Clara
I don't remember making many decisions tonight.
It's strange... Because I usually do everything with control, with clarity, measuring each step.
But now... no.
Now I just follow, follow Ethan, follow his voice, follow his hand. I follow that "let's go home" that still resonates inside me as something I didn't expect... but that I needed.
We left the apartment and I don't look back.
I can't, I don't want to. 'Cause I know that if I do... if I see that open door again, that space where a few minutes ago I felt that someone was watching me, that someone was there... I'm going to break. And I don't want to do it... Not now.
Not when I'm barely managing to stand up.
The elevator goes down silently, my hand is still inside Ethan's. Firm, warm, present. And that... that sustains me.
