Here's the math, folks:

78 days, minus 44 days, equals 34 days.

It's a countdown of days. Just, going down, currently, by 44 days...

Conor walked in on me in the bathroom again.

Why?

Because I was stupid and forgot to lock the door again.

Worst of all; I was showering.

And, of course; I was nude. Showering.

Luckily, the showers they provide in these long-term stays have the special fogged glass, so I'm 99.7% sure he didn't see anything.

I knew I heard the door open, but I must not have paid any attention to it.

I probably thought I was imagining it.

I was wrong.

As usual.

I am running my wet hands through my slick hair, massaging my scalp with Rose scented Shampoo.

I reach for the shower knob so I can adjust the water to a warmer temperature, and hear something skid across the bathroom floor.

Then I remember that I brought my outfit I had picked out to wear for today, and I brought the coat hanger with me as well because I might do that thing again where I switch outfits at the last minute for no apparent reason.

Then something in my head switches.

Coat hangers don't move by themself.

How did it move across the floor?

Then I hear a voice say; "Whatcha doin', hm"?

I shriek and almost jump out of my skin.

I know it's Connor.

"CONNOR!" I yell.

"Yes, m'lady?" he replies in a sweet voice.

"GET." I pause, "OUT!" I shout.

"You know, if someone occupying the bathroom doesn't lock the door, the person on the other side of the unlocked door can slip in. Plus; I can't even see your naked body". I can just imagine the smirk on his face.

"I swear to god, Conor. If you are not out of this freaking bathroom by the time I step out of this shower. I will rip your face right off".

"Oh, you know we both know that you would never do that to my charming facial features".

That's it.

I crack the shower door open, and poke my face out.

"Why, hello there," he says.

I give him the best evil eye I can manage.

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, and starts to take giant steps towards the door.

"Conor. Please. Leave me in peace to finish my shower. I am wasting precious drops of water. Gallons of water".

He nods, and winks at me.

Then he opens the door, and of course; keeps his head in the crack.

He says; "Remember to wrap a towel around your parts. Wouldn't want to expose yourself to me so early".

I explode.

I scream at him and toss in a few words of profanity for good measure, and he slams the door.

Just to be sure, I snatch my towel off of the hook nailed into the white wall.

I run to the door and click the lock into place.

The towel is a seagreen, blue color. It's tucked underneath my arms, covering my body except neck up, and thighs down.

I turn, and look into the mirror that is more fit for a mansion bathroom than a dull hospital room for long-term visitors. It's tall enough that I can see a full view of myself from head to toe. The glass is long enough to fit two whole lengths of my left and right arms. My blonde hair is soaking wet, and still has bits of shampoo.

My hair looks more brown than blonde when it's wet, and it looks golden in the sunlight.

I smile at my reflection and hop back into the running shower, engulfed with the heavenly steam and gushing streams of the warm water. I wash the shampoo out of my hair, and rub the milky colored Conditioner into the bottom length of my short hair. I slather lavender scented body wash all over everything below my neck.

I rinse the body wash off of my skin after shaving my legs and armpits with a lovely blueberry scented shaving cream. I use a hot pink razor for females.

I shut off the water and step out of the shower again. I wrap myself in the same towel, and use a smaller one with the same color material for drying my hair.

Once my body is dry enough, I start to get dressed. 

My outfit:

White lace bra, underwear, and socks.

Black leggings.

A black t-shirt that (yet again) advertises the female singer Olivia Rodrigo's face.

A white zip-up sweater with black butterflies surrounding the fabric that covers my wrists. 

I unraveled the towel that was keeping my drying hair in place, and let my semi-dry blonde hair fall down to my shoulders.

I take the teal blow dryer out of the bottom sink cabinet and detach the extension cord from the regular three foot long cord and neatly wrap it around my wrist so it will fit into the small plastic bin the bathroom necessities are supplied in, and I plug in the blow drier and set it to "HIGH".

After fifteen minutes, my hair is finally dry, and I take out my black brush and sweep the teeth through the tangles. I pull my hair back into a ponytail and secure it in place with a black ponytail holder.

Before that awkward episode of my boyfriend barging into the bathroom while I'm clearly trying to take a shower in peace, Conor told me that his mom offered to take me, my mom, Kathy's parents, and Raymond out to dinner at the Mall of America.

To the one restaurant you have to go to at least once a year.

Benihana.

Where your food is cooked in front of you, and the chef does tricks like juggling eggs and squirts a fake ketchup bottle in your face which is really just an empty ketchup bottle with a red balloon inside that jumps out at your face when it's squeezed.

Where nothing could go wrong.

I realize now that I'm staring at myself in the mirror like I'm a freaking demon or something.

I shrug, and grab my makeup bag, because our reservation is at 7:00 PM, and right now it's 5:00 PM.

I curl my lashes and apply a light shade of gray eyeshadow. I rinse off my eye shadow brush and go over my gray layer with a layer of silver eyeshadow littered with tiny sparkles so the two layers blend and make a sparkly bluish shade.

Happy with the look, I move on to my mascara.

I gently apply a bold black layer of my mascara on to my eyelashes and wait for it to dry so I can curl my eyelashes once more.

I take out my pink blush which is a very low toned shade so it is just visible enough to grab the attention of those around me. Not too dark though, because I don't want it to look like my cheeks normally would when it's freezing cold outside.

I finally go to add on my lipstick which is a light red.

I tilt my face at every angle to make sure that my face is beautified to perfection. I purse my lips because, in my opinion, that is the correct way to blot them without using a small square of toilet paper to even out the makeup on my lips.

Satisfied with my appearance, I place all of my makeup containers back into my makeup bag and rest it against the side of the counter, and toss the used towels into the laundry bin.

I pick up the laundry bin because today is the day when the laundry workers come around to all of the rooms and collect the laundry out of the bins and put all of the dirty pieces into a huge laundry cart to be washed and returned to their rooms because every towel, sheet, pillowcase, and blanket is marked with a tag displaying the room number with a dash followed by the floor it belongs to.

Mine is 11-2.

My favorite number, on the second floor.

Lucky me.

I unlock the door, and am face to face with Dr. Lisa.

Yeah, I even thought I was gonna say "face to face with Conor".

Not this time.

Things change.

In fact, by a quick glance around, Conor is not even in my room.

"Uh, hi," I say to Lisa.

"Hello, Nina, sorry to startle you, but I have to ask you something, well, it's more of something I need to tell you".

"Sure," I say, "would you mind if I set the laundry bin outside of my room first"?

"Not at all," she replies, and steps aside to let me past her.

I walk to the door, and open it, setting down the laundry bin beside my door. I close the door and walk back into my room to sit on my bed.

I motion to the chair pulled out from my desk, and say; "have a seat," to Lisa.

She smiles and takes a seat in the desk chair.

She clasps her hands in her lap, and fidgets with them. Something I have never seen her do before.

While she takes her time to collect her thoughts, I take the opportunity to examine her outfit: A white, hospital issued long sleeve-shirt, simple black pants, and a deep shade of blue clogs.

Simple.

An everyday hospital worker outfit who is off duty for the day.

Respect.

She clears her throat, and I look up at her to see her gaze fanning over me, taking my outfit in.

"Looks like you're going somewhere, I admire your skills with your choice of makeup" she says, calmly.

"Yeah," I say, "I'm going to dinner with Conor, his mom, my mom, Raymond, and Kathy's parents. I really like your makeup too".

She's wearing a simple get up; pale blue eyeshadow, and minimal mascara. Basically her everyday makeup. Even though it's not too complex of a look, she makes it look good.

"Well," she says, "I'm not looking to impress", and she laughs slightly. I laugh too, but I see her face turn serious, and I stop.

"Nina," she begins, and then she speaks very slowly, looking directly into my eyes, "have you seen or heard from Raymond anytime since the day after Kathy's funeral"?

I haven't, so I say; "No, I haven't. The last time I spoke to him was a few days before her funeral, and the last time I saw him was the day of her funeral".

She smiles sadly, and says; "You weren't too close to Raymond, were you"?

I shake my head no.

"You know he loved her, don't you"?

I nod my head yes.

"Nina, they found him".

I jerk my head up, and stare at her confused, my eyes narrowed. "Who's they?" I ask.

"The police," she says.

My heart falls into my stomach, and I start to comprehend what is going on.

Raymond has been missing since the day after Kathy's funeral.

Kathy dying could have predictably made him depressed.

He could have wanted some time alone, but I know that's not the truth.

The police found him.

I already know the answer, but I have to ask.

"Where did they find him"?

"The river". 

(Part 2)

Raymond. Is dead.

His body was found in the Mississippi river at 11:00 AM.

Yeah, I get it. You don't have to tell me again.

11:00 AM Is officially a death time.

Recent events leading up to his death make the cause of death obvious.

Suicide.

His body was found ten yards away from the bridge.

Somehow, no people on the bridge could see his body as they walked across the bridge.

The german shepherds did that for them.

His body was mangled and twisted, as if he had beaten himself up before he threw away his own life.

Before he decided the world would go on better than before him if he didn't exist.

None of which is true.

He loved Kathy.

And she loved him.

His body was found, underneath a clump of dying bushes, concealed from the people above. His twisted frame must have gotten caught on the riverbank as his lifeless body was carried away, down the river.

Based on the amount of swelling of his limbs, and the maggots already eating away at his flesh, the investigators estimated that he had killed himself about two weeks after the funeral.

By tests run from his bloodstream, he was also intoxicated. He had been heavily drinking before his death.

They also found evidence of drugs. Too illegal to reveal. Illegal enough that they had to have been transported in from another country.

He had evidently tried to drink his sorrows away. Clearly; it had only made his feelings of grief worse.

The drugs did no better.

His funeral will be held in 11 days.

23 days before my doomsday.

Thursday, May 16th 2019.