Returning

When she came to the door of her apartment, when she turned the lock with her key, she noticed that it was already unlocked. Entering the front hall, the living room light was unexpectedly on. "Hello?" she yelled, repeated. Grabbing the umbrella in the entrance tightly with both hands, she tiptoed her way towards the light.

The first thing she noticed was the sound, a familiar crunching. She saw nothing in the room that would make such a sound, no broken radiator or faulty VCR, but still it persisted, and still she couldn't place how she knew it. She followed its source, across the room, past the glass table, near the couch, and that's when she saw the shoes, toes pointed towards the ceiling.

He had left 9 months earlier, his departure abrupt and unexplained. And now he was lying behind her couch, sprawled out with his arms and legs opened wide, his body like a fallen star. His teeth were grinding, hard and rough like rusty gears, and she could smell the alcohol on him without having to crouch. His jacket was stained(soil? blood?), as were the knees of his jeans, and she nudged his hand with the toe of her boot. He did not move, just kept grinding. Suddenly, she found her foot was in the air behind her, building up momentum for a strike to his stomach, but she stopped it mid-swing. Her boot hit the floor, grounding her anger for the moment.

She wished he was gone, and she wished he was awake, sober. There were too many questions, all starting with 'why.' But there would be no answers tonight. Tossing the umbrella onto the couch, she stepped over him on her way to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. In bed with her eyes shut, she wondered if this time she'd be able to hear the fading footsteps. She could still hear his violent teeth.