It was one day too many.
The straw that broke the camel's back.
Her movements were mechanical: close the door, lock it, take off her shoes, put down her bag, take off her jacket, head to the bathroom, undress, step into the shower, and let the water wash away the events of the day. Flinch when the hot water stings the day's wounds, a reminder of everything that happened.
Then head to the fridge, open the door, and freeze. As if time had stopped. Lost in thought, brought back to reality by a honking car outside. Pour a glass of wine, sit on the couch, and savor the silence.
But quickly, the day catches up to her. Pointing her weapon at a woman threatening to stab a baby. Pulling the trigger because there's no other choice. Closing her eyes as she shoots, hoping not to kill, hoping not to relive this, hoping to save the child, not to hit him, not to hurt him—accidentally.
Taking another sip as if to numb the effect of the first, but being overwhelmed by the sounds and smells from just hours earlier. A mix of gunpowder, blood, and that unique smell that babies have. Shutting her eyes tighter, trying to forget.
But forget what?
Everything.
Forget it all. Forget the last years, the last months, the last days, the last hours.
But instead, breaking down in tears.
Losing control.
No longer wanting to control anything.
Lucy knew that one day, it would all come back to the surface. She knew the weight of the events, of the years, would eventually become too heavy for her shoulders.
Suddenly, she stood up, topped off her half-empty glass, and began pacing in the living room, as if aimless walking would solve all her problems. But the more she walked, the harder it became to take a step back, to stay grounded.
Like in a boxing match, Lucy tried to fight off her failures, her pain, her wounds—some far too recent. But her opponent was much stronger, and each blow hurt more than the last.
Her parents, disappointed in her for choosing to live for herself instead of the life they had mapped out. Their words, their absence in her darkest times. First blow.
Caleb. Trusting, wanting to enjoy, and ending up six feet under. Tattooed forever on her skin and in her mind. And being dead for a few minutes. Second blow.
Jackson's death. Not getting to say goodbye. Watching his last moments through a screen and being unable to save him. Coming home to silence, seeing him everywhere. Facing his parents' gaze. Third blow.
Failing the detective exam. Letting go of her dreams and ambitions. No longer feeling worthy. Fourth blow.
Shooting a man. Nearly killing him. Severely injuring him. Fearing she had taken a life, being under investigation. Watching her world fall apart, feeling like no one believed in her. Fifth blow.
Tim. Falling in love, and losing him in seconds. Watching him give up everything—abandon her—without a reason. Hating him, resenting him. Seeing him every day at work. Forgetting the future they once whispered under the covers. Losing the love of her life, and her best friend. Sixth blow.
Being trapped in a fire, under a blanket meant to protect her. Hoping her final seconds wouldn't pass without telling him she still loved him too. Afraid to die. Surviving, but barely. Again and again. Seventh blow.
