"Was bittersweet to say the least

One life begins, one comes undone"

✦

"Let's have a baby."

"What?" Matt said incredulously.

I was sitting in the foyer on the stairs, a few steps up from the ground. Matt had just returned home from work with a wrinkled shirt and ruffled hair, maybe he had a stressful day at work. Maybe.

"What's gotten into you?" He retorted, flexing his nose and cheeks.

"I'm serious," I whimpered.

He huffed, rolling his eyes while dropping his suitcase by the door. Glancing between me and the suitcase, he reached towards it and picked it back up.

"You're only 22, Evdoxia."

He used my full name. Usually he called me 'Ev' and the only time the full title graced his lips was when he was annoyed, angry, or sad. He was supposed to call me 'Ev' and I was supposed to call him 'Matt.'

"But you're 25."

"And," he drew the syllable out, indicating it's irrelevancy.

"I don't know," I sighed, unable to look him in the eyes.

He rubbed his hand around the side of his face. I could practically feel the stubble against my fingertips as he did, the soft scratch once imprinted into my skin. The feeling was forlorn, a stencil now belonging to her.

"Well talk to me when you do," he grunted.

By "when you do" he meant never bring up the subject again regardless of if I could curate any plausible reason.

"Matt—" I couldn't even finish before he had stormed off in the direction of his office.

My butt plunked down the steps till I hit the floor. I held my shins to my chest to create a shelf for my arms which I burrowed my face into, smearing snot against the skin.

Heavy breaths blew through my nose as I struggled to maintain emotion. I was a glass brimmed to the tip with water, any disturbance causing an overflow.

Glimpsing up with tears brimming my lash line, I caught the mirage of a blurry Matt in the threshold. He immediately turned back around. A ghost of forgotten comfort remained in his wake; soft shoulder kisses and presses to chests a foreign feeling once all too familiar. Too comfortable.

I came back to the house hours ago, collapsing to the wood panels. Pounding my hands against the floor, treachery clawed out of my throat. The hurricane had came, dubbed Why? Walls were shaking, paintings were rattling, lights were shattering, impaling me with glass till I was a mountain of convulsing arteries and discombobulated why, why, why's.

When Matt had come home, I was in the eye, having woken up on the foyer when the sun had set. I crawled to the stairs just minutes before, deciding to ask him about a baby for insight into his reaction with thoughts of pregnancy tests echoing around my swollen brain.

Now the other half of the storm had just begun, on the tip of my tongue. My heart raced and my fingers scribbled grooves into my sparsely freckled forearms.

Willing myself to keep it together, I meandered over to Matt's office, gently pounding on the door.

I heard a groan. "Come in."

The burning of my eyes intensified as the door coated my body in a weak gust of wind.

I didn't know what to say, vulnerably standing before him while he sat stiffly behind his robust wood desk, functioning as another border. There was a period where everything was quiet besides the flicking of his pen between his middle and index finger, the instrument slamming repeatedly onto the paper he rested on.

"What?" He asked irritably.

"I'm sorry." I bit my tongue in an attempt to hold back the storm.

"Whatever, Evdoxia."

"About earlier," I clarified rapidly as if it'd help, hoping it would help.

He waved me off with silence and his attention was directed back to what he was working on. I didn't understand what he would be doing right after coming home from work, but the document looked serious enough based off the glimpse I could catch of it and it's endless rows of letters.

"Evdoxia," I whispered and hung my head low in shame, shuffling my feet.

"I seriously don't have time for your shenanigans. Just get out," he ordered, his voice thick in authority.

"What do you want from me?" I said desperately. Wisps of hair stuck to my wet cheeks, tears making slow incisions down the bones.

"I want you to get out." His fist pounded onto the desk in frustration, but I didn't flinch. I just watched in longing. Longing to stop waiting.

I backed out on unsteady feet, taking one more look at him intensely reading the paper before shutting the door. Sliding down the wall next to the door, I hit my head against the surface over and over and over. It didn't matter if he heard, he wouldn't care—but then again I didn't want to possibly disturb his his work, so I crawled away.

Making my way to the sunroom, I hugged myself, curling into tight ball, and prepared for impact. My labored breaths and wails echoed off the glass walls, agony bouncing off them and absorbing right back into me, reverberating inside my head. My body forced it out like a toxin, like carbon dioxide, but I inhaled it right back in. I could try to filter it out indefinitely, but it'd inevitably consume me.

Plants lined the perimeter of the room, some hanging. Most of them were shriveled and brown and would crumble to the touch. A few clung onto life but with my neglect they were soon to succumb to their fate.

Matt was more so a gardener and I was like a daisy. Inexperienced and young, he had nurtured and admired what he thought was beauty, innocence, and delicacy. But all along I was a weed. I'd always pop up relentlessly, yearning for attention. Resilient, determined, he once thought. Now he just knew I was desperately clinging onto anything I could for growth or life. I clung to him. He had clung back.

Now he plucked me from the soil, tearing me from my roots. He was making room for real flowers. For marigolds.

Stunningly intricate, a blend of warm and bright but contrasting tones. Deep cranberry red fading into exuberant lemon yellow. Youthful yet mature. The symbol of grief, of cruelty.

I needed to change.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

A couple hours had passed with my forehead pressed on the glass wall of the sunroom to help hold the weight on my shoulders for a while. I had been focused on the whisper of drizzle tapping the windows until an ongoing ferocious yelping tore me from my limbo.

It was coming from outside and droned on despite the minutes I waited expecting its conclusion.

Bark! Bark! Bark!

The dog's howl was resilient and low pitched. Maybe the assail of the rain growing stronger in force by the second was disturbing it.

I got to my feet and stretched out my muscles, twisting my ankles which bursted with pops every rotation.

When I slid open the back door, the rumbling claps of thunder and screech of lightening poured into the room, the sudden splashes of light emitting an eerie gleam. Somehow the pet was even louder, diverting my attention directly to my right.

Sliding on some flip flops, I paced out and off the porch straight into the squishy, muddy dirt. Soapy soil flushed into the soles of my increasingly dampening shoes, the substance filling the gaps between my toes and invading the circumference of my foot, making me scrunch my nose at the sensation.

Pellets of rain plundered into my skull, but the sound was still dull to the roars that had waned to mewling.

The closer to the neighboring fence I got, the greater I could make out the outline of the animal. It was an enormous dog, especially threatening in the nighttime plowing with a storm. When lightening struck, its body illuminated, allowing me to make out its coinciding jump. It was a Newfoundland with long dark black hair, currently dripping and slicked with water.

We drew nearer simultaneously, both of us approaching at each other's recognition. It's cries quieted down once it spotted me, now on alert.

The fence between us was short, maybe a foot taller than him, an easy feat for either of us to surpass.

"Hey," I cooed with a friendly wave, slightly crouched to his height with my hands on my thighs.

The dog's eyelids struggled to keep open against the downpour. Wincing every time the sky rung out in a boom, he reeked of fear.

I reached my hand out to show I meant no harm when I was close enough. He approached, smelling my hand despite the cloak of water before sloppily licking it and then running in a little circle. A small smile burned into my cheeks, the first genuine one in weeks.

Not knowing whether or not it was appropriate to cross the division, I figured the house owner should be pleased someone was comforting their freighted pet, so I stepped over it and grimaced as my foot sunk into the dirt, varnished with mud.

I smoothed my hand over the fur on his head and thought of how to approach the situation. I could go knock on the door of the house, but what if they thought I was an ax murderer and called the police or something? I could wait it out look for something to shield my new friend and I from the sky's ferocity, but who knows how long the storm would ensue? Matt wouldn't notice your absence anyways.

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud holler. "Bear!"

I gasped, ducked, and began hurriedly searching the dark area around the dog and I for the wild animal. But when I glanced back down, the dog was gone and I heard the galloping sound of its run.

I discerned a streak of light, it was coming from the patio of the house, a man shining in the entrance. He dropped down when the dog reached him and draped his fur with a towel and started scrubbing him dry. His name is Bear?

I was still stood there, frozen, when the guy stood back up and looked towards me with a hand above his eyes. He definitely hadn't known for certain I was there until he reached over and flicked a switch. Lights hanging from the house came to life and cloaked identification upon the both of us. It was Harry, a warped blurry Harry.

We both were a bit shell shocked, him dry under the protection of a ceiling with a slightly gaping mouth. I was blinking rapidly, relishing in the feeling of water droplets sliding over and in between my lips then down my chin. I couldn't hear him, but I saw him mouth the word, "Evdoxia."

Understanding I couldn't hear him unless he were to shout, he began frantically ushering his hands towards himself to signal me to come over. I dragged a strand of hair from my moist forehead and hesitantly began to walk over. Should I turn around and go home? This is weird, right?

Then I was in front of him, still exposed to the clouds, gnawing on my bottom lip. His face softened as he examined just how drenched I was and continued to be. Zoning in on him, the pounding and crackling of nature subdued in decibel.

"Do you—uh, wanna come in?" He asked, his voice raised.

I wasn't sure if it was an excuse or not, but I pointed out a possible hinderance. "My shoes."

"What?!"

"My feet! They're covered in mud!" My throat felt scratchy and dry like I was swallowing gravel.

He glanced down to look at the suspects and brought his hand to his chin. Then he held up his pointer figure before quickly turning away.

Now on his patio, I shook my feet and took turns holding them out for the rain to wash off the big clumps of soil. As I was doing so, Harry returned to the open door with an old beach towel.

I slid off my flip flops and left them outside before entering his house; I was self conscious about going in bare foot but I didn't want the sponge like material oozing out stains on his floors.

He had laid the towel on the ground and stepped aside so I cautiously came all the way inside.

Maneuvering around me to close the door, Harry leaned in so he was less than two feet away behind me. The door shut with a jingle, bells hung presumably for the dog. When he swiftly moved back to a normal distance he lazily clapped his hands as I released a breath. It felt as though my ears had been vacuumed, a fast transition to the quiet.

"Than—"

"Tha—"

Speaking the same word at the same time, he let out a small chuckle and the corner of my lips uncharacteristically quirked up.

Maraschino cherry warmth slathered onto Harry's cheeks and he cleared his throat, but I beat him to the chase.

"Thanks for letting me come in."

"Yeah, no problem, um, anytime." He pressed his lips together and his hand moved to rub the back of his neck.

An awkward silence enveloped us, the dog having completely disappeared as well. The chill of the home then hit me, a shiver raking through my spine as my teeth began to chatter, the only audible sound. My hair was dripping and my leggings were uncomfortably sticking to my skin while my sweatshirt hung heavily on my shoulders. My fingers began to fidget in the pocket of my hoodie.

Noticing my movements, Harry apologized and muttered the word towel before scurrying off again.

The back door was in his kitchen which looked desolate and bare. The linoleum countertops were void of any clutter or food and the walls were a simple expanse of grey paint. Explaining the slight echo, there was no table or chairs at the island, there was no furniture at all. Cardboard boxes huddled for space in a corner, a couple small empty ones resting on some big, taped up ones. I hadn't even caught onto to the fact someone new moved into the neighboring house, which had been on the market for a while.

"Here." He was back with another towel which he tossed to me.

I whispered a thanks. In the uncomfortable tension, I pat down my face and then tied up my dribbling hair in a towel wrap, pulling the skin besides my eyes slightly tight.

"I could grab you a change of clothes?" He offered with a dubious lilt.

"No, it's okay," I dismissed and pulled my mouth to the side.

"Well, I wouldn't want you soaking my furniture," he joked in consideration of the empty room. A tiny grin made its way to my face and left as soon as it came.

"I mean, I should get going, it's probably late." I gestured towards the door with a nod of my head and casually looked for some indication of the time.

"It's only around nine-ish." He smiled coyly and brushed his fingers through his curls.

"So this is like a housewarming party?" I proposed lightheartedly with little conviction.

He made a sound of agreement, his smirk widening.

I tore off the edge of another finger nail. "Alright."

"Follow me," was all he said before strutting away in his plaid pajama pant attire. So I did.

⇢ ⇢ ⇢

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