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sophie-and-lilianne · 5 months

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SWOON

"I’m such an idiot, why do I keep bothering to wake up for this", I think, absorbed in my morning routine of self-deprecation. I take my pills. "Maybe I’ll feel better after I see my therapist next month".

I sit in my bed, listening to my alarm sing I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire while I look around the room. It’s been three months and I still don’t have a bed, only a mattress. My art table is so badly set up that I can’t use it for anything, and my shelves are covered in junk and dishes. I guess an outside observer might look at this and say “Aha! It’s clearly a classic case of this and that-” but I just think it’s the depression. This place, and the job that came with it, was supposed to be a fresh start for me. I just have to make it to New Year’s.

My phone dings. I look, wondering who might be messaging me at five in the morning. Someone liked my profile on a dating app. Huh. I press the notification and open the app, looking at her photo. She’s very attractive for sure, but 540KM away… It wouldn’t be the first person to try to talk me into a long distance relationship. I swipe right, for the fun of it.

My phone alarm rings at that moment, telling me it’s time to get up and ready for work. Blue Moon by Frank Sinatra plays pitifully on my AI assisted speaker, also a reminder of the time I spent in bed. The Bioshock-inspired playlist is never shuffled, so I can count the time in songs instead of minutes and hours. It was such a romantic era, I muse. So much for that in my life.

My joints ache as I get up and pad towards the kitchen. I don’t eat breakfast in the morning, only coffee. I start the boiler and pour exactly one teaspoon of instant into my cup. I pour the water in and sit on my too-small couch, facing the TV. "I could call off work today. What do I have to lose anyway? They can’t fire me."

I get back up, every joint groaning at the couch being too low for me to sit comfortably, or get up properly. My phone vibrates, signaling a new message. I’ll look at it in the bus. I strip in the middle of the apartment and open the door of the dryer, still full of clothes from last week, and pull out a shirt and pants. I put them on reluctantly. "If I don’t go to work", I think reproachfully to myself, "I won’t have the money to do anything, or pay rent, which I need. At least, until New Year’s."

The bus ride to work is nightmarish. It saps all energy out of you before you’re even going to begin thinking about working. I grind my teeth, unable to push the inane chatter of the others out of my brain enough to keep calm. I finally decide to check that message. It’s from the girl on SWOON, my preferred dating app. I check her name again: Lilianne.

Hey Sophie! How’s your day going?

I slowly pen a reply, choosing my words.

I’m doing good, just going to work. You?

I’m about to put my phone away, people never reply to these things, when it vibrates in my hand. I check it.

Not doing much, but otherwise okay. Have you met anyone cool on this app so far? I just set mine up.

Honestly, not really. I met someone, and she was… not kind, especially towards the end.

It takes a moment for her to respond to this one.

Oh. I’m sorry you had to experience that.

It’s okay. I’m outta there and living by myself so I’m pretty happy. Alright, I gotta go to work, would you mind if I message you later?

Not at all, I would love to talk to you.

I let myself smile a little. Sometimes people were nice on these things. I get to work and I’m already underwhelmed. I hate my job. I go up to my supervisor and ask, “Where to boss?”

“Just your usual”, he replies, “Quality control.”

I sigh. Of course. I go sit at my station and start pulling out corks from a bag. I inspect each one for imperfections, throwing out those who show them, and putting the rest in a basket. I continue until my basket is full, then hand it to someone else for final inspection before they’re put in a box. Rinse and repeat. For hours. Every two hours there’s a break and I take those blessed moments to go smoke. Each drag from my e-cigarette is pure bliss during those breaks, a moment stolen only for myself.

I work in a facility for people with different mental or physical challenges. For me, it was being out of a job because of a psychotic break and never truly recovering from the anxiety. I still get those intense pangs of fear, but in the past three months since I’ve been here, while I may not have found mental stimulation, I’ve found safety.

After a full day of this routine I go home, the bus ride a different type of hell. My coworkers want to interact with each other and find friendship and someone to talk to, I only want to be left alone. I should bring headphones tomorrow.

I trudge up the stairs and unlock my door. “I’m home”, I say out of habit, but no one is there to hear it. I live alone. My phone dings as I fumble for the lights. I check it.

Are you done with work?

Lilianne again. Encouraging. I reply.

Yeah, finally. My job is not exactly fun.

Oh? What do you do?

Quality control in a factory setting. Nothing to write home about. It pays the bills.

Gotta have one of those sometimes. Do you live by yourself?

Yep. I don’t even have a pet. I’m not allowed according to the rental agreement.

Would it cheer you up to see my cat? She’s very cute.

Absolutely! Send away :)

A few seconds later, a photo appears on the screen. A big, round creature with green eyes and dark fur with small patches of white. This cat looks like the sweetest thing I’ve seen in a long time. She looks like she’d eat right out of my hand.

I write back.

I confirm, she’s very cute. What’s her name?

Susan. I call her Susie. She’s the love of my life.

Awww :) Little Susan.

Haha she’s more than little, though that’s partially my fault.

I try to think of something to reply but my mind comes up empty. I don’t know how to steer a conversation that well. Not to mention, this person actually replies. My phone dings again.

Can I give you my number?

A slight tingling creeps over my face. She wants to take this off SWOON.

Of course! I’ll even give you mine!

#authors #writing #sapphic #wlw

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