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~ Lisa's POV
"I can't do this," I told the door, my voice so small it sounded like a mouse.
"Please," I whispered to no one, the word scraping my throat.
I pressed my palms flat against the wood. The grain dug into my skin. My breath came in quick, hot bursts. I wasn't supposed to break here. I wasn't supposed to run. But my legs felt useless and then suddenly not, a war inside me shifting the ground.
"Not here. Not now," I told myself.
"Not them," I added, the words a little sharper.
I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, my back against the door. My knees came to my chest. I tried to hold my tears like a secret. I tried to fold them away, but they slipped out anyway.
"Don't cry," I said to my face.
"Don't be weak," I told the hands that trembled.
My chest squeezed until I could barely breathe. The grief was a living thing. It wanted air. It wanted space. It wanted to be let loose. My fingers dug into the wood. I tasted salt on my lips.
