Sophie scoffed, reaching forward to tip the crystal bottle filled with a deep amber liquid into her glass, probably whiskey. She picked up the glass with her manicured fingers, swirling the liquid around. She didnât have friends. Friends were a mistake waiting to happen, a possible knife in the back. Friends could only hurt. She took a long sip from her glass, staring out at her empty apartment, at the moonlight filtered through the frosted glass of her window.Â
Youâre going to have to ask for help, one day.
His words echoed in her skull. Bullshit, she pushed them away. She didnât need help. She could handle it. Just as she handled everything. She shoved away from the counter and stalked through her apartment toward the bath, nursing her drink. She set it down on the vanity, about to turn before she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Whatever had haunted her earlier had paled her cheeks, deepened the circles under her eyes. She placed her hands on the table top, staring at herself like she didnât recognize this woman in the mirror.
You take on too much, Sophie. I barely know you, but I know that much.
Heâs right, you know. Youâre breaking. Itâs getting worse.
Another voice joined in, a ghost that lurked on the frayed edges of her memory. It was like electricity in her veins, it made every muscle tense and turned her stomach into knots. After all these years, his voice was just as loud as if he was standing next to her. Her expression soured, and within her ears a distant battle waged. Explosions, gunshots, the roar of the horde. It made the room spin, and she dug her fingers into the vanity to keep herself from toppling over. She hated it. She wasnât weak. She couldnât be weak. She was ugly, weak, insignificant, freakâŚfreakâŚfreak.
There was a loud crash that shot her back to reality and a sharp stinging to her knuckles. She had put her fist to the mirror, shattering it into pieces. Tears stung at her eyes and wet her cheeks, she hadnât realized she was crying. A deep frown down at her blooded hand. âShit.â She mumbles, refocusing and rummaging for some bandages to wrap around her hand. Sheâd probably need some stitches, but at the moment she didnât care. Within the drawer, she also grasped a vial filled with some kind of pills. She shook a couple out into her palm and popped them into her mouth and followed it with the rest of her whiskey.
She just wanted to be numb.
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