Alissa sat, curled up like a kitten on her living room sofa, held tight by the plethora of throws and cushions that hid the stains on the cushions beneath. The TV was blaring some show about a dog rescue team, but Alissa stared through it, not seeing or hearing much of the content. In her mind she was still staring at a different screen; a screen with four devastating words—I’m done with you.
The mental image brought fresh tears.
‘How am I even making tears at this point?’ Alissa wondered. ‘I have literally cried a thousand tears, and I have had naff all to drink since last night.’
She imagined herself becoming dried up and desiccated like one of the dead moths behind the picture frames in her windowsill—victims of the recent spate of long hot nights. Yet every time her worn a
