Breaking a habit is just as hard as creating one.
Too much thought goes into it- millions of reasons why you should do it or why you shouldn't- and the constant fear of relapse hovering over every decision. It's clearly not a job for the weak.
Amy was drained. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Still, she knew she had to move. At least to the bathroom for starters. She had been through hell and survived- how could she let a lit matchstick scare her now?
"Amy?" April called from outside the door, her voice bright.
That was when Amy realized she had spent the last hour and a half doing nothing but procrastinating on the floor.
Leave it by the door.
Thank you.
"It's no big deal," April replied as she placed the tray on the floor. "I was supposed to make breakfast for you today anyway. If you need anything else, dial number one from your apartment phone and Malcolm will be right there."
How's your afternoon schedule?
"I don't really have one," April chuckled. "Why do you ask?"
Just before Amy could slip another note to April, Mr. Abraham paused mid-step, concern etching his face as he turned toward April. "Are you feeling alright, dear?"
April was startled and Amy- even though she knew that nobody could see her behind the door- she still hugged the note to her chest in panic.
"You loved Ms. Claire," Mr. Abraham continued gently, "but she's gone now. And you need to move on."
"It's not like that, Mr. Abraham," April said awkwardly. The recent loss of their tenant still weighed heavily on her, and without meaning to, he had reopened the wound- especially since the room had been rented barely a month after the funeral. The funeral which nobody in the building attended.
"Then what is it?" he pressed. Confused. "Are you rehearsing a play, perhaps?"
April felt cornered, her palms slick with sweat, but she managed a polite smile. "I was bringing our new tenant her first breakfast. It's a tradition."
"A very stupid tradition," Mr. Abraham muttered before walking away.
It was quiet again.
Then Amy wrote another note: Are you okay?
April let out a bitter laugh at the note. What can she say? "I have to be."
I'm sorry for your loss.
"You know," April said sincerely, "for someone who speaks behind closed doors, you're really great to have around."
Amy snickered softly.
"Don't forget to eat," April added. "And thank you."
Only after she heard April's footsteps fade did Amy dragged the tray inside.
As she sat down, the cat emerged from under the bed, approaching her cautiously. That's when she noticed the odd serving arrangement on the tray and a note for her- she smiled. So April wanted her to feed the cat?
"Looks like we could both eat," Amy murmured aloud, lowering the plate to the floor.
The cat sniffed, then began to eat.
"What's your name, you golden ball of fur?" Amy asked softly, then gasped. "Golden!"
The cat meowed.
Amy felt strangely touched.
"Well, Golden- meet your new owner. Amelia Duncan."
The cat didn't even look at her.
Rude.
Time slipped by, and soon it was eleven a.m. Amy had already showered, unpacked, and curled up on her bed, watching last night's episode of The Elephant in the Room.
To say that leaving Jonathan stranded at the airport didn't hurt her- would be a lie.
But Amy didn't want a life where she was the dog and he was her master. She had yearned for respect for too long- the respect that never came.
And that, more than anything else, was what made their love a tragedy.