soon as you get home, soon to slide off your scrubs and shove them into the washer. You space out on your hands that create soap suds, dirty now clean. The apartment is quiet, Monica must be working late tonight.

Drying your damp hands on a wash cloth, you begin to slide down your pants and up your shirt, getting rid of you're clothes all together. Monchy, the new Labrador, thrown up all over on you and it wasn't even 12 o'clock yet. That automatically ruined your day.

Stepping into the shower, you let your hair fall out of it's stress undone pony tail and to rest on your bare shoulders. "I'm throwing that shirt out." You mutter to yourself, smelling the stench of dog food and what ever else reek it's fumes into the bathroom.

                                                                                   ღ ღ ღ

You rub your thumb against the fabric of your blanket as you lay in bed, Monica's warm arms wrapped around you. Feeling her heavy, and slowed breathes against your neck signals that she is fast into REM sleep. 

You should be too, having it be 12:30 am.

( Favorite Television Show ) Plays on the T.V on the wall, your tired eyes and mind tries it's best to keep up with the story line, but it's no use. "Fine." You whisper, already envisioning where the melatonin sits in the bathroom cabinet. 

You smoothly slide out of Monica's arms and press your cold feet onto the fuzzy carpet below, hands grasping your blanket to wrap around your shoulders due to the cold of the apartment. 

Exiting your bedroom, you turn to your right to enter the hall. Thankful for the kitchen light to be on at the end of the hallway, you turn left into the bathroom and shiver at the cold bathroom tiles below your feet. 

Opening the cabinet, you grab the bottle of melatonin gummies and bring them into comfortable reach. Unscrewing the lid, you slide two out, and quickly rest them into your mouth eager for sleep to come. 

Tiredly turning to leave the bathroom, you flick off the light and make your way into the hallway. But the absence of your shadow alerts you. You slowly turn to face the kitchen, and see darkness. "The light was on." You remind yourself. 

A shadow in the kitchen slowly reveals itself to be its own shape and form, the gleam of the knife creating an even more threatening feel around the woman's aurora. Taking a step back into the hall, you urge to run to the bedroom and slam the door shut while locking it. 

Glowing eyes meet yours, heavy breathing sounds animalistic. You never thought a human could make the noises you heard the woman let out. But the breathing sounded muffled, was she wearing a mask?

A buzzing in the back of your skull makes your eye twitch, the nerve in your pointer finger grows energetic making your finger bounce around the cloth of your blanket without reason. The woman lurked closer, eyes only on you. 

"He sees you. And is watching, waiting, for you." Her voice sounds so recognizable, it almost hurts to know who the voice belongs to. 

"Kate?" You call out, ignoring the nonsense she whispers. 

"Who?" Monica's voice takes you out of the surreal experience, making you jump and a gasp escape your lips. The kitchen light turns on, and Monica reveals herself to be peeling an orange with the pocket knife her father gifted her last November. Tears want to fall, an emotion of loss, and confusion wants to become physical.

"Oh, darling, I didn't mean to frighten you." Monica rushes to your side, wiping away your frightened, and grief filled tears. You hadn't notice the tears fall, you didn't feel their cold selves slip down your cheek bones. 

Your hands reach her hips and pull her in for a hug, "I saw something that wasn't there." You barely breathe out, face burrowed in the side of her neck. Monica's perfume is still there, and smells like vanilla. 

The perfume you gifted her from Victoria's Secret, on your one year anniversary. 

"Lets get you to bed." Her sticky hands grasp your arm, smelling sweet of orange juice. 

You nod, still shaking from the echoes of Kates voice. 

 -------------------------------------------------

make sure to vote yall 

kanye west 2024