You're hurt, he said. I'm Devi.
I'm dying, she wanted to reply. But the admission alone felt like it would draw her last breath, and she couldn't bear the thought of stiff-legging in front of a stranger.
"I'm hurt," she confirmed.
Ruth had never been good at small talk. Her skills had always been limited to surviving and overcoming. The idea of having enough time to make conversation felt foreign—almost uncomfortable. Her mother had hardly demonstrated any sort of relationship worth copying, leaving Ruth like a yearling separated from the herd, watching everyone else know which way to run.
A breeze cooled the heat that throbbed across her flank, and for a moment she wondered if this was the euphoria she'd heard accompanied the grim reaper. Then again, she was far too aware of the splitting pain threatening to tear her in two to call it euphoric. How long before her body finally quit fighting? Or would it stubbornly choose another impossible recovery?
It felt harder and harder to focus on Devi, yet the thought of him leaving left a twisted knot in her throat. She had spent so long alone that it felt foolish to waste one more second in silence.
But, there was nothing in him. No fear. No pity. No urgency. Just a stillness so complete it made her wonder what life had taken from him. It unsettled her. Not the quietness of a stranger, but the hollowness of someone who'd forgotten how to feel. She knew that kind of nothingness. It settled in slowly, earned through a thousand small cuts, until it became easier not to feel at all. She had survived because of it. So why had someone carrying the same burden stopped beside her?
"I'm not so sure it's safe to be around me," Ruth admitted with a drop in her voice. "Even the flies seem conflicted."
I'm dying, she wanted to reply. But the admission alone felt like it would draw her last breath, and she couldn't bear the thought of stiff-legging in front of a stranger.
"I'm hurt," she confirmed.
Ruth had never been good at small talk. Her skills had always been limited to surviving and overcoming. The idea of having enough time to make conversation felt foreign—almost uncomfortable. Her mother had hardly demonstrated any sort of relationship worth copying, leaving Ruth like a yearling separated from the herd, watching everyone else know which way to run.
A breeze cooled the heat that throbbed across her flank, and for a moment she wondered if this was the euphoria she'd heard accompanied the grim reaper. Then again, she was far too aware of the splitting pain threatening to tear her in two to call it euphoric. How long before her body finally quit fighting? Or would it stubbornly choose another impossible recovery?
It felt harder and harder to focus on Devi, yet the thought of him leaving left a twisted knot in her throat. She had spent so long alone that it felt foolish to waste one more second in silence.
But, there was nothing in him. No fear. No pity. No urgency. Just a stillness so complete it made her wonder what life had taken from him. It unsettled her. Not the quietness of a stranger, but the hollowness of someone who'd forgotten how to feel. She knew that kind of nothingness. It settled in slowly, earned through a thousand small cuts, until it became easier not to feel at all. She had survived because of it. So why had someone carrying the same burden stopped beside her?
"I'm not so sure it's safe to be around me," Ruth admitted with a drop in her voice. "Even the flies seem conflicted."