Don't Get Into The Car

[ 13 ]

For the first time, you find yourself breaking away from the solitude of your bedroom and, instead, eating your lunch perched on a barstool in the kitchen. Simon stands on the flip side of the counter. His gaze unwavering and fixed on you with an unreadable expression. He didn't eat, having made a passing comment earlier that the hunger hadn't quite caught up to him yet.

However, his interest in the fresh and juicy watermelon chunks, which he had meticulously chopped for you earlier, is obvious. He keeps sneaking a few pieces every so often. The corners of his mouth twitch up in a playful smile, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he continues his fruity heist. You catch him in the act, red-handed, and your fork accidentally grazes against his thieving digits. The unexpected contact triggers a deep, resonating chuckle from deep within him. The sound that echoes off the kitchen walls and fills the space.

As you sit there, the familiar texture of the fork in your hand scraping lazily across the cold, hard surface of the plate, the act of chewing seems almost meditative. You're lost in your thoughts, your gaze drawn to the backyard that unfolds beyond the windowpane. The sight that meets your eyes brings about a sudden, startling realization—a jolt that sends a ripple through the placid surface of your thoughts. You've completely lost track of what day it is. The tranquility that permeates the air is deceptive; it feels like the lazy, languid pace of a weekend morning, perhaps a Saturday. But it could just as easily be the start of a new week. A sense of uncertainty descends upon you, leaving you in a state of disarray.

You try your very best to push this troubling thought to the recesses of your mind, not wanting to dwell on it, not wanting it to shatter the peace that the day has brought. But it's a challenging task, akin to trying to hold the ocean at bay with a broom. The question, persistent and relentless, keeps gnawing at the edges of your consciousness, refusing to be dismissed, refusing to be ignored.

You want to know how much time has passed since the night when Simon approached you outside the nightclub.

You find yourself contemplating whether or not you should ask Simon to get you a calendar. It's likely that he would be accommodating, but not without first interrogating you with a barrage of questions. You're not entirely sure if you're ready to provide him with a detailed explanation as to why you've suddenly developed an interest in keeping track of time. Regardless of these concerns, you muster up the courage to ask him another question. You casually pop another juicy piece of watermelon into your mouth. "Is today a Saturday? It feels like it."

His eyes narrow suspiciously on you. You make a valiant effort not to look away or show any signs of discomfort. After what feels like an eternity, he finally shakes his head. "Wednesday, actually."

You respond with a simple nod, choosing to continue munching on your watermelon rather than delve further into the conversation.

The sudden, unexpected disturbance in the silence freezes both of you, locking you in your tracks as if time itself has come to a sudden halt. A doorbell rings. Simon, who had been casually leaning against the solid granite countertop, suddenly straightens up, pushing himself off it with a sudden burst of energy. His eyes, once relaxed, now widen in stark surprise, and his brow furrows, creasing with confusion. Your own eyes, in an involuntary reaction, shoot towards the long, dimly lit hallway that leads to the front door.

Ever since the moment you first regained consciousness in this house, it had been only you and Simon. No one else. Although it's possible that he could have had visitors during the periods when he had you paralyzed, or during your long, lonely hours of isolation in the damp, cold basement, that seems unlikely given his genuinely shocked and surprised expression. It's evident that he wasn't anticipating any visitors; the sudden ringing of the doorbell catches him off guard, just as it does to you.