He's got it coming

2

"What took you so long?" Cecilia snaps shut her umbrella and turns to throw her leopard print raincoat over the empty coat rack under the stairs. Her dark brown eyes narrow.

Shit, she'll know something's wrong.

A month ago, when I didn't show at the second support group session, and she stopped by trying to convince me to attend, it was filled with Frank and my coats, so much so that hers didn't fit on any hook. Cecilia pauses with her jacket in her hand, the water from her black umbrella drips to the floor when she turns back to me, her lips pursed.

Holding my breath, I try to come up with some excuse while struggling not to show my teeth rattling.

She frowns, and we stand still looking at each other like two people just told we've met before but can't remember when or who the other is.

Ask about it, or at least say something about the cold? I can't bring up that the apartment is empty. That might make her suspicious, but there's no way she's not noticing. She even commented on me changing the plant's location from the living room to the kitchen last time.

Cecilia's the first to break eye contact when in one circular move she lifts both arms overhead, and the coat glides back onto her body. The sound from her shoes dropping to the floor echoes through the apartment. "Packing away your husband's belongings?"

What a strange question. The entire apartment is empty; Frank didn't own everything here. We had about fifty-fifty.

"Testing a minimalistic style. You should keep your shoes on," I say, hoping she'll leave faster if she does. "You know what time it is, right?"

"Going all in, I see." She ignores my suggestion, and my question and instead gestures for me to move so she can enter the living room. When I don't, she backs up, letting her eyes inspect my feet. "You should turn on the heat and get some slippers on. Why didn't you attend group today?"

"I told you. It's not my thing."

Cecilia takes a deep inhale then exhales in one quick blow while observing the white fog lingering in the air in front of her.

I close my eyes.

How can I excuse this? Minimalism does not require freezing to death. If it did, it wouldn't be a trend.

"I'm not leaving until you give me an answer," she says, her voice serious as if grasping the severity of what's going on.

Shit.

I back into the living room and continue backing until the dining table hits my butt, making sure I position myself in front of the pills scattered all over it. "What do you mean?"

Please don't see the pills.

Cecilia follows me in, observing the empty walls, then her eyes grow as she sees the plastic under the table. She stops, and I let the air I'm holding out to pretend I'm not panicking inside.

Smile.

Her frown eases, and she lets out a satisfied sigh. "Do you have any wine?"

What? If I walked in on Cecilia in an empty apartment, freezing temperatures, I wouldn't ask for wine. I'd ask what the hell was going on. Why isn't she asking?

Cecilia walks straight past me, her coat dripping into our kitchen, and before I can stop her, she rips the fridge door open. "Tidying, and dieting on alcohol?"

We both know that's not what's going on here. I know you're not stupid, but if by any chance you've hit your head and don't connect the dots here, I need an excuse. Think Daniella, think. An exterminator's coming? No, you're going on vacation? No, I would never let the temperature drop this much in case the pipes freeze, and I would have used that as an excuse not to attend group long ago. What the... If I tell her, will she let me go through with it? What a stupid thing to think, of course, she wouldn't. Nobody enables a person to kill themselves. I'd ruin her life if I told her. You see, I want to kill myself, so I've lowered the temperature so the smell won't be too bad for the people finding me, added plastic under my chair so the fluids from my body won't ruin the floor and packed everything not to be more of a burden than I already am.