On Your Own

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"It didn't start with her."

"It didn't end with her, either."

"Would you stop it with that?"

"What?"

"Like the... the like words that you say. All the time."

You don't know what to say. I mean second person, really? Of course it's par for course for this kind of story, but these kinds of stories aren't all that great. Essentially failed in concept, especially on this site.

Regardless, you carry on with your version of consoling.

"You don't like it, you leave."

"What?"

"Door's right there."

She stomped out, bracelets clinging as she twisted the door handle.

Ah, you didn't need to bother with Evelyn anyway. Don't need to bother with anyone. You crawl toward the remote and lean back your head on the couch. Commercials flicker across your rather punchable face.

You had lived here for five entire years of your life and were certain you would die here. Preferably in a nursing home- scratch that, an epic battle- in your sleep. Here being this city, but more specifically this apartment. If Evelyn thought that you were going to leave the couch to chase after her, she was dead wrong.

But still...

She could still have those blackmail photos from high school...

1A - No way are those getting out.

1B - She wouldn't blackmail me.