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*I don't think I did my idea justice but here's the first draft of a short story.

They share a one-bedroom apartment. In the hopeful future, they’ll be living within a white picket fence with three bedrooms— one for them and two for their children. Until that day comes though, they live together in a relatively average sized grey apartment. John had just come home from work and is awfully tired. He started with a simple accounting desk job but found himself unable to keep a single job and so he would hop from one workplace to another. John and his girlfriend Sarah live in a small town, surrounded by the woods. Sarah is not native to the town, but John is. She’s here because she couldn’t handle the overstimulation of big cities and decided to go somewhere where you can smell the trees in the wind and walk for miles without seeing anyone else. John just likes to be comfortable, so he never drifted too far from the county and fortunately met Sarah at a coffee shop, where she was working at the time as the barista. She’s very kind and observant, John likes that a lot about her. Their love is spontaneous and benevolent. When John came home today, he saw several Post-It notes scattered around the house. On the front door: I love you! Hope work was alright and I’m glad you’re home now. On the fridge: I’m meeting up with Millie today, so dinner is on the counter. On the microwave: REMEMBER! The lasagne only needs two minutes on high or else it might be cold in the middle or really really really dry.

John’s first task was to make dinner. Luckily, it was already made and all he had to do was heat it up. He misses his girlfriend. It’s been a week since he last saw her, and in the time in between he was in a nearby town for work. He came back earlier than what he originally planned, but he simply couldn’t stand being away from his lover for that long. Although she is his mistress, it doesn’t mean he loves her any less than his wife. John had actually known about Sarah before they even met, he saw her on a friend’s Facebook account, and he remembered taking a peek at her profile as well. She liked all the same things he liked and would often post pictures of herself with the book she was reading at the time every third week of the month. He had definitely thought she was cute then but knew there were almost no chances of them meeting… except they did meet and dated and shared a house together. He’s lucky that she likes him. He loves her for loving him.

Heating the food was easy, just a few taps on the microwave. Before he ate, he washed his hands and the flimsy band aid on his right arm fell off when he rolled his dress shirt up. Staring at him, was a large scratch with mulberry coloured scabbing. The band aid sat pathetically on the bottom of the metal kitchen sink, too small for the wound he had. He told his mom when he visited her yesterday to help her run some errands that it was from the cat at the shelter that he and Sarah visited earlier in the month. His mother asked him what colour the cat was, and he didn’t know how to respond so he just said black, which his mother tsk-ed at him for saying that black cats bring bad luck. Then, his mother asked about the bruise on his left wrist. He laughed and said, people get bruises Mom, calm down.

The lasagne recipe was passed down from Sarah’s grandmother. Their family had some sort of connection with Italy, and to seem classier her mother would always talk about how she’s Italian and that the Olive Garden couldn’t compare to her own mother’s recipe. Sarah loved cooking, and so it wasn’t unusual to have Tupperware on Tupperware of food in the freezer from one of her cooking nights. Sometimes, she’d make herb crusted roasted whole chicken and pair it with a nice red wine that has sweet fruity notes to it. John loved helping her carve the chicken, so she always tried to cook whole body meats rather than have it pre-prepared. Honey glazed ham was another favourite of John’s, along with her own. It’s fun to swoosh the wine glass and watch how the dark red liquid clings gently onto the glass. John had told her that’s how you tell if the wine is good— aged right, it’ll leave a thin layer on the glass and have a darker colour. There was something attractive about how much John knew regarding obscure things that they both loved, like cooking, food, books and much more. He always rolls his sleeve up when he carves the meats, revealing his forearm when he effortlessly slides the carving knife down the cooked meat.

After three bites, he vomits. John could barely hold it in and found himself holding his mouth shut while frantically running to the nearest bathroom. On his knees, he vomits into the toilet. Acidic and salty, the taste burned the roof of his mouth and he could feel the smell leaving from his nose. He hasn’t been on his knees like this since he visited church, when he was a mere child repenting for his sins. Unsure if he should stand up, John shoves a finger down his throat until he feels his tonsils and forces his finger down for stimulation. He could not find vomit anymore, and so he stood up, washed his hands and went back to the kitchen.

Sarah was supposed to be home when he called her before he got on the train, but it seems like Millie was more important at the time. It’s late though, and he’d hate for her to come back to an empty apartment or come across trouble when driving home. The apartment smelled even more like her than usual— probably because his own scent wasn’t there to dilute it. The notes made him feel safe and loved, but the missing presence of his lover made him feel a bit empty. On the recliner, he saw her dirty laundry and a note asking him to help her wash it. He decided that eating was his first priority, but now that he just finished puking he decided to take advantage of the fact that he’s alone in the house. John falls face first with his eyes closed onto the plush recliner, allowing himself to get devoured by Sarah’s scent. It feels so real, almost better than how she smells in person. The strange musk of her sweat, the hints of the forest, the smell of her gentle chrysanthemum perfume. He stays in that position for twenty minutes, devouring her aromas. Odd, there was the stench of cigarettes on her bra, one that she’d only wear on special occasions. It bothered him. He didn’t know she smoked. His eye twitches, but eventually calms down when he remembers that there is nothing to worry about. Sarah will be home soon. Sarah is home. Home is not home without Sarah.

John’s wife, ironically named Sara, knows that her husband works a lot. She doesn’t see him for months sometimes, but he always comes home after the long periods that he’s not and asks for her to make him desserts. Last year, she made him creme brûlée. If he has a mistress, John is awfully good at hiding it because Sara never found any sign of it. It crossed her mind, but she decided not to ruin their marriage. They’ve been married for five years now, and she’d like to have children with him one day and live in a large house with a white picket fence surrounding them. Maybe a dog too. But for now, they live in an average sized grey apartment. John met Sara when he was unsure of where he was in life. John had a home, but it wasn’t his own, rather his mother’s. Together, Sara helped John make a home for themselves and he’s been grateful ever since that she taught him something so wonderful. So long as they are together, they are home. Sara would much prefer her white picket fence dream, but the apartment they live in is good enough. Sara noticed in the past five years that they have quite noisy neighbours though, a couple. She doesn’t hear them often, but yesterday they caused a ruckus. Every year or so they’d have one night where they make a huge ruckus, banging and all those types of shenanigans. They must be some sort of sexual deviants, she’d always think, whenever she hears the screams and grunts from next door. Sometimes, the woman would scream and moan so much that Sara wasn’t too sure if the girl liked it but decided not to be nosey since she is very progressive and would hate to come off as a shrew.

His stomach groans, and he realises that he’s hungry again. John wasn’t too much of a chef himself but knew how to cook meat relatively well. Not as well as Sarah, but good enough that he enjoys most of the meals he cooks for himself. He looks at the clock hanging in the kitchen. Quarter till 9. When will she be home? She is home though; he just wasn’t thinking. He actually saw her yesterday before he went to his mother’s. John opens the fridge again and stares at what he has to cook. Steak seems like the best choice, he mutters to himself, and picks out a nice cut of meat he got from yesterday. Just like any other steak, he pats it dry with a paper towel first, so that it’ll crisp up in the pan. John always bases his steak with butter, so he reaches in for that as well.

After setting the table for one, John found it harder than usual to chew the meat. It wasn’t his usual cut— it was ten times better. If possible, he wanted to savour everything about it. Soft and tender like A4 Wagyu beef, not as fatty and aromatic as A5 Wagyu but just right. There was also a hint of sweetness, perhaps the butter he used made it taste a bit sweeter than usual. It’s been a minute since he’s cooked a meal for himself like this, so it’s normal that he must’ve forgotten something. Perhaps he was just really hungry, but the meat made him feel whole again, as if he was missing this bite for all of eternity. Now, he is fully one. John loves this steak. He prays he won’t vomit again and forgets this feeling but found a familiar wretched taste rise from his throat. Frustrated, he throws the plate into the sink, letting it shatter and sit quietly broken by itself in the sink as he swiftly walks to the toilet to vomit again.

With all his efforts, he managed to keep the bile down. He could not waste the meal he just had or have any remnant of it go down the pipes. Feeling thirsty, John stares at the wine cabinet. He didn’t want to open a bottle of wine without Sarah, and so instead he reaches for the whiskey hidden in the back of a cabinet instead. It’s Sarah’s secret stash that John isn’t supposed to know about. After one sip, ice seemed like a good idea and so he goes to the freezer to get some and drops a few cubes into his glass. He didn’t know what to do with the organs and eyes, so he just put them in the freezer. She’s home. Sarah is home. Sarah is at home with John and will never part from him. He decides he misses his wife and so John walked to the elevator then walked back and past Sarah’s apartment to reach his own apartment that he shares with his wife. Sara doesn’t know where he’s been the past few days but doesn’t like to think about it. All that matters is that he’s home and she smiles at him while taking off his jacket for him, complying to his wishes to make him some dessert. He’s a good husband and has yet to prove to her that he isn’t.