"Damn you… Nina," she sobbed, her voice fracturing as she collapsed back against the wall, sliding down until she crumpled into a heap on the floor. The words tasted like ash on her tongue. "Damn you."
The apartment's silence pressed down on her like a physical weight, yet the ghosts of her past screamed louder than any living voice. Nina remained on the floor, knees drawn tight to her chest, forehead resting against the cool, indifferent plaster.
Each breath scraped through her lungs like jagged glass, sharp and unforgiving. She wanted to scream, to rage against the memories that refused to release their grip, but her throat had closed around the sound.
"And don't even get me started on the arrangement," she whispered, her voice reduced to a hollow rasp that barely disturbed the air. The words emerged unbidden, as if speaking them aloud might somehow exorcise the trauma.
