As the evening settled in, I kept glancing at the corners of the room, half-expecting another centipede to make its appearance.
Jamie was due back from work soon, and I knew there would be another round of tension.
Every conversation about these creatures felt like walking on eggshells.
The air was still thick, the humidity refusing to relent.
I found myself pacing the living room, restless, my thoughts a jumble.
The pest control visit hung over me like a storm cloud.
I picked up my phone, tempted to text the landlord, maybe delay the appointment.
But what would I say?
How could I justify it without revealing my strange attachment to the centipedes?
A knock at the door startled me, thoughts scattering.
I hesitated, then opened it to find Jamie standing there, looking worn and impatient.
“Did you see any more of them?” Jamie asked, not bothering with a greeting.
I shook my head, though my heart raced at the lie.
Jamie sighed, stepping past me into the apartment.
“I hope this pest control thing works,” Jamie muttered, setting down a heavy bag.
“Yeah,” I replied, my voice not quite steady.
The tension between us was a living thing, tangible, pressing down on the small space.
We moved around each other, avoiding eye contact, each in our own world of thoughts.
Jamie put on music, the familiar tunes filling the silence.
I focused on the rhythm, trying to calm my racing mind.
As the night wore on, I found myself looking at the walls, wondering how many more centipedes hid within.
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