The "Psycho" in the Living Room...

Michael left me a bucket of roses in the living room, so that I could find them when I got up. I smiled, as I rubbed my eyes to chase away the last remnants of sleep. There were 9 white roses, three red ones, and three blue ones, which are really expensive, and they were all tied in ribbons of gold and silver. He'd put the flowers in water, so that they can stay fresh for as long as possible, and had also left me a note. It was short, but sweet and I realised I was making coffee, while humming to myself... What was the name of this song? 

My love
You know that you’re my best friend
You know I’d do anything for you
My love
Let nothing come between us
My love for you is strong and true

It took me a moment to realise, that I was singing "Hold On" by one of Canada's finest ladies, Sarah McLachlan. I've always had a strange love for this song... For some reason, no matter how serious and somewhat sad its lyrics are, I still find it very optimistic. But that's always been Sarah's strength, has it not? She could sing lyrics to break your heart, and warm it in the same time. Her music is ethereal. Healing. Her voice carries emotion as swiftly as Michael's fingertips, drawing circles on my bare back...

I smiled, feeling I'd started drifting in my own thoughts, and proceeded making the coffee. I'd arranged to meet with Miss Munro later this evening, after she'd finished work, so we could discuss the details of my job... And so that I could give her one last chance to think things true and tell me she'd find someone more experienced then me. Surely, I'd taken a course in Writing, Editing and Publishing in University, but that was a long time ago, and things were very different in the world... It's fair to say that I'm a little "rusty" on my editing.

Still, Miss Munro was sure that things are going to work out fine, and who was I to try and convince her otherwise? These days, I had a husband to convince it won't be the end of the world, if I stop spending my days at home... ah... "simulating" domestic cleaning duties. At the end of the day, when all is said and done and we want to be fair, I'm not even a very good housewife. So, I'm positively sure, this is for the best. I mean, it's not like I'm going to meet some hotshot writer and run off with him, right?

Chuckling at the mere ridiculousness of the thought, I put out some food and water for Bast, who was still lazing off in the bedroom, and went to have a shower. 

It was almost 10 am and the bathroom window was open. Cool breeze slid down my skin, as I let the bath-robe in burgundy and gold fall at my feet, to lay motionless on the floor. I put my auburn hair in a tight ponytail, tied at the nape of my neck, then looked myself in the mirror for a moment, shrugged, and turned the hot water on. Steam filled the bathroom, even though the window was still open. Pearls of sweat glittered on my skin, as I put shampoo on my head and closed my eyes, murmuring words to help me not only clean my body, but also my spirit. People my think that mantras are nothing more than pointless mumbles, and to many they are exactly that, but if you really concentrate and let your mind go to that place, where you go to meditate or in yoga class, then... Then the mantra will help you get in touch with your inner self and, in a way, cleanse your spirit of all the troubles of the day.

My muscles were just beginning to relax, when I heard the strangest of sounds... A creak of the floor downstairs. For a moment I thought I haven't heard right over the sound of running water, but then... The floor creaked again. Footsteps. There was someone in the living room, walking around... Was it Michael? Had he forgotten to take something he needed for work? I doubted it. Michael is pretty pedantic, when it comes to his job. He usually prepares all the documents before going to bed, no matter the time... Or the activities we're about to indulge ourselves into. Still, there was a chance that it was him making all that noise...

Something crashed into the floor, the sound of breaking glass as loud as thunder in my ears. The vase with the roses. Whoever was in the living room had knocked it down... My heart increased its beating speed to an almost maddening level. I was naked and wet, while someone was ravaging through my house... And I felt like a heroine from a cheap horror flick or from "Psycho".

Getting out from under the sower, I wrapped my bathrobe around my naked frame, then, letting the water running, picked up a file off the bathroom table and moved to the door. I cursed myself for not taking my cellphone in the shower with me. I usually do. I was just feeling very distracted this morning... There were a lot of things going through my head.

I carefully opened the bathroom door and, hiding the file in the waves of my robe, barefoot and with wet hair sticking to my face, moved towards the noise and the intruder. Was it the wise thing to do? No. Wasn't it better to go to the bedroom, lock myself, and call Michael? Yes. But in moments like this, when the adrenaline is pumping in your veins and your heart is threatening to explode, thinking clearly is not easily achievable. So I kept on advancing, mentally cursing myself, but feeling physically unable to turn around and do the wise thing.

The radio in the kitchen came on. "Piece of My Soul" by Corinna Fugate. How fitting. I was already sure it wasn't Michael down there. He hates this song. I love it, so we've agreed to play it every once in a while, when we're together...

He stormed the gates at morning
He was inside by evening
A ragged man in ragged clothes
Too sad to live, too proud to die
A thousand blades of envy
Green Keeping you from my side

Without you here
I need you to Know
That you are the missing
Piece of my soul

Too accurate for comfort. For a brief moment I wondered if Michael knew that he is half my soul. Then I felt certain he does and in another adrenaline rush, moved down the stairs to the living room...

I heard creaking and span on my heels, lifting the file... 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, dearest!" A petite woman exclaimed, when I almost stubbed her, then regained her composure and took an aggressive stance. I blinked water off my eyes, took in a breath, and exclaimed:

"Miss Picksby?!"

"Haven't you heard that you should lock your door, girl? What if next time someone who isn't me comes in, while you're in the shower?" Miss Picksby's face turned red, when she looked at the file again. "And what in the world do you think you're doing with that... thing?"

I opened my mouth to say something, anything... But the only thing that came out was laughter.

Miss Picksby wasn't amused the slightest little bit. Quite the contrary. If you ever thought you've seen a raging fury...

You haven't seen anything.