If you asked a random person how they are and how they would describe their week you would probably get various polite, surface-level answers. But let’s say you ask me. I will answer you honestly. The past week has been like a living hell for me. And that is something you will almost never catch me say. I woke up to a sunny morning on Monday and called my grandparents to see how they and the new cat they adopted were doing. Then the day went as usual. Until the evening when I realized I was meeting Travis on Thursday. I knew that that was still a while from then, but it kept me going. The next two days were exhausting—running from shelter to shelter, and shopping for neighbors who, somehow, all ran out of milk or eggs at the same time.
That’s life in a building full of retirees. But here’s the thing: the exhaustion was worth it. Seeing the relief on a homeless person’s face or the gratitude in my neighbors’ smiles made it all worthwhile. I love helping people—it makes me feel alive. I love, really love, it. I love making people happy. So, the days passed and I was all hyped up because I knew I was meeting Alexander the next day, especially because things had taken a strange turn in the last two days. He wasn’t answering his phone or even calling me back several hours later, which was weird, but he was probably just busy, too. By Wednesday evening, I was calling him again and again, only to be sent straight to voicemail. Travis never ignored my calls, especially the day before we planned to meet. Still, I told myself he was probably exhausted—he did have a big conference the next day. I brushed off the gnawing anxiety, convincing myself he’d call in the morning. So, I just turned on the TV and continued the series I started a while ago.
Morning. I woke up in pain. I had fallen asleep on the couch again. Great, really. The first thing I did after ten minutes of trying to get up from the couch was check my phone. It was 9.15 AM. Shit, I promised to be at the shelter at 9.30. Half an hour passed and I was driving off the driveway and into the busy streets of my city. I was only about half an hour late, so not that bad. It wasn’t until 11 AM that I realized Travis still hadn’t called. So that was when I started worrying. While I was driving home, I zoned out a little, thinking what could possibly be the reason for my boyfriend’s ghosting. After contemplating for a little while I realized that something might be wrong. I called Travis again, still nothing. That’s it, I’m calling his best friend Josh who answered me in a millisecond. "You think something’s wrong with Travis?” were his words as soon as he answered. "He’s not answering me either and he missed the conference this morning.”
That was it. I’m going to his place, I thought as I ended the call. Of course, every single traffic light was red and all parking slots in front of his apartment building were full. But I didn’t care. I left my car as close to the building I could, grabbed my keys and ran through the entrance. Travis lived on the 7th floor, so I was praying that the elevator came quickly, but this hope fled as soon as I saw the ‘’NOT WORKING’’ sign. So, the only option left were the stairs. I started running. I was completely out of breath on the fifth floor already. After a ten second stop I ran the remaining two floors. And then I saw it. The almost closed door. Almost. I don’t know if I had ever been that scared.
‘’Travis!’’ I screamed as I rushed through the door. The living room was empty so I immediately rushed to his bedroom. No. No. No. This couldn’t be real. My heart shattered as I let out a scream I didn’t know I was capable of. Everything inside me collapsed. Dizzy and overwhelmed, I fell to my knees. This wasn’t real. Travis wasn’t lifeless. He wasn’t without a pulse. He wasn’t lying there, motionless, in a pool of his own blood. Except... he was. My hands were shaking as I dialed 911 and heard the operator’s voice answer. The only thing I managed to let out were the address and a cry for help. Everything from there on was just pitch black.
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