Harsh Mistress

Kim typed exactly what she was thinking, “I’m about to freak out.”

The boy an entire city away, seeing this statement, told her things could always be worse. What else was there to say? They were only old work associates and it wasn’t his place to diagnose an impromptu mental breakdown. Just be reassuring.

“This is not good,” Kim thought to herself.

No, it’s not. Time can be a harsh mistress, and suddenly, sitting there, realizing that you aren’t the person you were supposed to be, with only a computer screen for comfort, it can hurt.

It can hurt enough to make a grown woman want to curl into a ball and forget the drinking, the smoking, and the near infinite nights of partying that now add up to a sum not even worth its weight in cell damage.

When netting gets tangled enough, there’s no saving it. You have to cut out the knots and start over.

Maybe she should move to a new city and get new friends who didn’t know quite so much about her.

Maybe that would make the emptiness subside. Maybe.

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