Memories From a Dead Girl
Fifty-Six
I pressed my fingers against the bedroom door. I still didn't understand why I couldn't go through it, but I supposed that was the least of my worries. Because I'd heard the argument. I'd heard what Austin had said.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember being happy. I could only conjure up the image of me and Austin—together—both of us alive.
When Chloe started crying, I turned around and walked into the living room. I couldn't face that. Sitting on the couch, I crossed my legs and stared at the TV. I waited for them to come out, even though they'd never know I'd been listening.
They needed closure. With each other, and with me, and they needed it soon.
I felt something go through my body, then, and I looked down at my hand.
My slightly faded hand.
I didn't have to have a working brain to understand what that meant.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember being happy. I could only conjure up the image of me and Austin—together—both of us alive.
When Chloe started crying, I turned around and walked into the living room. I couldn't face that. Sitting on the couch, I crossed my legs and stared at the TV. I waited for them to come out, even though they'd never know I'd been listening.
They needed closure. With each other, and with me, and they needed it soon.
I felt something go through my body, then, and I looked down at my hand.
My slightly faded hand.
I didn't have to have a working brain to understand what that meant.
♠ ♠ ♠
Obviously this story has derailed from its plot. I might take a break from writing it for a while.