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Slow fade out?

#17

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She never dreamed, never drifted, never slipped under, just lay there, rigid and useless, her eyes open, her mind jammed in some half dead space between sleep and waking, where nothing felt real but everything still hurt. The TV coughed up noise, one show bleeding into the next, a never ending stream of people cooking and crying and winning and losing and then some smug bastard said "expresso" and for a second, a brief, shining second, she felt something that wasn't total nothing... a disgust shooting straight through the sludge of her brain, because how hard was it to say a goddamn word right when it was literally your fucking job?

The calendar sat in their tour bus like a bad omen, full of neat little squares and hopeful plans she'd made on days when she thought she might actually turn things around, back when she believed in stupid shit like routines and self improvement. Now every unchecked box was just another piece of evidence in the long, slow trial against her own uselessness. She argued with herself but it was never really an argument, just the same loop, circling the drain, circling back, always landing in the same place, because what else was there to say except fuck it, fuck all of it, fuck me, fuck you, fuck this stupid life that keeps happening even though I didn't ask for it and sure as hell don't know what to do with it.

Then all of a sudden, Mo told her he was getting married and for a second, the world wobbled, the ground tilted, the band she'd poured her whole damn soul into spun off its axis. It wasn't just the music, it was the way everything suddenly felt different, like a door had shut somewhere and she wasn't sure if she was inside or out.

For now tho, she smiled and told him congratulations. Let the music carry whatever was left unsaid.