I could never comprehend how someone could take another's life; but then I understood. It becomes addictive. The first time had been by accident, but the others? Not so much. They just kept disappointing, or lying, or leaving.
This guy was great though and I couldn't wait to see him again. We had spent the most wonderful night together. Laughing and talking early into the morning. He'd left his number with me this morning.
'It's fake' she said.
He said that he had to get to work and hadn't meant to wake me.
'He was sneaking out.'
He said he'd call me when he finished work.
'He won't call you,' she sang mockingly, 'you're so naïve.'
'Stop.'
'You know I'm right,' she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
'Please stop,' I whispered.
'Naïve.'
My mind seemed to snap out of a haze and I realised where I was. The morning sun was streaming through my kitchen window, hitting the dainty crystal wind chimes hanging from the window sill casting little rainbows throughout my studio apartment.
Why was I in the kitchen? Had I been sleep walking again?
The clock on the microwave read 7:27am, the little illuminated numbers flashing like a mocking traffic light. I hated being late, and work started in exactly thirty-three – no thirty-two minutes. A very un-lady-like curse left my lips as I rushed towards the bathroom.
Seventeen and a half minutes was a new record for me, sure my hair was still wet, but I was out the door with just enough time to make the short walk to work.
'You're going to be late,' she said, her lips curling into a smirk.
I pushed my legs to move quicker.
7:59am. The large clock in the foyer of Mayne Time News boasted my achievement and a relieved breath left my lips. Made it.
A quick elevator trip to the third floor and I was seated at my desk within two minutes.
'Your shirt's inside out,' a voice called from behind me.
My eyes widened in horror and I looked down, my shirt was- not inside out. I spun in my chair and glared at Harry, a fellow writer.
'Harry, don't scare me like that,' I scolded him only to get laughed at.
'Couldn't help myself. You're never late though, and you barely made it today. What gives?' he asked taking his seat at the desk next to mine.
'I think I was sleep walking again, I woke up in the kitchen at like 7:30 this morning.'
He made a face and then straightened when the elevator doors made an opening whoosh sound.
Richard Mayne was the classic strict boss, always on time and if late, then you were simply early (very Princess Diaries style). He made his way through the desks before stopping in front of mine.
'Good morning Mr Mayne,' I greeted smiling at him, secretly I fancied him a little.
Tall, dark and handsome, mid-thirties and very successful, plus he had dimples when he smiled.
'Miss Convore,' he nodded in acknowledgement and pulled out a printed sheet and a handful of paper scraps, 'I liked your piece on that missing man from last week.'
