Bad Habit - {Eddie Munson x y/n}

Epilogue

Two Years Later ...

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The apartment is eerily silent when the morning light wakes you, with a gentle stretch and yawn, in your king bed alone, something you've never quite gotten used to. After too many long minutes of fighting with yourself mentally to get up, it looks like a nice day outside after all, one that should not be wasted withering away in bed, you eventually pry your eyes open and force your limbs to move. Your eyes are dry and heavy as they battle against the sunlight that beams across your bedroom in a shade of summer orange glow. The warmth emitting through the glass is welcomed upon your goosebumped skin, you bask in it for a moment, fatigue still laying thick like fog over your mind.

You're exhausted to say the very least. Sleep hasn't been coming to you easily of recent. Some nights you've found yourself seeing every single hour pass on the clock. Restless, anxious, stressed. When nighttime comes and you've got nothing left to busy yourself with anymore, no distractions, no noise; your mind likes to play cruel games with you, creating false scenarios and forcing you to reevaluate all of your recent decisions in life.

Having gotten only two, maybe three hours maximum of solid sleep last night, you're reluctant to get out of bed, but you know that you have to, the show must go on, no matter how weary you are. You unhurriedly slip out from below your linen sheets, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You pad your way down the hall, bare feet dragging against the cool hardwood floors sluggishly into the kitchen, where dirty dishes are abandoned in the sink and clean dishes are stacked haphazardly on the side. At least that gives you one menial task to complete this morning to keep your mind from wandering elsewhere, sending you into a spin; as it does so often these days.

But first things first; coffee. A very strong coffee. Adding an extra scoop of well needed energy to your favourite cup, you pour in the steaming hot water along with a dash of milk, before sitting at your cluttered kitchen dining table, pushing papers, planners and notebooks aside. Your head falls into your palms, elbows rested upon the wood. The strong scent of the coffee invades your nostrils while the heel of your hands rubs at your still too tired eyes. You groan, feeling a thumping headache coming on.

It's quiet, too quiet, as you sip your first coffee of the day. Quiet is something that you have desperately been trying to avoid these days. The quiet allows your mind to wander and gives a stage set with a microphone to your inner monologue, and that's the last thing you need today. You push your chair back, wood screeching on wood, and move over to where your record player sits, grabbing the first record that comes to hand. You stick it on and turn it up high volume, letting the sound fill the apartment. Neighbours be damned.

It just so happens that the record you chose seemingly at random, transported you back into memories of an easier and more carefree time in your life. Memories of cooking breakfast in the kitchen with Eddie, kissing the bitter taste of coffee off of his lips, the smell of freshly squeezed orange juice, eggs sizzling in the pan, his morning bed head, his plaid boxer shorts and holed socks, his pale limbs dancing around the room. Simpler times, how you miss it. It makes your chest ache to be that young and nonchalant again, goofing around, taking very little seriously, with hardly any worries nor stresses.

After taking an involuntary trip down memory lane while casually sipping the last of your coffee, you eventually get up with a deep, weary sigh and decide to get busy. It's the only way to pass the day without being plagued by your own thoughts until you're rendered completely useless. You stand by the sink of chaos. You twist the hot tap, push the plug, squirt in the lemon scented dish soap and watch the bubbles rise.

You're about to dip your hands into the foamy, fruit scented water and begin scrubbing when you're momentarily stilled, heart rate plummeting. But then, your mind catches up and you can't help but sigh to yourself, heart rate returning back to normal. You still always get a sharp sense of panic when you look down at your own hand and see that your promise ring, the ring you wore almost every single day since Eddie gifted it to you, isn't on your finger anymore.