Tell Me a Story | ✓

Good Morning.

Good Morning.

Sighing, I stretch out my arms and arch my back, a small groan escaping me at the thought of opening my eyes and starting the day. My fingers brush over the cold spot beside me and I cringe, shrinking my hand away and rolling over to my side of the bed. Or really, both sides are my side. I frown at this conclusion and blink open my sticky eyes, coming face to face with Scout.

"Hey there," I croak, stroking her head with two fingers. A yawn breaks out and Scout closes her eyes, laying her small head back down on the bed sheets and leaving me feel even more tired. "No, no. If I have to wake up, you have to wake up."

With difficulty, I sit up in bed and swing my legs over to the side, my feet skimming the freezing wooden floors. I stand and face my bed, scooping Scout into my arms and trudging to the kitchen. The pitiful excuse of a cat whines, clawing at my arms in a useless attempt to escape.

By the time I've made it to the coffee pot and Scout's wiggled her way out of my weak-as-hell grasp, something disrupt me – something that's too early in the morning for me to hear.

The doorbell.

I reluctantly part ways from the coffeemaker and give my lazy feline a look of disapproval. "Do I look presentable?" I ask her, rolling my eyes at my lousy joke and trudging to the front door. Whoever it is, they're going to get an earful for disrupting my depressing morning ritual.My new morning ritual.

Unlatching the padlock and the bolt, I twist open the door and present a nervous-looking ex-boyfriend holding a bouquet of... carrots.

"What the-" I begin, but he interrupts with saying, "You never liked flowers."

I stare at him, speechless. What do I say to the man who left me alone with my thoughts and feelings while he was out playing tonsil-hockey with some other girl (who just so happened to be his ex-girlfriend)? I stare at him, speechless.

And he just smiles.

I reach out my hand and he gently hands over the limp sticks of carrots, me taking them by the leafy stems. Stepping back from the door, he sees this as an invitation to come inside. But I shake my head as I watch the door close with the small kick of my bare foot against the wooden panel.

"Thanks for the carrots," I sigh, locking the bolt and padlock, and then returning to the kitchen where Scout is lying on the counter beside the coffeepot.

Good morning.