When Worlds Collide | Katakuri x Reader

Chapter 2

"Should I try to go? Will I be able to arrive on time?" I check the time on a nearby wall clock. It is a 4-hour drive to the event center and the baking seminar airs at 7:00 AM. I would need to leave the house by 3:00 AM at the latest to arrive on time. 

I leave the kitchen and walk towards the living room. I pick up the crumbled flyer off the green couch and read it over once more. I realize it is a glorified ad for a sale at the Golden Harvest grocery outlet, but it was hidden in the small print. I eye the date on the flyer, it reads as the 25th but there is no month to accompany the day. I set my suspicions aside and put away the banana bread. Turning to place the dirtied butterknife and plate in the sink I am met with an unexpected dilemma. 

"I forgot to wash the dishes, really?"

Instead of addressing the situation I place the dish and butterknife on top of the plates that have piled up inside the sink. Leaving the kitchen I walk along the unlit hallway. The walls stretch endlessly, devoid of any life and light. I memorized the sound each sound the floorboards made; keen to avoid the clutter piled against the walls.

It is a tight squeeze throughout the house. I would need a stunt double to maneuver through the amount of furniture, clothing, and knickknacks lying around. That is all it is: stuff. Stuff from my grandmother, mother, and father, my siblings as well. They need a place to put all their stuff. When they acquire too much baggage, too much of a load they drop it off here. They trust me to look over their things.

The textured plaster wall runs underneath my fingertips as I trace the wall to my bedroom. When my hand touches the wood frame of the doorway to my room, I know I arrived. The lacquer that sealed the finish of the doorframe is yellowing and peeling off in large clumps, much like dandruff coming off a person's scalp. Turning on the light switch, the ceiling lamp flickers to a start before it engulfs the room in a constant ray of light. I grab some clothes out of my drawer and follow my nightly routine.

I lay in my bed with only my mantra of thoughts to accompany me to sleep. The house curses at me as I lay there, it attempts to trick me with eery noises and its ominous presence. Why does this house hate me after I have been here for so long? For a moment I think I hear the distant sound of a leaky faucet. The next moment I hear the creaking of floorboards as if something stood upon them. I drift to sleep in the presence of the house and its inhabitants to bid me a "good night."

 Beep Beep Beep

The high-pitched ringtone of my alarm clock awakes me in my blackened room. The disheveled bed sheets and blankets pile high around me as I slowly sit up in my bed. I walk along the cold wooden floor to my drawer and pick out some presentable clothes, although none of my outfits are without some form of pilling. I leave my room and pull out a pack of granola bars from a kitchen cabinet and stuff it in my bag to eat along the way to the event center. I prepare to depart from my house as I grab my truck keys from a woven basket on my shoe shelf. I stop before the door and glance at my refrigerator. Should I ask for their opinions?

I open the refrigerator and spot the lemon blueberry muffins. Condensation has collected at the top of the saran wrap and formed a slick surface over the muffins. I cannot present this to another baker. I sigh and quickly grab the plate then slam the refrigerator door closed and walk to the entrance of the house. I stand before the door, the sun still having yet to rise. I glance at my refrigerator, the notes plastered all over it as well as my wall, ink smudges, and more paper. My hands are calloused and rough from kneading, mixing, and farmwork; I do not have the hands of a lady nor are my baking skills up to par. I stand alone before the door. It is tall and my house is dim. I stand before my door with a plate in hand. This plate, my plate, holds my dream. But I cannot open the door.