Conceited [H.S.]

TWENTY-FOUR

ANDREA WILSON

Finally, home.

Today has been exhausting, to say the least, and I can't wait to just relax by myself.

My key unlocks my front door quickly, and I struggle to keep my belongings in my hands as I attempt to remove the stubborn thing from the keyhole. I push the door open, tossing my purse onto the small hook, relieving some of my battle to hold everything in my hands.

I somehow managed to get everything downstairs easily this morning yet bringing it all back up to my apartment has been testing my ability to grip onto a number of things with my fingers. In my left hand, I have my travel coffee cup, phone, chapstick, and my portable phone charger. In my right hand, I have my car keys, a half-full water bottle, my key card for the hospital, and the empty tote bag I forgot in my car a few days ago. Plus, my purse hanging on my shoulder.

I shut the door behind me and take in the silence of my apartment, none of the lights on in the front area. Huh, I must have forgotten to leave one on before I left.

I glance around at the living room in front of me and see nothing out of place in the tidy room. Whenever I get home from work, I normally feel relaxed by the quiet environment compared to the chaos at work. Especially when I get off early like tonight. But something feels off. 

I tighten my brows at the growing anxiety in the pit of my stomach and quietly set the rest of my things onto the small table underneath my hanging purse. I make slow strides towards the kitchen, glancing around and seeing nothing wrong. Everything is where it is supposed to be, everything is where I left it.

The feeling of nausea begins to slowly creep into my stomach, my eyes dilating as I step back into the dark living room, attempting to figure out what is making me feel uneasy.

I walk over to the couch, my eyes focusing on the windows facing the street and building across from me. I watch a few cars pass by below me and attempt to relax my mind as I hear a few horns honking in the distance.

Why do I feel like this?

My breath is trembling and my stomach is in knots, but it's obvious that nothing is wrong. If something was wrong, I would be able to tell, I would notice the signs, and I would be able to figure out how to fix it or make it right.

When something is wrong, you fix it. I can fix it. I always try my best to fix it.

I shake my head and let out a sigh, my eyes drooping closed in a bit of relief. There's nothing wrong, I'm just getting in my own head and freaking myself out.

My legs finally move from the spot I planted myself in front of the window and I make my way towards my bedroom to change, keeping my eyes glued onto the floor in exhaustion. I glance up from the floor and see my bedroom door shut.

I never shut my bedroom door.

I never shut it unless I'm going to sleep because I hate being able to look into the dark hallway when I'm in bed. It creeps me out. I left it open when I went to work this morning. I swear I did.

My walking slows down at the sight, and I see a small amount of light illuminating between the bottom of the door and the carpet underneath it. It wasn't dark when I left this morning so there is no reason for me to have left a light on in there.

I nervously make my way in front of the door, standing in the dark hallway as I contemplate my options here. My nerves could be getting the best of me and making me scared over nothing. I could have just accidentally shut it on my way out. I could have forgotten to turn the lamp off.