Page 93 of Her Sloth

I want to give in for one second. Want to run to Addy, tell her she is not alone, tell her it was all my fault, tell her about all the things I feel, about the feeling she causes in me.

But then she might die.

She might be dead already and never come back.

Suddenly, a beeping rips me from my spiraling.

The doctor stares at her pager.

Looks up into my eyes.

One look and I know what it is, who it is.

She runs out of the room.

I stare after her, knowing that hope is the biggest bitch in life.

Because hope made me fall in love again, even though I knew better.

Because hope made me dare believe I deserve someone like her.

Because hope made me forget the pain loss causes.

And I'm done hoping.

I’m done with everything.

I’m so done that there is only one way out.

The way out that should have happened a long time ago.

And now, it’ll be final.

Fuck this world.

I don’t even know how I got some clothes and made it to the garage, but when I grab the key to the Porsche, nothing else matters.

Elise’s Porsche.

The one I finished with Addy.

I turn the key.

The flat-6 gurgles in its unique sound, turning into that aggressive sound from the custom exhaust.

Just like it did when Addy turned the key after putting the motor back together.

I was so impressed. By her knowledge. By her skill. By her love for cars.

There was this smile when the motor gurgled properly for the first time. She looked at me from the driver’s seat, the one I’m sitting in now. It was probably the moment I first fell for her.

I fell for her.

“Damnit!” I shout and punch the steering wheel.

The smile she had, the light-up eyes I see in my mind—a rare view between all the fuck up.

That moment in this garage was her, the real Addy with a love for cars, for speed and those ten seconds where nothing else matters—all compressed into one smile.