I don’t think about it. My body just obeys, legs carrying me down the short hallway to the bathroom before my brain has time to form an opinion. I step inside, shut the door, and twist the flimsy little push-button lock on the knob. It’s nothing. It would hold for about half a second against anyone who actually wanted in. But it’s all I have, so I make do.
Then I press my back against the door and put both hands over my mouth.
I hear Kir’s footsteps cross the apartment. The creak of the front door easing open.
Then an eruption of noise. Grunt, crash, slam, shatter.
Then something I will never un-hear.
It’s wet. That’s the only word for it. Wet, dense, and final, and I hear it a second time before it all goes as silent as the grave.
“I will burn for you / Feel pain for you / I will tw
