Part 2...
The light from the hallway did not bleed through, but the shadow in the door crack extinguished even the little that was left of the night. The rhythmic breathing accelerated for a second. He knew she was aware of him.
She tried not to breathe. The floorboards froze her thighs, but the cold inside her was deeper. Her hand instinctively slid across the floor, feeling for anything hard. Her fingers hit a heavy, rusty nail protruding from an old beam. Not much, but better than empty palms.
The door opened wider, slowly, millimeter by millimeter.
"You thought you could just lock it up and walk away, didn't you?" a voice called out from the dark. It was neither a shout nor a threat. Just the calm, matter-of-fact tone of someone who knows they have the upper hand. A voice she knew all too well, one she had lied to herself about ever hearing again.
She didn't move. When the past bursts into your life with a hammer in hand, the first reflex is to freeze. The second is to survive.
The door stayed wide open. A silhouette outlined itself in the hallway's gloom, offering no invitation to talk. All those attempts to start over, all those days spent piecing a broken life back together, shrank down to a single moment. Raw reality you couldn't talk your way out of, nor run from.
The show had begun, and the first move was hers.
© Dark Studio Art (DSA) | DarkMirax
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