Padding quietly down the creaky stairs in my black ankle socks, so not to wake anyone, the smell of burnt toast streamed from the kitchen, filling my nose and jumpstarting my appetite. My stomach growled and I looked around to see if anyone else heard it curse me in a language foreign to all but me. The aroma lingered from the evening before, despite the windows being opened to let the smoke out, a bittersweet reminder of a needless argument and the muscles in my shoulders tensed. ‘Breathe’, I whispered to myself, a futile attempt of managing my recently persisting anxiety.
As I made my way across the cold room, the foot-long cotton ball of fluff followed me into the kitchen, awaiting a serving of the finest pre-cooked poultry the freezer has to offer and cold biscuits. Impatiently, he barked and in an effort to keep him quiet, I hand fed him a couple pieces of chicken, hoping he hadn’t woken anyone. In the background, the kettle began its work to deliver my hot water for my instant coffee, sounding awfully like a jet engine idling and breaking the quiet of the house. Soon, the smell of coffee filled the air, and my mind began to stir…
