At the end of a long day, she comes home to an empty space.
Sometimes, she doesn't mind it - no, really.
Her home always smells of fresh paint, like she never actually lived there at all. She'd been there for nearly six months and she can't get rid of the new tenant smell. When she walks in the door after a long, tiresome day, she drops her things in a heap on the floor and instantly inhales that "you don't really live here" scent. It always takes her by surprise.
No amount of aromatherapy candles can rid her of that, just as no amount of aromatherapy can erase the memories attached to this unused space. It's almost as if she's merely a phantom, wafting about the place leaving some kind of glittering ooze rather than a legitimate presence.
Sigh.
But tonight, she doesn't mind it. Fatigue has taken root after a week of late night reading and sporadic phone calls that always shocked her from her sleep like a heart patient to a defibrillator. Why is that the strangers in her life always call after 11 pm?
She ambles about the apartment, putting things away and then changing into her comfortable evening attire. She starts the herbal tea and snaps on the television which she keeps on just for noise. Boris, her gray tabby, emerges from his hiding spot and squeaks a greeting at her, then insists on a fresh bowl of water.
She takes her Celestial Seasonings, steaming and perking, to her office where she sits down before the computer to write, but before she does, she remembers to check Katherine's blog.
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