My eyes feel swollen and sticky. I lie on the rumpled sheets and stare up at the ceiling fan. The tears are drying on my cheeks. My pillows are across the room, where I threw them a few moments ago, and the mattress is hard against the back of my head. My jaw and throat still hurt from gritting my teeth and screaming, my fists from pounding the bed as hard as I could.
I feel so tired.
The uncertainty and self-pity are gone, drained from me during my tantrum. Nothing matters right now. I do not think. My breathing slows, and every muscle in my body unclenches, bit by bit. I let my head loll to one side, and feel one last tear run down the side of my face and across my temple. My nose tries to run, but I sniff it back. The teardrop reaches the mattress, soaks into the bedclothes and vanishes.
I get up to retrieve my pillows from where they fell, and find them resting easily against the wall.
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