She pushed the stall door open, the plastic feeling heavier under her fingers than before.
Reed felt tired... slumped... Like a flower that hadn't felt a drop of rain in the summer heat.
She dropped onto the toilet, grimacing at the cold porcelain touching her back.
The world felt off... Distorted...
She couldn't give up yet... She had done so much, she just couldn't...Or everything would have been in vain.
And yet, the void ate away at her soul.
The colours were gone...
Nothing seemed to matter anymore.
She slumped forward, resting her elbows on her knees while she looked at the fake floor tiles beneath her feet. Her white socks were dirty, visibly scuffed and coated with a layer of dust and whatever Reed had stepped in that day.
Her thoughts absently travelled towards the notebook.
For the first time in her life, the excitement of discovery wasn't there...
Reed dreaded the moment she would open the pages of the notebook.
Just another mystery that will bring more sorrow and hurt.
Another dissatisfactory answer, that will reveal a cruel truth of her reality.
Was that really what she had been chasing her entire life?
Answers? Was that what it was all about?
Reed's fingers trembled.
Should she even open the notebook?
Did she really want to know?
It felt like her world was crashing down, shattering into a million pieces while she mulled over her life choices.
She had followed the GOI because she wanted to get back at Bell.
She came there because she wanted to discover yet another anomaly as if putting a poaching target at "Sound Maria" wasn't enough...
She wanted to prove something...Reed couldn't believe it.
She had sacrificed her life to prove a point...
Tears squeezed themselves into her eyes, her fist connecting with the bathroom wall.
Who the hell cares what others think?
She was content... Why did it matter so much?
Why was she so focused on "succeeding"? What did that even mean?
Getting a rare smile from Diane? Return to Oxford?
So she could get some piece of junk award and put it on the shelf?
Before she knew it, her fingers already closed on the edge of the metal bin, prying it open with her shaky fingers. The woman practically tore the text block out of the bin, twisting the pages under her iron grip.
What was it worth?
What was all the time she spent there worth?
She pulled at the seams.
The sound of the binding glue being ripped felt like a crack of the whip against her ears.
She looked at the text block, eyes widened at the ripped seam.
What?
What was she doing?
What on earth did she try to accomplish?
YOU ARE READING
Deep Dark Blues
HorrorDefeated. Discredited. Forgotten. But whatever they say, Rowan Reed is not a quitter. Life hadn't treated Rowan kindly but with a sudden opportunity to research an oceanic anomaly, she takes a leap of faith into the cold depths of the Atlantic to re...
