The living room door bursts open.

“Temi?”

A suitcase falls from her grasp as she falls onto the floor, a look of desolate sadness crumpling her features.

My heart races in fear. I’ve never seen her like this.

I try to address her calmly, but my pulse grows deafeningly loud in my chest.

“Temi. Talk to me, please. What’s going on?”

She attempts to speak, but her hyperventilated breathing disrupts her from forming any cohesive sentences.

I rush over to her after the initial paralysis of shock leaves my legs, holding her close as her body trembles from the fear of…what?

Why was she behaving like this?

“I’ve…I’ve done something terrible,” she says.

I have no idea what to say. “What did you do?”

“I ki-ki-can’t, I can’t fix it I don’t know how to fix it, I-I-“

She begins to hyperventilate again. Her demeanour was having a profoundly unnerving effect on me.

I begin to ask her again, but I’m interrupted by the raising of her arm, her hand pointing upstairs.

“Is it upstairs? Do you want me to look for you?”

Though her response is borderline incoherent, I gather that whatever it was that shattered her composure loomed upstairs.

I take the steps one at a time, my own composure wilting in my soul, my nervous sweat dampening my skin. My mind is ablaze with thoughts.

What was it?

Who was it?

Am I in danger?

Is she okay downstairs?

I should have stayed with her.

I need to know what it is.

I should-

The door to the bedroom slowly swings open, blown gently by the draft from the upstairs windows.

I freeze.

Nothing appears to be wrong. I don’t see anything strange.

I still hear her soft sobbing from downstairs, continually engaging my flight-or-fight tension. I feel my nerves contract as I walk towards the bedroom.

As I step inside, I’m confronted by a horrible sight.

A tarantula, roughly the size of my hand was twitching in the final throes of its life, its body crushed under a thick book as a small pool congealed underneath.

I resist the urge to laugh out loud.

I mean yes, undoubtedly it was a large spider. But she ran into the room with suitcases. Where did she even have the time to grab them? How did I not hear this clash of the titans upstairs?

Stop it. She’s crying downstairs. It was obviously a tramuatic experience for her.

I let out a sigh of relief, put the spider out of its misery and flush it away in the toilet to ensure total peace of mind.

I head downstairs and see her rocking back and forth on the floor, huddled with her knees held close, breathing heavily with a vacant gaze boring into the floor.

“Don’t worry. I flushed it away.”

“I was so scared.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. She’s adorable, cute, but occasionally, painfully dramatic.

“I know. It was pretty big.” I slowly lean down into her range.

She reaches to my outstretched hand, stands up, and holds me close.

“Come on. I’ll make you pasta for dinner.

and we’ll have some nice, safe, tasty donuts.”