Unpromised Home

derelict

'in which you walk to the mailbox'

It felt like hours before you were finally able to write out your return letter to Vivian. You weren't happy with it. Not by a long shot. But it was sealed in an envelope now and out of your hands. Metaphorically at least. You still had to go down the dust and mould-coated stairwell to actually mail the thing. For now, though, you were spinning in your office chair, blowing time.

You groan slightly as the chair comes to a stop. You push yourself around once more, staring up at the ceiling as you spin. The boredom now overtaking you was unreal. Even if boredom was becoming one of your incessant norms, it was still unnecessarily overwhelming. Maybe it was just the whiplash from going from feeling too much to feeling nothing at all that was bothering you to the extent that it was.

You stare at the white ceiling for what feels like ages. At some point you pull your feet up onto the chair, sitting with your legs close to your chest. Maybe Layla would have something for you to do? Or maybe you should just go back to the apartment early. Not like you're doing anything anyway.

Leaning your head back toward the ceiling, you drape an arm over your head. A heavy sigh slips from your lips as you anguish in the silence. It felt like a heavy pressure pushing down on you from all angles. Almost suffocating in its nature. Suffocating and miserable.

Questions upon questions have been piling onto you. Unrelenting in the way they nag you when you can't find a way to busy your hands. Unrelenting even when you can busy your hands. You wish life could be simple, just the machine, rather than all of the moving parts that come with it. Even in the past couple of weeks, it feels like so much has been abruptly dropped on your plate with no semblance of an explanation of what you're meant to do with it.

America had gone from trusting you with personal information to being closed off and barely talking to you to give you work to do, to not even doing that! Not to mention that the states are beginning to arrive en mass for the meeting that's meant to happen at the end of the month. And there's that Daniel character who's just a bit more suspicious of you than you'd like. He's probably the least of your concerns right now though. Which is saying a lot considering your situation.

You let out a groan, dropping your feet off the chair. You feel like you're going stir-crazy. You wish you still had the structure that came with university. At least then you could be busying yourself with something, instead of driving yourself up the wall with how confusing your life has become. However, if you were still at university your life would probably be marginally less confusing than it is now. A girl can only dream and your dreams have been replaced with restless night after restless night.

You finally get up from your chair, taking your letter to Vivian in your hand as you make your way out of the office. You might as well just drop this into a mailbox already. It's better than wasting away in your boredom.

You walk down the stairs, trying to ignore the billowing of dust that you kick up. You feel like it's gotten worse since the first few times you've walked these stairs if that's even possible. Does this place even have a janitor? Or a janitor's closet? You should seriously hunt it down if it does exist. Not that you'd even know where to start cleaning the incessant amount of dust. And that doesn't even consider the mould growing on the walls. That would probably need more work than you're willing to put in. You just sigh as you push out of the stairwell. Another problem for another day.

You stare at the envelope in your hand. Your eyes scan it over, checking for any inaccuracies in the address and making sure the envelope is sealed properly. A tense hum slips from you as you walk down the hall, looking for the building's exit as you go.