Duskwood: At first time

-2- How do you do it? (16+)

Tw: the story has slight mentions of self-harm.
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"And I said that she is a human being and nothing human is alien to her. And you said, robot, robot..." Mrs. Taylor looked at her companion with superiority.

"Well, she didn't act like a human being before," Mrs. Jones shrugged, "and then all of a sudden she's in the clouds and she's constantly looking at the phone."

"Can even she fall in love and wait for every message?"

"It looks like it. Maybe now she'll stop being such a bore?"

Gossip was an integral part of any lunch. They flew into the room with the first employees, flew from table to table, acquiring new details. And so, until they got to the two main gossips. Mrs. Taylor and Mrs. Jones discussed every detail, giggled at the next victim, and moved on to the next juicy gossip.

Anna, who was sitting at the next table that day, squeezed an empty coffee cup. What the hell? Don't they have a life of their own at all? It's terribly unpleasant when unfamiliar people discuss your life.

But in some ways, this couple is right and wrong at the same time. The last week has changed Anna. She allowed herself the unforgivable luxury of keeping her cell phone on the edge of the table, violating her main rule: at work, work. Everything personal was left outside the door, thrown away along with the second morning cup of coffee. And now it's impossible to get rid of thoughts. The only problem is that Anna did not wait - she trembled from any animation of the screen. I managed to get rid of the messages by logging out of my account, but here are the calls... Jessy called a couple of times, but Anna always hurriedly dropped the call, pretending that there was no Duskwood in her life. Again.

It would seem that everything is over. Hannah had been found alive and almost healthy and was now returning to normal life. The crazy faceless one won't be able to bother any of them for a long time. Everything was going back to normal. It's over. Live, rejoice, forget about all this terrible adventure. But she couldn't forget anymore.

It was still possible to hold on during the day, but every night turned into torture. Anna could only dig her fingers into natural curls or tear the skin on her wrists until it bled. There was no question of any joy. Memories of those days rained down on her in an unexpected downpour and gradually dragged her into the darkest swamp. The swamp of one's own self.

But at least now everything was falling into place. It's understandable why Hannah seemed vaguely familiar, and what kind of pills she had to take until her were fifteen, as long as someone cared. No wonder the abbreviation in that prescription seemed familiar... But how hard it is to accept that since childhood she has brought trouble to everyone: from parents who needed a child last of all, to casual summer acquaintances. They were children. Not an excuse. She didn't remember these people or these places for most of her life. And what's the difference? She remember now. As a child, her brain protected her by bleaching out painful memories. Only the protection turned out to be one-time. When, after so many years, the white spots filled up... when a face distorted with horror and covered with bloody traces appeared before my eyes every now and then, it became impossible to live as before. And it's unrealistic in a new way. It's good that the summer turned out to be cool and the long-sleeved sweatshirts did not surprise anyone.

This was repeated almost weekly. Being alone with herself, Anna felt her perception sharpen. Almost imperceptible during the day, the lightest familiar scents caused attacks of nonexistent nausea. Anna lay down on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest, scratching her body wherever she could reach. As if in this position, all these shadows of the past could not reach her. She was tearing at the scratches that had barely begun to heal, deepening them and preventing them from turning into white scars. As if something could come out with blood that crawled out of a hole in her very being and tore up those pathetic shreds of her soul that forced her to create the appearance of life. Anna seemed to be divided into two parts: one dreamed of death, the other clung to life. Sometimes it even seemed that having made a decision in favor of one, she heard the whispers of the other. Of course, this is all a game of imagination and insomnia.