Butterfly Storm {MINOR REVISIONS}

15 || Power

～·～·～

"A man was found dead last night in the east river of Manhattan. The gruesome discovery comes after police received a tip around 9 P.M, finding the victim mauled by sharks. The victim is believed to be Matteo Russo; an international sales manager reported missing two weeks. . ."

One's tinnitus soaked in the reporter's voice as it drowned in absent silence. An eight o'clock morning watched the woman search through the cupboards. Her favorite mug dangled on her mind as she'd spent ten-ish minutes looking for it.

Without any luck, Indigo dropped her hands on her hips, confused as hell. Her vision scattered the quaint kitchen, eyeing anything that looked remotely like the creamy-colored mug with splotches of printed mini pretzels. Twice, she'd been fooled into believing she found it—at a distance.

That's weird, she thought, deciding to try the lounge once more. I know I left it in the sink to soak overnight.

Her thoughts led her to wander into the adjacent room, swapping vinyl tile for carpet. The lounge was the same as she left it last night. Her creamy knitted throw tossed over the sofa from when she'd fallen asleep—the first many throughout the night. She remembered turning the TV off beforehand as it sat idly against the main wall—a wall ruined by the previous tenant's abuse. Indigo made a mental note to clean the coffee table lounging the space in between.

The neighbor's dog was barking at God knows what again. A typical morning for the Italian, and it had her gaze flitting ahead. Her favorite rugged chair nestled in the front corner of the living space, accompanied by her sketchbook and lamp settled upon the dark, veneer-finished side table. The morning's light peered in through the sheer curtains.

Indigo had two sketchbooks, and she hadn't touched the A5 one since the night she met Reese. The inspiration to draw her obsession wasn't fluttering.

"Nonna, have you seen my pretzel mug anywhere?" She hollered up the staircase opposite the main wall.

The radio's infomercial hum answered her with once-in-a-lifetime opportunities and unbeatable deals. Indigo paused at the base. She found herself looking up the staircase where years abused the faded wallpaper, half expecting the elder to appear around the corner. But she never did.

A sigh echoed her defeat. Indigo decided to leave her missing mug for later on. She could live without a morning mocha. She returned to the kitchen, preparing a light breakfast of granola thrown into a hand-sized bowl with blueberry yogurt. Leaning against the counter, Indigo took slow spoonfuls, surrendering to the erratic thoughts gnawing over nonna's health.

The elder had been holed up in her room for the past week, barely eating anything the granddaughter made for her. But somehow, her clothing had begun straining against her body like she'd been gaining weight. Not only that, but every so often, when quiet enough, Indigo could hear the muffled hacks of wet coughs behind the closed door.

Thankfully, Indigo hadn't heard any noises since waking at six, meaning nonna was most likely asleep. But the silence couldn't stop the worry between her brows or the squeeze in her chest. Convincing herself that it would pass wasn't all that reassuring either.

Eating the last spoonful, Indigo dumped the bowl in the sink and let it soak. She prepared to leave with her bag slung over her shoulder, keys in hand. But the door stilled from its lock. The woman paused again, hesitant. Should I check on her before I leave?

A minute passed with Indigo torn between checking in or leaving it. The more she thought about it, the more she leaned to the latter; maybe it was better to let her rest. They were going to the doctor's for another prescription afterward, so that would be Indigo's opportunity to get to the bottom of whatever nonna refused to tell her whenever she asked about the appointments.