With the flick of a light switch, Elia's studio emerges from darkness. Random junk still litters the floor in front a dresser, a cold breeze seeps in through the fire escape window, and Bamboo perches on the edge of the navy blue couch. She digs her claws into the fabric and her eyes follow Elia through the usual post-work routines.
Television to pass the time, she supposes. Elia changes into pajamas, grabs a soda out of the fridge, and plops down on the couch next to Bamboo. With a crack of the soda can and a burst of static, an old cartoon with a cat that wants to catch a mouse plays.
Scene after scene, the string of thought connecting it all slackens. Something is happening. Bamboo perches her two front legs on Elia's lap and looks up into the woman's eyes.
What does this cat —
Emotions crash into Elia, like a tornado, hurricane, earthquake, and tsunami striking her home all at once.
Her vision goes bubbly with tears; her stomach twists up and down her torso with guilt, embarrassment, and sadness; goosebumps crawl across her skin in cold shivers. Then every memory of today plays through her mind like a movie.
Every memory, and every emotion. Guilt at letting Otto, Mitchel, and Bamboo down; shame for not being together enough to hear Duffie out; anger at herself for her weakness. Yes, anger most of all. Its inferno inside her chest incinerates anything else that tries to creep in.
She's a piece of shit. She deserves all of this. She should die and let everyone finally forget about her.
Tremors rack her body and her shoulders heave with every tear. She buries her head in Bamboo's fur with a snuffle and a wail like a dying animal. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! It's too much. I can't do it. I'm so sorry."
Bamboo flops across Elia's lap and purrs, vibrating the both of them like one of those restaurant wait buzzers.
The memory of Mitchel trying his best to convince her to let him help jumps to the front of her mind. She wrenches a pillow off the couch and chucks it at the wall.
The pillow smacks into the wall above her dusty dresser. It tumbles down onto the near empty top, then to the floor: taking the face-down picture of her daughter with it. Glass shatters and tinkles along the floor among the junk.
Another wail escapes Elia's throat, her mind crashes in on itself like she's stared too long at Bamboo's portal. She careens and collapses onto her side. Bamboo hisses as she slips off Elia's lap, but she doesn't lash out with scratches or bites.
Tears flow from one eye into the other as the entire world spins around Elia's sideways head. "I'm so sorry, you all deserve better than me."
A cold metal disk appears in Elia's hand. Odd. She didn't reach for it, not on purpose at least. Her head refusing to budge, she darts her eyes down to the pocket mirror shinning in between the cracks of her fingers.
It's as if all of her body is frozen except for that hand and her eyes. Or they're too heavy, like forty pound dumbbells hang from every inch of her body.
"I'm so sorry..."
The pocket mirror opens with a click of her hand. Bamboo jumps in between Elia's eyes and the mirror, but the mirror-holding hand swings around the beast. Then lights reappear in those otherworldly eyes and the void swallows them up one after the other.
Peace.