I did not move for a while. Standing still, thinking about what was done.
My fingers pressed deep into the edges of the bolt, rattling it in its barrel, until they began to sting. It was real. This was a reality. The spirit was now out there. No longer a garden pet. I was proven how fruitless it was to try and hide her; a matter of time before the world found out. If not this time, then perhaps next time. Which is still an unacceptable risk. Just once is enough. All it takes is one canary. Especially in the age of the printed press.
How much longer can I manage this? It felt like I was tearing at my hair going back and forth on my promise to let her stay. At least, I did not promise to let her stay indefinitely. Only that I needed more time to think about it. Was now the time to decide? For what reason do I tardy?
Why did she nest here? Why am I letting her stick around? Was she not surviving just fine before me?
The questions brewed in my head, cycling over and over. The longer it lingered, the more infuriating it became. Surely, I was overthinking it all. I was being used. No more, no less. There was no complicated reasoning behind why she preferred my company. Not love. Not neglect. Not a troubled past. Just a selfish desire for comfort. Just like all animals do. That was all it was, really.
I stormed away from the door. If she knocked, I would answer, but if she did not, I could care less. One night outside will not kill her. Sweeping up the plates, I marched onward to the kitchen. briskly went back and forth from the sink and the table, dropping the dishware, without a care, until one of the cups slipped out from the top of a plate and flew onto the floor, shattering. My free arm lunged forward, only to flinch back upon the screech of a dozen glass shards. I sighed with a bit of a hoarse hiss. Setting down the plate, I bent down to pick up the glass, only to immediately regret it.
I dropped the shard back onto the floor, flinching again. Slipping my finger into my mouth, it stung. A further insult to add on top of my broken set, which was now incomplete. Carefully navigating over to the sink, I cleaned the cut, delicately rubbing my fingers across the small slit. I did not expect the ceramic to cut me, as it was good glass, but with all the events that occurred today, I should have expected just as much.
After cleaning up the pieces, I could not bring myself to dispose of them just yet, leaving them in the dustpan. Returning to the dishes, I found myself with little motivation to do anything. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and vent my frustrations. Staring at the sink, my vision began to blur, becoming glassy and opaque. Drawing a hand to my face, I left the kitchen and collapsed on the couch, drawing in my legs. Grabbing one of the pillows, I suffocated it between my arms, pressing my face deep into it as I soaked it.
When I got up again, it was completely pitch dark outside. The lights were still on in the kitchen, and the grandfather clock had just gone off. I rubbed my eyes and squinted at the time, mindlessly sitting there with the pillow still in my arms. Eventually, I got up to shut off the lights. Stopping by the back door, I gazed out at the moonlit porch, peering around for the little girl. She was nowhere to be seen. I relented my fury and slid open the glass door, leaving just the screen door shut with a small gape. With that, I shut the lights and retired back to the couch, falling asleep once more.