KARMA

2,575 Days. . .

Chapter 5 - 2,575 days

2,575 days. . .

At first, it was once every five agonising days. And those days were long drawn-out. Unnecessarily so, because she was too frightened to even try anymore.

Torturous, tormenting, traumatic. A lingering peace in the air that cradled her close. Waiting to envelop her.

But science had told her three to four days, without taking into account the external and internal factors. Just roughly, just around, just approximately seventy-two to ninety-six hours.

Three to fours days.

A human can go for more than three weeks without food, but water is a different story. Because at least sixty percent of the adult body is made of water and every living cell in the body needs it to keep functioning.

She counted.

On the first day, she'd be angry. She'd be cranky. She'd be irritable. She cries when she's past breaking point, when she's so utterly frustrated - a miserable trait of hers since she's hardly ever not frustration. She'd scream inside. Inside because she was still conserving energy, after all. She was still surviving. Of course, headaches, cramps, fatigue followed through.

On the third day, that's when the uncanny started to present itself. Cognitive functioning - zero. She don't think she was aware of anything on the third day and the two days that followed. She'd always forget what hunger and thirst feels like. And that's partly because she'd be so tired that keeping her eyelids open was a pointless distraction. Using the 'bathroom' was non-existent because there wouldn't be anything for her body to flush and rid of.

Are her kidneys already failing?

Will her heart stop today?

Has her brain shrunk?

The brain is three quarters water after all.

She'd think to herself, is today it?

The fifth day was always the fucking hardest. Always. The anticipation, the excitement, perhaps, was what she couldn't get herself to control. The knowing that she'll see him soon - not him, water and food. She'd salivate embarrassingly while her stomach growl loudly and squirm painfully, waiting for him to return.

She waited patiently.

Never taking more than ten steps because she was basically hibernate. She didn't need to burn any more calories, especially when there's none left to burn.

Then, she waited impatiently.

But she's not sure what she was waiting for, really. Maybe death. Perhaps a mirage of food and water. Maybe even for him.

She'd dream about Carolyn's dessert. A specific dessert. She can still see it so clearly. Yes, that was her favourite. Only she had forgotten what it's called and couldn't wreck her brain to recall since that constitutes to using what was left of her exuberance.

It was a wild array of textures, she knows that for sure. The shattering, airy crunch of meringue at the edges, and the softer one of toasted almonds, with rolling bubbles and pockets skittering across the surface. They're more relaxed than a Florentine, more lightweight than a brittle. And they're altogether really lovely over a cup of coffee with an old friend.

Her old self.

Oh, yes, she'd love to have coffee with old-Addison and smack some sense into her and tell her to quit whining, stop complaining because she's not the first wife who's been neglected by their husband - her life is A-OK, better than okay, that she and her husband will work it out somehow, eventually or maybe they won't. But all they had to do was communicate with patience, because heaven knows they weren't doing that at all. That if the other has throw in the towel - she's not pointing fingers - the other has to pick it back up and say no. Maybe even scream it so he'll notice her. They made a vow and she still intend to keep it.