The doors slammed shut, one by one, with satisfying clicks of finality. She had helped them along, given them a little push, ran away.
She wanted them to leave, but longed for them to stay.
She could hear them trying to get through to her, but it’s as though they were speaking through a thick glass pane – their words muffled and a mumble. She turned away; unresponsive, ambivalent, guilty, distant.
Her arm lifted itself halfheartedly as though to reach out to them, a last ditch attempt.
She could see their angry faces on the verge of giving up on her, not comprehending, disappointed at her perpetual cycles of abandonment.
Death, written all over her face, the muscles drawn tight. Her lips moved stiffly, her eyes a picture of vacantness.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, but I can’t, she thought. Unable to feel, unable to react.
She felt a rush of air escape from her as she freefalls further, sucked deeper into the void.
She dropped her arm resignedly.
