Hidden Heartstrings

03: How Deep Is Your Grudge?

03: How Deep Is Your Grudge?

Sitting dejectedly at someone's doorstep with my cat sleeping beside me is not how I pictured my beloved Saturday afternoon to turn out to be. I stretch my now lifeless legs, silently praying that they'd still be in walkable condition. Sitting for 3 hours with my back against a hard, expensive door really does take a toll on my poor body.

I wrap my arms around Murphy's warm body, savaging as much warmth as possible. I hear the television blaring from inside and grit my teeth so hard that the upper set of teeth slides and gives off a weird screech that makes me cringe.

I forked out my rent money with much pain, I should say and yet here I am: sitting stupidly like a sack of potatoes at some prick's doorstep; like some rejected and return package. To be honest, I haven't got a bloody clue how anyone could actually put up with his rotten personality. I haven't even stayed with him for more than an hour and I'm already sick to the stomach.

He's so obnoxious and rude; I don't know why anyone would even want to be anywhere near him.

I'm quite a patient person, but being anywhere near this insufferable prick; even if we were practically a mile away, which is anything but near; I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to keep my regular composure for long.

I barely know Jake, but I'm already harboring animosity within me towards him. It's funny how I can even hate someone I don't know. All of a sudden, living with him seems like a very grave idea- one I should chuck into the incinerator and never let it see the daylight ever again.

I've always been told never to judge a book by its cover and look deep within in order to determine someone's worth, but unfortunately that isn't the case and most definitely cannot be applied to every single situation.

Even though it's such a pity to leave such a breathtaking room and walk away, if it means putting up with his nonsense, I'm out.

Negativity surges through my mind and I find myself wallowing in frustration. As time passes by, frustration manifests itself into anger and I find myself in a difficult, impregnable predicament.

To turn my back around and leave without a second thought or to continue sitting while releasing deadly fumes of anger, I can't seem to choose.

Murphy's throaty meow snaps me from my thoughts and I turn my attention to him. He scratches at the door desperately, feeling the irrefutable need to go in. The smell of bacon wafts under the door through the thin gap and dances its way into our nostrils.

My stomach lets out a deep, monstrous rumble that I never knew existed and I know exactly why.

A sound vibrates within the walls of Murphy's throat before escaping his mouth and manifesting itself into a deafening, sharp meow.

"I know you like bacon but keep it down."

My hand bobs downwards as I try to gesture out my message; not like he'd understand it anyway. My heart goes out to Murphy but there's nothing we can do except take in the wisps of bacon and try to feed our stomachs with it.

If only I could turn the wisps of bacon into edible and tangible bacon, I would.

The hunger pangs bite at my stomach walls viciously and mercilessly, taking humongous, whale-sized bites at a time, driving me insane.

I knock weakly on the door and wait for a reply and for the door to click open, to welcome me in with the strong wafts of bacon, but that doesn't happen.

Now why on earth would it?

Silence is all I'm surrounded with. Not to mention the irresistible smell of bacon constantly taunting and torturing me, making me drool.