II. The Girl Who Loved Alone
- Dec 8, 2025
- 2 min read
Updated: Apr 2
He mocked her even when he was smiling. Especially then.
The house was small, a one bedroom shack with thin walls that carried a permanent stench of stale beer and cigarettes. His friends sat around the living room drinking, laughing too loud. She laughed too, though nothing was funny. When he called her useless in front of them, she smiled and touched his arm like it was all a joke.
He liked when she played along. It made it easier for him to keep going.
Later, after his friends left, the laughter bled out of the room. He turned the TV on, volume low, and the sound of static and muffled voices filled the silence. He didn’t look at her when he spoke. Just stared ahead and said things designed to bruise.
“You could have tried to make an effort. A little makeup. Put on something decent...”
A commercial droned on in the background. The flicker of the screen sharpened the hard lines of his face.
“I told you to clean up before they got here. This place looks like shit. Like always…”
Laughter returned to the room, this time from the late-night show. It landed hollow. Out of place.
“I don’t know why I put up with you. You’re replaceable. You know that…”
Each word landed flat, practiced, like he’d said them a hundred times before. She didn’t argue. She stood near the doorway, clutching the hem of her shirt, nodding as if she agreed. When he finally stood, grabbing his jacket, he didn’t even look at her.
“I want you gone before I get back.”
The door shut, and that was it.
She didn’t cry. She started cleaning instead. Collected bottles, straightened cushions, took his clothes out of the dryer and began folding them into neat stacks. And all the while, she whispered to herself as she worked.
Next time, she’d do better. Next time, she’d make him happy. Next time, she’d finally be enough.
But she said that every time.
I watched her sit down after her work was done, her hands limp in her lap, staring at the door through which he had left. Waiting for him to come back so she could convince him that she was sorry, and she would try harder. That she would love him harder. She would beg for him to give her another chance. And he would.
Loneliness isn’t absence. It’s proximity without connection. I’ve lived long enough to know that. You can lie beside someone every night and still be untouched. Unseen. She believed love could save her from loneliness. She was wrong.
The Sha’harai have confirmed she’s of Ryysha descent. An Enlightened One, by birth. And now they want results immediately. They forget that a hunt like this takes time. And you can’t reverse a decay already in motion.
This one will wither into nothing. It’s time to move on.
The search continues.
M.
