Feels Like A Year.

Keys jingled in the knob, the door slowly creaking open to the darkening apartment. The detective staggering in, her case hidden in a checkered bag which she dumped to the floor, hanging her dripping coat from the hook on the back of the door as she closed it tight. Bypassing the living room and heading for the kitchen, lightning flashing across the sky as she flipped the overhead light on before deciding it was much too bright, shutting it off, opting for the refrigerator light instead.

Tucking her wet hair behind her shoulder, she grabbed a bowl from the washed stack on the counter and poured her dinner. Bowl of cheerios in hand, she moved to the couch, nose wrinkling at the old smell of it.

"I'll have to spray it some more," she muttered, digging for the remote with her free hand.

The tv was too bright but only for a moment, eyes adjusting she channel-surfed not really caring for what was on, landing on some reality show re-run before digging into her cereal. She almost didn't hear her phone.

Almost.

The screen lit up when she grabbed it, denying the call she muted the device, letting it slide between the cushions.

Three weeks, two days, and twelve hours since her life had upended. Who cared? Not her. Never.

…...

The phone woke her with its annoying chimes. Why hadn't she put it on mute? Or do not disturb. Nearly falling out of bed as she fumbled for it in the dark. Six AM an hour before her alarm. She answered the phone with a tired smile anyway.

…...

This report was never going to be finished. She simply stared at the screen, the paragraph of findings begging to be fleshed out and finished. She couldn't turn in this skeleton. Shutting down the computer she went to her bedroom, flopping onto the queen-sized bed with a groan. Again, her phone rang.

Again she denied the call, placing the device face down on her nightstand

…...

"I miss you"

"I know you do"

"I can't wait to see you"

"When do you come home again?"

"Soon"

…...

"I can't go on like this!"

was it possible to smother yourself to death? In the darkest part of her mind that sounded most appealing. So many unanswered phone calls, so many voicemails, so many texts. All ignored, all deleted while she threw herself into her job, solving cases to escape the realities of her life as it currently was.

But, it just wasn't working anymore! why was it so hard to block the blasted phone number? Many times a day, her finger hovering just over the button on her screen before she chickened out, putting it off once more. Now, pacing across the creaky hardwood apartment floors she racked her brain for the solution to her problems. So lost in thought she didn't notice how she stumbled over one of the many storage bins lined around the room only to fall face-first to the floor.

"Note to self, invest in new storage options," flipping onto her backside she looked over the spilled contents of the bin.

Crap!

Now, she wished she hadn't. Glossy photos filled with sunshine smiles stared back at her. Hard to believe she was ever that happy, ever in love, head over heels with that stupid grin twenty-four-seven.

The phone chimed again.

She screamed. The red hot pain of heartbreak bubbling to the surface in her explosive cries before flickering out, leaving her a hollow mess.

…...

"Why are you so quiet today?"

"I've um, been thinking"

"That's never a good sentence starter, what's wrong? Did something happen on the trip?"

"Yes"

"What?"

"I can't tell you, it's top-secret"

"You know I'm good with secrets"

"I know but that's not what's bothering me"

"Then what is it? You're worrying me"

"I think, I think we should take a break"

…...

Still, the phone rang.