49. Colson
FORTY-NINE
COLSON
It’s silent.
Like when I plug my sound-canceling headphones into my ears and all I hear is nothing before the music streams through them.
My heartbeat, I think that’s what it is, pitter patters in my head. Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
That agonizing— no —crippling pain that made my body ache with mind-blowing intensity from before is gone.
I feel nothing.
I see nothing.
I hear nothing.
I’m surrounded by one giant black hole of nothingness.
And, fuck, do I like it here.
There’s nothing at my back nagging me to do this or that. My stress levels are at an all-time low. Mom isn’t giving me a hard time.
Wait… Mom.
It comes back to me in a flash that she’s no longer alive. I expect a wave of grief to crash into me, but it doesn’t come. I wait and wait and wait, but it never shows its ugly face.
Because here, I’m weightless.
And I never want to leave.