𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐈𝐬 𝐀 𝐋𝐨𝐰. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

This Is A Low.

Tracklist:

Fascination Street, The Cure

Nowhere Near, Brooke Bentham

House of Cards, Radiohead

moment, Vierre Cloud

~

Ray wakes up to the unmistakable, gurgled retching of Greebo hacking up a furball. The disgusting wet sound reaches the deepest part of her consciousness, wrenching her from sleep. Through bleary eyes, she watches her bedside clock tick over from 5:46 to 5:47. Exhausted, and still trying to sleep off a week of evening calls with Evan and the Ryker team in New York, she walks through her flat barefoot as she tries to locate her troublesome cat. The flat looks monochromatic and grey in the dull dawn light. The spring had looked ready to peel itself straight into a hot summer, but the temperate weather is a liar, reliable only in its mercurial patterns. Like the sweat collecting behind her knees, the humidity promises thunderstorms and heavy rain.

She almost steps right into the puddle of fur and half-digested kibble, stopping herself at the last minute and grabbing onto the edge of her dining table to regain her balance, foot still hovering over the mess. Greebo is sprawled on his back in the kitchen, back legs extended and front paws flopped over his chest.

"Oh, Greebo," she groans, righting herself and fetching thick wads of kitchen roll. "You're a Rex, you're not supposed to spew. Am I going to have to take you to the vets?"

Even the mention of his hated enemy, the vet, doesn't disturb Greebo from his rest. He barely reacts as Ray moves around him, gathering cleaning supplies and trying to dispose of the vomit currently coating her floor. It's an irritating start to the morning, but Ray can't summon the energy to feel genuinely upset with her cat. If anything, Greebo is given carte-blanche by her exhaustion, and she merely refills his kibble bowl and adds fresh water and ice cubes to his water dish. Her quiet Sunday morning has now already begun, and she feels too awake to contemplate getting back into bed. Instead, she strips her bedding and makes a pile by the washing machine, promising herself she'll put it on after she's had a shower.

The day stretches out before her, and while she knows she should be enjoying the rare gap in her diary, she feels uneasy. Perhaps it's the growing dark clouds literally hanging over London; perhaps it's anticipation for the busy week coming up. Ray knows that Lydia would tell her that it's a side-effect of coming down from the high of the panel, delayed by the week of work she threw herself into. She wanders around her flat, wet hair dripping onto her neck and shoulders, trying to find things to do. Loading the washing machine took minutes; so did filling the dishwasher. The kitchen counters are clean, since she's been eating at the office all week, and she's waiting for the humidity to break before she remakes her bed. There's nothing to do, nothing urgent, and it feels uncomfortable to just sit around. Eventually, she settles on ordering in from the nearest Gail's, and reclines on the sofa as she waits for it to arrive. The TV is replaying the same Netflix trailer on mute, but Ray can't focus on it. It's an award-winner, something that Gus, Pearl, and Blaise have all separately recommended to her. She's been meaning to make time for it, and today might be the chance she's needed to watch. If she can just get off her phone. As she clicks through Instagram stories, she spots Wil and Twyla in Henley-on-Thames, visiting Twyla's mum and stepdad. Their reasons for moving are unknown to Ray, though she vaguely recalls Twyla mentioning something about her stepdad's romanticised vision of countryside life. She thinks about texting the pair of them, but hesitates, and then continues to scroll. Her whole empty day looks like it might be swallowed up by the beckoning siren song of her sofa, mindless scrolling and attempts to concentrate on a film or two.