Ira lands on all fours, palms sinking into the damp carpet of her apartment. The familiar scent—mildew, dust, that odd trace of lavender from her laundry detergent—washes through her nostrils. She spins around, searching frantically for the archway. Nothing. Just her scuffed wooden door in its place.
What the Hell just happened? She thinks to herself.
First she'd been racing to the ocean, eager to swim on her day off. Then she'd seen an odd fish — had followed it — and then…
She doesn't know how to process it. How to process everything she had seen. How to process him.
Then, suddenly, her stomach growls, breaking the silence.
She chuckles, marvelling at how indifferent her body is to the impossibility of her experience. Everything's changed—and yet, she's still hungry.
I guess life goes on. She thinks to herself.
She kicks off her damp sneakers, noting their new crusty red hue — a side effect from crawling through clay covered tunnels.
She stretches her arms upward in the entranceway until her spine cracks, black talons brushing the popcorn-textured ceiling. The dated overhead light fixture in the middle of the room buzzes quietly before flickering on, casting the room in that sickly, familiar yellow hue.
Crossing to her tiny kitchenette in wet socks, she opens the warped cupboard door — hinges squeaking in protest — and pulls out a package of instant ramen. The last one. She tears it open with a claw, pours the stiff noodles into her favourite bowl — her only bowl— then adds water from the tap. She watches quietly as a swirl of brown-red spice blooms across the surface, reminding her of the caverns she'd been trapped in not long ago.
She puts the bowl in the microwave and sets the timer, watching while resting her chin in the cradle of her clawed hand as the microwave spins to life. The bowl turns slowly behind the foggy window of the door, steam beginning to blur the glass. Round and round it goes.
Once sufficiently bored, she turns around. Her gaze drifts over her apartment — a tangle of laundry, half-finished mugs of tea, and a pothos wilting defiantly in the dim window light. Her old world. Still here. Still waiting. How different from the beauty she'd just been immersed in.
She lifts an arm and sniffs her underarm.
Phew. She grimaces. I stink.
She's suddenly distinctly aware of how her oversized black hoodie clings damp against her skin, still infused with the faint salt of the ocean, and just a trace of the floral warmth of Hell. But it won't be for long. Soon it will smell just like that pile of clothes on the floor.
With a reluctant sigh, she peels it off and tosses it onto the pile. Then gathers her clothes into a bundle for the laundromat next door.
The microwave beeps loudly, declaring her ramen done.
First things first.Food.
She perches at the dividing counter between the kitchen and the rest of her space, spooning the noodles into her mouth slowly. Steam curls up toward her face as she stares into the middle distance.
What the Hell just happened?
What does it mean?
And what the fuck am I supposed to do now?
She didn't know. But a new sensation pulled deep from within her stomach and it made her feel grounded. Content. Something about it told her to just…live. To do her best with her life right here, right now, such that it was. That this was the answer to finding her way back. It didn't make much sense to her intellectually, but she knew it was her best shot to figuring out the heart of this mystery.
She slurps the rest of the ramen down, and then looks at her watch. She's blinks in surprise to see it's still the day she left. In Noctreign, time hasn't passed at all.
Still have the rest of the day off, then. She muses. And then it's…back to J's for another week of work.
She still can't believe she's back in her normal life, but for once, the thought of the week ahead carries no dread. No spiral. No Sunday Scaries. Only calm. A curious sense of anticipation. Something soft and sure that hums deep inside.
What a relief. She thinks to herself. My time away must have changed something in my brain chemistry.
She decides in that moment not to over think it. Not to ruminate. To just keep moving. Besides, she knows an energy crash is on its way — it must be, after all she's experienced. So she bundles her laundry into a basket, slings it over her back, and slips out the door.
——————————————————————————————————————
She pushes the glass door to the street open, takes a sharp left into an alleyway, and walks a couple steps towards the to the laundromat. It's raining and dark and gloomy, as is always the case in Noctreign, and strangers observe her from the street. Oddly, the familiarity of it all makes her happy to be back. She feels…grateful. For the routine. For her home. And she feels stronger. As though she can manage. She can navigate her life. She can figure this out. Nothing to despair about.
She opens the old washer, tosses a load in, and sets a timer on her watch just as the wave of sleepiness hits.
Knew it. She thinks to herself. She hates feeling tired. Hates the feeling of having to be awake when one felt asleep.
She leaves the rest of her laundry in a basket, heads back to her place, collapses on her lumpy old mattress, and settles in for a nap.
And so she spends the rest of her day. Napping, changing over laundry, napping, changing over laundry, just as she always did on the day before work.
In the evening, after her body has gotten enough rest, she perks up a bit and tidies her home, resetting her humble possessions for the week ahead. She lays out her outfits for the day: each just variations of black on black. Comfortable, and in her opinion, stylish. Her hoodie is clean, and dry, and she inhales its scent deeply, with satisfaction.
That optimistic, content state of mind stays with her, keeping her company through the mundane. She notices that there's no depression hijacking her thoughts, her mind. She may even actually want to go to work. Want to see what the day will unfold for her. Who she'll meet. What will happen. What will bring her closer to her dreams. And where that damn door will be.