The merry sound of the kettle whistling grated on Soh's ears; how could anything sound so cheerful, after what she'd been through? But she just bit her lip, a headache beginning to set in, and made her way silently to a window, where she tossed her old clothes out to be sucked into the ether. As she watched the fabric flitter through the air, she felt a pang of sorrow. It was like she was letting go of a part of herself with the clothing, releasing a piece of the innocence that she had carried for so long.
She turned back to Mateo after a moment, feeling tired and worn more than anything else, and joined him at the patchwork couch, where she took a seat. Tea sounded divine, and she reached eagerly for a cup, blowing on the liquid to cool it before taking a sip. A wonderful warmth slid down her throat and into her belly, and she hummed in appreciation as she listened.
She set the tea cup down, considering Mateo's words. She certainly didn't want this to happen to anyone else, and if she could report the man anonymously... well, wouldn't that be the right thing to do? "He was tall and broad-shouldered," she recalled. "With dark blonde hair and fair skin. I'm not very good with ages, but I'd say he was in his late thirties, maybe early forties. I think his eyes were... were..." Soh trailed off, suddenly tense. He'd been pressed up against her when she'd stabbed him, and she'd watched the life begin to fade from his eyes. Why couldn't she remember what color they were?
I can't remember, she realized, and for some reason, this more than anything made the panic set in. "I can't remember," she whispered, suddenly trembling. "Why can't I remember?" I can't, her mind repeated, her thoughts spiraling into a repetitive mantra as the blood roared in her ears. I can't. Her eyes were far away, staring past Mateo and back into the alley. I CAN'T, her inner voice screamed. She was frozen, paralyzed, as her breath began to come in short gasps and her heart began to race, and she fell into the grips of the panic attack.
She turned back to Mateo after a moment, feeling tired and worn more than anything else, and joined him at the patchwork couch, where she took a seat. Tea sounded divine, and she reached eagerly for a cup, blowing on the liquid to cool it before taking a sip. A wonderful warmth slid down her throat and into her belly, and she hummed in appreciation as she listened.
She set the tea cup down, considering Mateo's words. She certainly didn't want this to happen to anyone else, and if she could report the man anonymously... well, wouldn't that be the right thing to do? "He was tall and broad-shouldered," she recalled. "With dark blonde hair and fair skin. I'm not very good with ages, but I'd say he was in his late thirties, maybe early forties. I think his eyes were... were..." Soh trailed off, suddenly tense. He'd been pressed up against her when she'd stabbed him, and she'd watched the life begin to fade from his eyes. Why couldn't she remember what color they were?
I can't remember, she realized, and for some reason, this more than anything made the panic set in. "I can't remember," she whispered, suddenly trembling. "Why can't I remember?" I can't, her mind repeated, her thoughts spiraling into a repetitive mantra as the blood roared in her ears. I can't. Her eyes were far away, staring past Mateo and back into the alley. I CAN'T, her inner voice screamed. She was frozen, paralyzed, as her breath began to come in short gasps and her heart began to race, and she fell into the grips of the panic attack.
