She sat at her desk, hands in her hair.
Everything changes now.
Or does it?
Choices, she was reminded. There are choices every day and she made hers. It’s too late now.
The old man in the chair next to her this morning made her cry, but when isn’t she crying?
“There’s so much to cry about,” she whispered, as she got up and went to the bathroom again. She blamed it on her caffeine habit.
That wasn’t really the issue. Not this time at least.
In high school, you go to the bathroom to eat lunch, alone. It’s where there’s quiet. It’s where you hide.
Once, it was where she sat nervously staring at a plastic stick. It was those shaky walls that heard her sigh of relief.
Maybe it’s because life is a cycle. Some BS like that.
She was tired of fighting it. Tired of hiding it.
You hide to avoid the pain of admitting it to yourself. if no one else knows, then you don’t. If she keeps pretending, then it’ll all be false. The test would be false.
Her life, seemingly meaningless as it is, would continue.
She promised God if he fixed it that she’d do anything. She’d believe again. She’d quit and start the business she’d been dreaming of.
“Anything to get rid of this. Anything to start again”
It’s a bargain with the devil who never comes. He never listens. So where does that leave us?
In a bathroom stall, crying over pain she pretended wasn’t there.
This was the choice she made today. The choice to stop treatment that didn’t work anyway. It wasn’t even that hard of a choice, not the kind that people rhapsodize in novels.
A simple choice.
Today, today is where the end begins.