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you had a feeling you wouldn't make it.
and you we're right.
you left her remains on the cold floor with a wave of your left hand and a shaky breath.
you didn't notice how her eyes followed the pearls you wore on your glass heels and observe how their usual shine hid from her. they noticed the change, and so did you.
you think she's asleep but you're mistaken. she's awake, much to your dismay, replaying your words and actions like your favorite scene in that murder movie.
but this time she isn't the victim.
she knows, you know, what this'll amount to, and you're waiting anxiously for it. nail biting, sitting at the edge of your seat in complete terror. how'd you let this one slip? why did you let her slip? you had her moments ago, in the very palms of your hands, controlling her every move.
you were unprepared this time. and she knows it.
the whispers welcome you before she does. you're horrified. the rattling of your body shakes your atmosphere, your vision hazy and unclear. your mouth opens to mutter an apology, a sort of saving grace, but you make no sound. it is too late. there is nothing left to apologize to.
