Stuck Inside

Sugarless - 3.0

There is something inherently wrong about being locked inside an apartment all alone. Time seems to slow down. The silence becomes heavy and suffocating. No one monitors you, no one checks if you're doing your assigned tasks because no one is here to assign anything. It's not freedom, it's a nightmare.

"It's imperative that you stay home for your own safe-" I turn the TV off before the speaker can finish announcing the horrors of the new virus.

I sigh, as I'm doing at every five seconds nowadays, and go back to my previous task: baking a cake. Or trying, at least. I've never cooked in my entire life, but since quarantine started, it became one of my many hobbies to distract me from how silent the apartment is.

Sometimes I turn on some music to fill the room, to keep my mind from being alone every day and every night, but my situation is becoming more and more depressing. I can't wait for all of this to be over. On the bright side, maybe when it ends, I'll be a pro chef.

My parents didn't allow me to go back home when it started spreading. I was halfway through my second year at university when they told us to go home and start online classes. Father told me I'd be better if I were alone. Just me and my studies. I know the truth, though. They just don't want me disturbing their work. My presence is too distracting.

I feel like I'm going crazy in here. I had a routine when I was home with my parents, a routine made by them, but one nonetheless, and when I enrolled in the university, I was too busy studying to mind being locked in. Now it's summer, and I was supposed to be in London with a couple of childhood friends, but stuck inside this place with nothing to do. Me and the scary night noises.

With another, self pitying, long sigh, I look at the recipe one more time and study the next step: Add one cup of sugar. That shouldn't be too hard.

I reach the cabinet to get it, but I am met with the horrifying realisation of being out of sugar. The entire cabinet is empty. No sugar, no anything else. How do I make a cake without sugar?

I stare at the emptiness, considering my options. Desperate times require desperate solutions, so I grab my mask and a mug, prepared to leave the safety of my apartment and knock on the neighbour's door.

The peephole of the next door glares at me, and I swallow dry as I knock and step back to create some space between us. I've never talked to anyone in the building before, even though I've been here for months, and I'm nervous this person will not be happy to see me.

The door opens only halfway and I see a tall blonde girl. She's dressed in a grey, loose shirt and matching shorts, looking like I woke her from a nap. She rubs her right eye, golden hair falling in locks over her shoulders, outlining a face of sharp features and bored blue eyes.

"What?" she asks.

"I... um... I'm your neighbour," I blabber, "I think we never met but, mm, I'm baking a cake... It's my first time baking a cake... I've done cupcakes and things like that before but never a cake. But I noticed that, perhaps because of so many cupcakes, I don't have sugar and, uh," I keep stuttering and she looks annoyed. I turn the mug in my hands, unsure of what to do with it. "Could you borrow me some? In case you have it? To spare?"

"Sugar?" she asks. Her voice is raspy and I'm more convinced she had been sleeping. "That's all you want?"

I nod.

"Sure, I think I got some." She takes the mug from my hand and takes a couple of steps back. "You can come in. I am alone and completely isolated, so I doubt I got it."

"What if I got it?" I joke, but the smile drops.

She shrugs. "I don't care. I've got it before and I didn't have symptoms."

I lick my lips and nod, following her inside the apartment. It's like mine, with its small living room in cream tones and light coloured furniture, but somehow more shiny. The big difference is how messy hers is.

The TV is playing a movie with cars racing on ice, which I focus on for a second, before looking at the empty bowl of popcorn on top of the centre table that I don't have. The sofa has pillows and a blanket scattered over. I assume she was sleeping there. There's also a large dinner table on the other side of the room, where a mess of books and papers lays.

Her kitchen is narrow, all in tones of blue and way cleaner. She's quick to grab a brand new bag of sugar, but instead of putting some on my mug, she puts both in my hands.

"You can take it. I don't need it," she says.

"No, it's okay. I don't need an entire bag."

She shook her head. "I won't use it, so just take it."

I don't like the idea of getting something when I have nothing to return. It wouldn't be polite of me to just take it.

She is already back at the door, hinting me it's time to leave. I follow, going back to the dark corridor. We stare at each other and I offer a polite smile, which she does not match.

"Thank you. If you want to go to my place later to help me eat the cake, you are more than welcome."

She frowns slightly. "5E?"

I nod with a grin, but deep down I'm not sure I want such a grumpy girl in my apartment.

"Okay, see you later, 5E," she says.

"My name is," I start, but she closes the door right away, "Jade. Not 5E."

I stay put, facing 5D's door, for a solid moment. Only when the noise on the other side fades do I return to my house.