It was almost a ritual of sorts.
Whether she were dead tired, drunk, or simply sober and sad, the first night in a new place had always been restless for her- even with her favorite sheets pulled tight and plushies lined up just right.
Amy couldn't sleep.
She was so hungry that imagining food became her personal midnight game.
Sometime around midnight- just when sleep had begun to work its fragile magic- there came a knock on the door.
She didn't move. Amy wasn't stupid. She waited, listening, until she was sure of who stood outside.
Malcolm. Her awkward landlord.
"Hi, Amy-" came his voice, unmistakably drunk, the moment she opened the door.
"Okay, be nice," Malcolm continued quickly. "I know it's late, and you're tired from the drive, but I lost the bet, so… I brought you dinner. Hope you like… What's in here"
Then he shoved a paper bag into her hands.
Amy accepted it, confused and wary. When she tried to close the door, Malcolm stopped it with his foot.
"You're a guest here," he said, swaying slightly. "Your well-being is my responsibility- not your satisfaction."
Behind him, Elijah and April giggled. They were drunk too.
"I waited forever at the reception," Malcolm went on. "Figured you'd ask for directions to a convenience store or a restaurant. But you never showed up. So I asked April to check on you…" He paused to steady himself. "And she said no. She never says no when it comes to guests. Do you know why?"
Amy didn't. And she didn't care. So she shook her head.
"You hurt her feelings," Malcolm answered himself.
"Yes, she did!" April chimed in loudly.
"That was April," Malcolm clarified unnecessarily. "Still upset. And drunk."
April flipped Amy off.
"We don't close doors in people's faces," Malcolm said, his tone shifting. "We communi-"
Amy handed the food back to him and closed the door. She had enough.
Just like that.
She decided she'd find another place in the morning. Somewhere professionalism actually meant something.
Sleep still refused to come. Hunger gnawed at her. The cat cried under the bed. An owl perched somewhere outside, staring in a way that felt personal.
Amy powered on her phone.
Missed calls.
Unread emails.
More than a hundred messages.
You'd think something had happened to the show- but no. Everyone just wanted to know where she was. If she was serious about quitting. Who jokes about Quitting?
Then she saw Jonathan's texts.
So you decided to run and break my mother's heart.
I told you why I have to marry Christina, right?
That doesn't mean we'd stop seeing each other…
Alright, you win. We won't be getting married this Saturday.
Just stop being childish and come back home.
You're picking me up from the airport. My flight lands at 11 tomorrow morning. Don't be late.
Amy didn't know how or when she'd gotten involved with someone like Jonathan. But reading those messages cemented the very foundation on why she didn't say yes when he proposed.
He was trash.
And she had been his garbage pit all through high school.
It had to stop.
She smashed the phone.
Did it stop the ringing in her ears?
Did it save her heart from breaking?
Did it end the panic attack clawing its way through her chest?
No.
But it left her curled up on the floor- crying, shaking, hungry, alone.