A Stolen Fate
Occasionally, I hear him moving, hear his deep voice arguing, and always fading before it can land any blow.
Mostly, there is silence that seeps into my bones, presses down on my chest, fills my head with cotton, and slows my thoughts until everything blurs together: the memory of blood slicking my thighs, the burn of shame, the cold bite of marble on my cheek as I lay at the foot of the stairs. Miles's cold and contemptuous voice. Roxy's last text, gloating from the darkness. I replay it all on a loop, searching for the seam that will let me rip the memory out and throw it away.