Die Without You - L.P

The Cat

Enjoy! :)

The wind was freezing, and it bit into Amy's skin as she walked. It whistled and whistled a tune that was sweet music to her ears. Once or twice, she thought she heard voices in it, but they faded into the air as quickly as they'd come.

Her feet seemed to have minds of their own. They dove into every crack on the pavement, became tangled up with one another, and twisted awkwardly with each step. They were unbearably irritating. She wished she could take them off and simply walk on rounded stumps for a bit.

In fact, she actually seated herself on the ground and attempted to wrench off her own feet. Luckily, the roads were vacant and no one caught a glimpse of the strange display. When she'd surmised that it was definitely impossible to do so, she clambered to her feet and continued her journey.

The world was eerily silent at this late hour. Not a single soul was present in her vicinity, and she was glad for it. When she was in this inebriated state, her grief was most potent, and she wanted no one else to see it. She could feel the dark sadness within her spreading and rising. Maybe it was drawn to the black of the night, she mused.

The walk was short, but Amy still desired the convenience and relative comfort of her truck. It would have cut her travel time in half. Unfortunately, George had swiped her keys, as he did every night. He would never let her drive in this condition. He could be annoyingly kind at times.

She would stroll back there tomorrow morning to collect her keys. George would give her that look, the one filled with sympathy and a scolding that was begging to burst free. He would press his lips together tightly, though, and only shake his head slightly, a quiet reprimanding that was somehow so much worse. Then she'd drive to Meadowlane Elementary School and prepare her classroom for the lengthy day ahead.

The wind had settled down a bit now, but it was still frigid. She wished she'd donned a thicker coat earlier, though this was the thickest coat she owned. It seemed to get colder every day and she despised the change in temperature.

A shapeless mass the color of ink rushed past her, and she screeched in fright. It sped towards her and began to writhe around her ankles. It was soft and startling and terrifying all at once. Then, out of the blue, it mewed, and the mystery was solved.

She bent down and attempted to stroke its silky fur, but the cat hissed sharply and sunk its sharp claws into her wrist. Then it was off, slipping into the velvet night.

For a moment, she stood there clutching her bleeding wrist. The blood dripped onto the concrete, dark spots in a dark night. Then she shook her head and stumbled on.

Finally, she reached her flat and sighed shakily in relief. The door opened silently without protest. She'd left it unlocked, like she did every morning. She knew no one in this town would steal from her.

There was only one dim light perched on the coffee table. It cast a warm glow on the simple cozy room. The brown armchair, matching sofa, and clunky television sat in the den, in different positions than they'd been in the day before. She had to rearrange the furniture every day before she left for work. It was a strange impulse that always left her oddly unsatisfied.

A bookshelf spanned half of the wall, crammed with novels. Some old, some new, all read at least once. She noticed a few holes in the rows, spots where books were missing. She knew exactly where those books were and also knew she would never retrieve them.

She shuffled to her bedroom, already dreaming of her comfy bed. Exhaustion filled her to the brim. There was nothing more she desired than to sleep away her troubles, though she knew full well that they would haunt her nightmares too.

However, all plans of dozing off were abruptly wiped from her mind when she saw the light on in her room. The lamp had been off when she'd left; she was absolutely sure of it. Everything she did was exactly the same every single day. This hadn't changed.

Cautiously, she crept towards the door and curled her fingers around the edge. Then she flung it open, hoping to catch the intruder by surprise. She'd expected a huge, hulking man concealed with a ski mask grasping a gun or a knife.

When she saw who it actually was, she wished her previous assumptions had been true.

"Hey, Amy." Her voice was perky and cheerful and the opposite of what she wanted to hear right now.

"What are you doing here?" she asked bluntly. The room suddenly felt like a navy ocean too thick to swim in.

"I was waiting for you," Sara said. She scrunched up her button nose and stared at Amy inquisitively.

"Are you... drunk?" She sounded incredulous.

"Does it matter?" Amy's tongue suddenly didn't fit inside her mouth.

Sara opened her mouth to respond but closed it quickly. Her gaze was on Amy's wrist, which had stopped bleeding by now. That damn cat had left an angry, red mark on her skin.

"Is-is that a cut on your wrist?"

"Yeah, it's just-" Amy tried to explain, but Sara had leapt up, the blood draining from her rosy cheeks.

"You're cutting yourself!" Sara cried in horror.

Amy raised her voice, but it was lost in her friend's hysterical shrieks.

"Oh my god, I knew you were getting worse, but I didn't know it was this bad." Her hazel eyes had doubled in size, and the golden flecks sprinkled in them were laced with worry.

"What am I gonna tell your mother?" she squeaked. She began to pace the room, her bare feet thudding softly on her plush carpet.

"I should've paid more attention. All those books and websites say that drinking is a sign." She paused and looked at Amy with a frightened expression. "But I never thought you of all people would-"

"Shut the fuck up," Amy groaned when Sara paused for breath. "I'm not cutting myself."

She looked hopelessly confused. "Then how did-"

"It was some random cat," she stated, keeping her voice as level as possible. She could feel something within her bubbling up, about to burst, and struggled to contain it.

"It scratched me. I'm not suicidal, dumbass." Yet, she thought.

"Oh," she breathed in relief. "I just-you... ok. Um, do you need my help with anything?" she stuttered awkwardly.

"No. I just need to sleep."

"But you can't!" Sara protested. Amy raised an eyebrow.

"Intoxicated people aren't supposed to sleep. You could die!" Her eyes were wide and doe-like, giving her an innocent, childish look.

"I've done it before. I'll be fine."

"No." She was being uncharacteristically stubborn. "Stay awake."

"I have to teach tomorrow."

"You should've thought about that before you went and got smashed."

Amy glared at her in frustration, but Sara wouldn't yield. She knew she wouldn't be getting a lick of rest tonight. A sigh escaped her lips, and for a second, a tear almost slipped from her eyes. But she squeezed her lids together tightly and exhaled deeply. Now was not the time.