Page 35 of Her Sloth

“What is it with you and all the crying?” Cass asks, enraging me the very second.

I open my mouth.

Close it again.

It’s stupid explaining myself to her.

She wouldn’t understand anyway.

I just throw the cloth in my hand away and storm out of the garage.

“Addy,” she calls after me. Not harshly, but soft, so I stop.

“Maybe you can also think about the 400 million people harmed through the water extraction done by Whitney-Morgan Goods. The 8 billion people affected by climate change caused by all those oil and industrial investments. The 20 million poisoned by the Whitney-Morgan-funded dye let into the indian rivers.”

I turn.

“They didn’t—“ I stutter out.

“Of course they did! Don’t you watch the fucking news?”

I shake my head.

“I—I don’t—It’s⁠—“

I can’t deal with this.

Can’t.

I can’t lead something like this.

I—

My breathing flattens.

Not getting enough air.

I close my eyes.

Pick a role.

Any role.

Someone who had their shit together.

“I am Amber Hayes, badass killer. I murder for sport, fight training, no emotions. I overcame the abusive home. I survived. I rose. I became feared. No emotion,” I rehearse in my mind while I let the song I associated with the role play in my head.

The storm in me calms.

I get into the car without another glance back.

It was a night with everything I ever wanted. And then morning came and the life I was born into returned.

I don’t belong here.

I belong nowhere.

I am back in the hotel garage on 58th without knowing how I even got there. Not knowing if any of the traffic lights I passed were red or green, not knowing if I hit someone on the way or not.