Chapter 82: All We Need Is Each Other

The leather seat beneath me smells faintly of mildew, but I can't seem to bring myself to get up to escape it. A heavy, cloying lethargy has settled around me, from the moment I walked away from the train, from my friends.

From Beckett.

My clone sister, Duet, hums softly to herself, almost bouncing she's so happy as she toys with the engine of the SUV in which I now sit. My head will barely lift from the padded rest, eyes heavy, heartbeat slowed so much I can barely feel it.

Is this real grief? Depression? It feels that way, as though a black cloak of apathy wraps itself around me, squeezing and squeezing until it's an effort to draw breath. But I am unable to cry. How odd that feels. Perhaps if I could, if the tears would flow, I'd break free of what holds me.

But the tears won't come, refuse to rise, to well, to spill. I feel like my heart has abandoned me.

Or, more aptly, I've abandoned it.