NOVEL WEB Chapter 9: Inventory
The room was still. Not quiet, the faucet still dripped, and traffic sighed distantly beyond the paper-thin walls but still. Like the air had decided to stop moving.
June stood at the doorway to her bedroom and took stock.
A twin mattress lay directly on the hardwood floor, sheets tangled at the edges like she'd wrestled them in her sleep. No bedframe. No headboard. The foam sagged in the middle, shaped to her weight, her silence.
Beside it: an old plastic lamp with a cracked base. It glowed a soft orange, the bulb too dim, too old, but still functioning. Its pull-string dangled, frayed from years of use.
Next to the lamp, a graveyard of styrofoam ramen cups. Some empty. Some with congealed broth inside. All marked by time and disinterest. A few loose packets of soy sauce littered the floor like leaves from a tree that never lived.
A crumpled hoodie in the corner. A single sock under the radiator. Her phone charger curled beside the outlet like a sleeping snake. Her dresser, if you could call it that, was an old crate stacked sideways with folded clothes she rarely wore and didn't care to sort.
No posters. No decor. No photos.
It wasn't depression chic. It wasn't aesthetic. It was a room that belonged to someone who had stopped thinking about rooms.
June exhaled and turned toward her desk.
It was cluttered, but not messy. A few notebooks, some pens. An unopened energy drink from three weeks ago. Her cracked mirror propped against the wall, streaked from the last time she'd tried to clean it with a damp sock.
She sat.
Pulled open the bottom drawer.
The rope was there, coiled neatly next to a reusable water bottle, a small chocolate bar, and a folded sheet of paper.
She picked up the paper.
It wasn't a suicide note. She didn't believe in those. She'd read too many bad ones online, full of apologies and final words no one would ever truly understand.
This was simpler.
To Dreyfuss,
I'm done. Please take me off the schedule.
I'm not coming back.
June
She'd written it last week. Printed it at the library. Folded it perfectly.
She placed it in a plastic sleeve, sealed it with tape, and laid it next to her uniform, which she'd folded for once in her life. There was something about leaving it tidy that felt right. Like cleaning up after yourself before you left a motel room.
She stood, stretched, and started packing.
A small duffel bag waited on the floor. Black. Faded. Used to be her gym bag when she still pretended to care about exercise. Now it was her go-bag.
She slid the rope inside first.
Then the bottle of water.
Then the snack, the chocolate bar.
She paused.
It was stupid, but part of her whispered: What if you mess up? What if you don't die right away?
She added a pack of crackers, just in case.
"In case I survive."
It was funny. In a grim, absurd way. She smiled for a second.
"Nothing worse than dying on an empty stomach."
The smile faded. She zipped the bag closed.
She didn't bring her phone. Didn't need it.
She walked to the window, looked down at the street below. Raindrops made halos on the pavement under the streetlights. A car passed. Then silence again.
Her reflection looked back at her. Hollow. But whole.
She sat back down at her desk and picked up a marker.
On the inside flap of the duffel, she wrote:
"Property of June. If found, let it go."
It felt like the right thing to say.
She sat for a long while after that.
No music. No scrolling. No crying.
Just... sitting.
Her stomach growled once.
She ignored it.
She drank a sip of water. Ate half the chocolate bar. Put the rest back.
"I've always been realistic."